Page 7 of Lush

There was a sleek black SUV sitting in front of the jet. A familiar figure leaned casually against the door. “Erik?”

“Wassup, Lulu.”

I ran down the steps toward my big brother. The last one on my side. Erik stayed in touch, even when others didn’t. All those late-night calls, the random check-ins. He always showed up when I needed him most, miles or oceans away.

He enveloped me in a bear hug and spun me around like we were kids again.

Erik, the oldest, ran King Crown Aviation, our company that built luxury planes for the rich, the famous, and, when needed, the government. He would inherit King Enterprises when Mama retired. It was the family tradition—the firstborn always inherits.

That didn’t mean Mama didn’t put the rest of us to work the moment she could.

Serena, the middle child after me by six years, ran King Developments.

It was our real estate company, and even though Serena had cut me off after I left, Erik had let me know she ran it ruthlessly.

Gigi, the baby of the family, was…well, Gigi. I’d spoken to her about a month ago. Now she decided she wanted to be a social media model.

“I’ve missed you!” I said between laughter. “Mama let you out the dungeon?”

“Somebody has to keep the empire running smoothly.” He chuckled, and set me back down. “You know how she is. One wrong move or deal, and I’m up all night in meetings or worse, getting a lecture about ‘letting the family down.’”

Yvonne King was tough on her good days, but hellish on her bad ones.

Erik was thirty-five now, two years older than me. He was taller, broader, his frame more solid than I remembered—but worn. A strong jaw, streaked with some gray hairs, told a different story. That stubble over his gleaming dark skin gave him a tough edge, but it couldn’t hide the exhaustion lurking just beneath the surface.

Six years all alone dealing with Mama—I bet that had been tough on him.

“I was surprised when Mama said I needed to pick you up. You didn’t say nothin’ about coming back home. Since when was y’all choppin’ it up again?”

I caught sight of a few staff members in crisp uniforms standing at a discreet distance. The gossip was probably already circling—Laurene King, the runaway bride back in Lush like nothing had ever happened.

“It was last-minute,” I said, swallowing the bitter taste of the lie. It hadn’t been last-minute at all. Everything in Paris had started to dry up—my gallery job was mysteriously gone. I was living paycheck to paycheck, barely scraping by. My apartment was too expensive.

It was like the universe—or Yvonne King—had conveniently shut every door until I had no choice but to come back to Lush.

Erik frowned. “Imma be honest, you might wanna rethink this. People ain’t forgot what happened.”

Being away made it crystal clear: I was done with this town. Their feelings weren’t my problem anymore. What did I owe them? The same they’d given me. Nothing.

A sleek limo came speeding down the tarmac, skidding to a stop in front of us. My heart raced. Was it him? Did Reese know I was back?

“Fuck,” Erik said under his breath.

A driver stepped out, smoothing his uniform before opening the back door to reveal Mama.

“What does Mama have planned? I know she didn’t call me back here just ’cause she missed me. She’s got something up her sleeve.” I looked at Erik.

“She’s…Mama. You know how she is. She wants you here because you’re family.”

“Bullshit. You know something, don’t you?”

“Make the right choice, Lu.”

I wasn’t the same anymore. And this town—this family—would never see the old Laurene again. I wasn’t going back. Freedom felt too good.

“Laurene.” Mama’s hair, a deep, vibrant black, was perfectly silk-pressed, gleaming under the light, a testament to her stylist’s skill—not a single gray hair in sight. She sashayed over in a sharp suit, pushing down her big sunglasses. “Glad you made it back in one piece. Did the new plane treat you well? Your brother designed it, I’m not sold on it.”

Mama cut me off when I left. Totally. Not a word. No cash. No calls. Not even a damn messenger pigeon. Just silence. Like I didn’t exist. For six years.

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