Page 122 of False God

I roll my eyes when she mentions my make-believe veterinary clinic. “Mom, youhaveto stop bringing that up.”

She laughs. “Fine.”

I steal the ice cream back, take a bite, and then lie back to stare up at the sky. You can’t really see the stars here—the city lights are too bright.

“Why did you marry Dad?” I ask.

There’s a noticeable pause as my question registers.

Mom rubs a finger against the side of her wineglass, creating a soft singing sound. “The easy answer is that your grandfather made an arrangement when I was sixteen.”

“But you wouldn’t have married him if you didn’t want to.”

Mom’s smile is proud. “No, I wouldn’t have.”

“What’s the hard answer?”

Something I’ve always wondered, honestly.

My parents don’t have a perfect relationship, but they’re perfect for each other. They have the sort of synergy that seems fated, not something you could manufacture with a fixed arrangement.

“I married him because he felt safe,” Mom tells me. “Because we were equals in money and ambition. I’d seen Gigi stand in Grandfather’s shadow my whole life, knowing that could never be me. It works for your grandparents, but I … I needed more. Not to be happy, just to make that part of my life bearable. That’s what I thought then at least.”

“And now?”

Mom studies me for a few seconds, and I know she’s dying to ask why I’m asking. “Now, there’s nothing scarier than the thought of losing him. This whole life I have? You and your brothers? It’s all because of him. Nothing—notHauteor rouge or anything else—is more important than that. Me stepping back atHauteand your dad returning to Kensington Consolidated is because we want to spend more time with each other and youkids. We’ve both reached points in our careers where it makes sense to cut back.”

I smother a smile. Only my parents would consider being COO of a multibillion-dollar company and running a luxury fashion house “cutting back.”

Mom reaches for my left hand and turns it toward her.

I yank it away, blushing. “Mom!”

“Just checking. I didn’t think you’d get engaged without telling me, but just in case.”

“Iwouldtell you if I was getting engaged. I’mnotengaged. I’m not even dating anyone. Partly because …” I contemplate how much to say. “It’s hard, you know. Whenever I meet a guy, I have to wonder what he sees. Me or money. Your relationship with Dad always looks so easy. You make it look easy. Work too. All of it. So, so easy.”

“Oh, honey.” Mom’s eyes fill with sympathy. “Noneof it is easy. It took me a long time to come to terms with my relationship with your father. If he’d been a little less stubborn, our marriage—your childhood—would have looked very different. And juggling work with being a mom and a wife? Finally dropping one of those balls feels like the biggest relief. But I’ve never been comfortable with sharing my struggles or insecurities. And I never wanted you or Kit or Bash to worry about anything you shouldn’t be concerned with.”

“I didn’t get the project in Canada,” I admit. “The job I really wanted. I found out yesterday.”

“You’re just starting your career, sweetheart. You have years—decades—to accomplish everything you want to.”

“Kit’s getting a corner office and a secretary.”

“That was your uncle Oliver’s decision. He would have offered the same to you if you’d decided to work at the company.”

I stare into my glass. “Do you think Dad’s disappointed I didn’t?”

“No, I don’t.”

My gaze lifts to look at my mom. “Are you disappointed I didn’t want to work in fashion?”

“No, I’m not.”

I nod once, the certainty in her voice quieting some of the doubt in my head.

“You want to know why?”

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