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But is it worth it?

Easton could be and probably is just as clueless about our parents’ past relationship as I am. The pregnant pause when I mentioned the paper tells me he may know enough to lead me to a missing piece. Do I really want to go this far for it?

Why can’t I just let it go?

Fed up with questions I could already have answers to, I do the unforgivable thing I shouldn’t. I open the emails and again begin to read.

“Explain this to me again,” Dad says as he thrusts a wooden bowl of my mother’s pasta salad toward me in offering as she lines my plate with garlic Texas Toast. Tonight, Mom has laid out a spread of my favorites on the large oak patio table on the back deck of our expansive ranch home. The patio borders endless acres of perfectly manicured grass. Though I moved out my second year attending UT, I dine with them twice a week. My gaze flicks past my doting parents, who continually fill my plate as I eye the stable full of our horses we never neglect to ride. Though Dad opts out most days, Mom and I share a deep bond in all things equestrian. Nostalgia kicks in as I scan the grounds with appreciation.

When I was young, I knew I was lucky to have the wide-open space in which I acted out my imagination. An imagination that kept me company until my diapers-to-adult best friends Holly and Damon came along, becoming staples in our family. My parents worked long hours to create their combined empire. The tradeoff was that their collective best friends gave me the siblings they didn’t provide. While Mom was born into inheriting her media company from my grandparents, my father worked his way in from the ground up with Austin Speak, becoming editor in chief at only twenty-six. After marrying, they collectively came together and became a reckoning force. Even with the resources, Dad has always kept the paper on a smaller scale. As I stated to Easton, it’s become a nationally recognized news source.

“Earth to Natalie,” Mom muses, drawing me back to them both.

“I’ll only be gone for three, four days tops,” I reiterate, pulling my attention back to and between them. Guilt and a lingering ache in my chest combine, taking my appetite as I push my food around. I’ve already come this far, so I decide to lay out more of my rehearsed excuses.

“I’ve already hit my deadlines,” I report to Dad as he studies me closely, “and honestly, I’m in need of a little R & R. I’m thinking I’ll take a little road trip.”

“Holly can’t go with you?” Mom asks as I sip my beer and shake my head.

“No, she’s got finals coming up.”Truth. But I didn’t ask her. This is a secret I plan to take to my grave. As close as Holly and I are, there’s not a chance in hell she’ll understand why I’m going. Truth be known, I don’t really understand it myself.

“Alone,” Dad repeats, his suspicion and concern dueling.

“Journalists do it all the time,” I admonish.

“Forwork,” he drags out as he calls bullshit. “Does this have anything to do with our conversation yesterday?”

“What conversation?” Mom asks, looking between us just as warily.

Shit.

“I think our daughter is seeing someone,” Dad speculates.

Thank God.

“No, I’m not,” I correct defensively, which sadly only makes me look more guilty. “I’m just steps ahead of everything at the office right now, and I want somemetime. I haven’t taken any off since graduating,” I point out.

“True,” Mom says.

“I’m already narrowing down my articles for the thirtieth anniversary,” I turn to Dad as he mulls over my words.

“You seem confident.”

“It’s inherited.” That remark earns me a dazzling grin from him. “Besides, I’ve been readingSpeaksince I was five. Memory alone has served me well in picking out the majority of articles to highlight already, and we still have months before it goes to print.”

“Something’s up,” Mom weighs in, aiding Dad’s suspicions as I make peace with the fact there’s no chance of an acting career in my future. I’ll have to up my game tomorrow when I come face-to-face with Easton, or I’ll be screwed.

“Nothing is up. I’m just a little burnt out. I need . . .something.” Dumping more pasta onto my plate to keep my hands busy, I let a little fake annoyance through. “I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“All right, baby, if that’s what you need,” Dad acquiesces as he and Mom do that freaky silent communication thing and collectively decide to drop it.

Considering my emotions are all over the place from the latest emails I inhaled before I arrived, I decide I’m doing an okay job because inwardly, I’m freaking out. I’m set to board a red-eye halfway across the country in a few hours and feel relieved they haven’t grilled me so much on the where but mainly on the why. Thankful I pay my own AmEx bill, I look over to my father as he pops a beer and reaffirms my decision that he’ll never know. Even if I have been granted the first and only interview with Easton Crowne—which would no doubt boost circulation—I’ll never use a word of it. That’s the only way I’ll ever live with myself for doing something so deceptive.

With a raw heart and hellfire gnawing my conscience, I drain my beer and look between my parents, only to catch more of their conspiratorial expressions. Though they’re still in silent communication mode, there’s a pride in their eyes as they both turn to look back at me.

“What?” I roll my eyes. “It’s freaky when you do that, you know.”

“What?” Dad asks, his grin growing.

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