16. Lia

16

LIA

I'd always wanted for something to bring us closer—and now I feel like I cursed Mason with my wish.

—Caleb, from One of a Thousand Wishes by A. R. McGeorge

I should've been glad that my dad wanted to see me for dinner—it'd stop me from obsessing over whoever it was that Rhaim was going out with—but my anxiety rose with every passing block.

Because I wasn't just nervous about Rhaim—it was having so much uninterrupted time with my father. We'd already seen each other more in a month than we'd visited in the entire prior ten years. Neither one of us were good at it.

And it didn't help that his townhouse was completely unfamiliar territory for me. I'd never come home after I'd left for boarding school, not even once. My mother's death had been during one of my episodes—more factually, my mother dying had brought one of my episodes on, realizing that I'd never escape anything, ever—and my father and my therapists had decided to have her funeral without me.

After that there was nothing really to come home for.

The first time I'd seen the place was when I'd gotten back into town. Almost everything in it was a pristine white, so much so that I imagined if I'd woken up there after a concussion I'd assume I was somewhere in heaven.

Which maybe was the point—that my father's mansion was diametrically opposed to the blackness of his soul.

I'd spent a few awkward nights in a luxuriously appointed guest room before he'd quickly set me up with my own apartment, by silent mutual agreement.

My driver dropped me off, and I stood outside his townhouse's solemn wrought-iron gate, waiting to be buzzed in by the evening's fading light, rocking from foot to foot, frightened his bodyguard wouldn't let me in in time.

Before I could truly panic, there was a clanging sound, and the gate opened. I waved for whoever was operating the camera, and quickly ran up to the front door inside a small courtyard and the safety of its outside light.

My father's burly butler Rio was waiting for me when I got off the elevator. "He's in the dining room already," he said, gesturing me the right way. I would've barely remembered otherwise, my father's mansion was so large, but the scent of food helped me get my bearings.

"Lia!" my father said, already sitting down. There were several courses of food on the table already—his people had cooked like they were feeding an army.

"Expecting company?" I asked, coming around to kiss both his cheeks quickly, before joining him.

"No, you're too skinny," he said, giving me a look.

I wasn't—I was perfectly healthy for me, and I didn't have a problem. I'd only had to go to the eating disorder clinic because of Uncle Freddie. But there was no way I could tell him that, so double helpings of mashed potatoes under his watchful eye, it was.

He'd even had his maids put mints on my pillows while I was here.

I knew he was trying, in his own awkward way. I just hoped he understood that I was trying, too.

"So how is your internship going?" he asked, after I took my first few bites.

"Is that what it is? Now that I'm not getting paid?" I asked.

"Yes. Tell Rhaim that—and if he laughs, tell him he'll have to sing at my birthday party."

I gave him a tense smile. "I will, but?—"

"But what do you really need money for?" he asked, abruptly cutting into my statement the same way he was cutting into his steak.

"Because I'm doing a job, father." Or trying to, if Rhaim will let me. I took a half-hearted bite. I couldn't work my way up the ladder if I wasn't even on payroll. "I know I haven't been around, but I need to make up for lost time."

He made a dismissive sound. "No—everyone's kid is an intern these days. Who else can afford to not get paid?"

Literally every other student I'd ever met in boarding school. "That doesn't make it right."

"Would you rather just be picking up an honorary check? What's next, paying for your own apartment?"

I frowned. I didn't even know what my rent was—only that I didn't have to worry about it. "Maybe," I said. "If you'll tell me?—"

"If I'd wanted you to struggle, Lia," he began, sounding terse, before forcing himself to relax. "You know how hard things were for me growing up," he said in a softer tone, before looking around. "What's the point of having all this money if I can't spoil you a little?"

"What if I don't want to be spoiled?" I protested.

He turned his head toward me and gave me such a look. A look that said he'd paid for every single one of my bills while I'd been off in Europe, every hospitalization, every tuition, every extracurricular I'd ever done.

And while he was right, he had paid for all of those things—so had I, in my own fashion.

I hadn't wanted to be sent away.

I hadn't wanted to end up like this.

I knew if I blew up at him though, he wouldn't take me seriously. "I just want to learn to run Corvo."

My father shrugged. "There's plenty of time. Just do what Rhaim says—unless it's janitorial work," he said, then rolled his eyes. "He'll keep things easy for you."

I didn't like the sound of that. "Are things easy for Freddie Junior?" I knew my cousin, who was a few years older than I was, was already on Corvo's board and working at Blackwing, Corvo's flagship hotel, just blocks from here. I only barely remembered him from my childhood, mostly my mother trying to make sure he didn't roughhouse with me—and the thought of him being ahead of me in any way chafed.

My father's lips pulled into a thin line. "He's different."

"Because he's a boy?"

"Lia—"

"It's not my fault," I protested. It made me sound like a whiny teen, even though it was the closest I could come to telling him the truth, that it really wasn't, that the things that had fucked me up were far, far beyond my ability to control.

He reached out and patted my hand gently, giving me a sympathetic look that said he thought he knew everything, which gutted me. "I know, dear. Why don't you take another bite?"

I filled with all my anger and frustration like a helium balloon—but until I could say the things that'd happened to me out loud, there was nothing to do but pop.

I returned my attention to my dinner and cut into my steak savagely.

After my disappointing dinner with my father, I was excited to get back to my apartment...that he paid for.

I looked around at my walls. I'd lined them with bookshelves and I'd started buying all the books I couldn't get when I was at boarding school—I never knew how much space I was going to get at a place, so it wasn't worth it to invest in things—but that whole time I'd read on my phone like a fiend. And now that I could finally buy all the books I wanted, I had.

With his card.

I knew better, I really did.

Money was like a leash in my family—I remember my mother bemoaning the fact that my dad gave her an allowance several times. I could tell even at that young age that she found it humiliating.

I'd been smart enough to buy twice as much furniture as I actually needed to fill my new place—so that I could sell it online for cash to strangers to pay my PI.

But I couldn't run that scam indefinitely.

There had to be some in-between state where I could make my own way and learn things without everyone in my life being horrible and condescending...I just hadn't figured out where it was yet.

Luckily, though, I had some friends to console me.

I changed into my pajamas and pulled out One of a Thousand Wishes by A. R. McGeorge, a highlighter, and started to lose myself inside its pages.

I'd already done the front half of the book—and it was rough going, because the whole premise was that Sarah, a girl a little older than me, was in love with her boyfriend, Mason, who'd gotten cancer—and while she and his older brother Caleb had been folding one thousand cranes for him, they'd fallen in love accidentally.

It was so subtly sweet it hurt me in a good way. Her watching Caleb fold cranes and wondering what his hands would feel like on her skin, the depth of compassion and love she had for Mason as he kept getting sicker—I felt her pain on each page like so many paper-thin knives, and only the knowledge that it would work out all right in the end kept me going.

I was almost to the part where she'd confess her love to Caleb, and he'd tell her that he didn't feel the same, because his ex-girlfriend had come back pregnant, and he wanted to do right by her—and then my phone buzzed with a text.

He hasn't left his building yet—calling it a night.

My PI.

It was eleven.

Had Rhaim's date stood him up?

I couldn't even fathom the possibility.

But just because he hadn't left didn't mean that any number of intelligent, attractive, and possibly significantly less crazier than me women couldn't have just walked up to his penthouse.

He made enough money, he could've had them helicoptered to his roof.

Thanks

I texted back, and managed not to include an emoji.

Then I swept my hair out of my face and redid my bun.

Sarah loved Mason no matter what. And while I knew they were fictional, and that my life in no such way compared, I just needed to see something work out.

I needed something to root for.

I needed to feel safe, despite breathtaking odds and extraordinary situations.

Because reading about them made me feel like maybe, just maybe, it could happen to me, too.

Reality was real enough, and I'd dealt with enough shit today; I deserved to have some happiness.

I knew because I'd made it to the end of the book before that Mason would eventually give Sarah his blessing for her future happiness as his dying wish, freeing Caleb from any guilt, and that months later, Sarah and Caleb would finally meet again and finally, finally hold hands and that the scene would leave me sobbing.

All I had to do was get there.

I bit the cap off of a highlighter and started to gnaw on it while I sank back into the pages.

Four hours later, I was sleeping peacefully when my phone beeped.

I blinked awake, wiping up some drool, and was dismayed at the bright pink stain my dropped highlighter had left on my comforter.

I didn't reach straight for my phone—because there was no way any message I was getting this time of night could be good. Had my guy stuck around Rhaim's apartment and spotted him walking a beautiful woman to her Uber?

"Fuck, fuck, damn," I cursed, looking at my phone like it had turned into a snake.

I could roll over and pretend I hadn't heard it—try to drift back to sleep not knowing.

But I was never a "find out later" kind of girl.

I snatched it up and turned the screen on, hopping into my messages—and the only thing worse than finding out Rhaim was sleeping with someone else popped up, from a number I didn't know:

Heard you were back in town.

Can't wait to see you at your father's birthday party.

And then, as I held the phone, it beeped again, as another message came in.

It's been too long.