Page 97 of These Summer Storms

“She got a letter, though? From your dad?”

“Yup. And no task. Unlike me. I got a task, but no letter. I have to stay until Wednesday.”

“That’s it?” Gabi extended her plate to Alice. “Two more days and…Alice Storm, billionaire?”

“Yup.”

“And you don’t want to stay.”

“I—” She heard the gentle judgment in the question—barely therebecause Gabi was trying to be a good friend. “I know it sounds ridiculous.”

“Not at all. I mean, seven days on a private island in the closest thing New England has to paradise, and you only get abilliondollars? Whowouldtake that offer?”

Alice laughed. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t know my family.”

“Spoken like someone who has a healthy understanding of late-stage capitalism,” Gabi said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s giving poor little rich girl, my friend.”

“And you, without your guillotine.”

“I’ll have to make do with brutal honesty.”

A beat. “They don’t want me here.”

“On the contrary, I imagine they want you here very much.”

“They want the money. Not me. And he only wanted me here so he could get the last laugh of controlling me.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, before Gabi said, “Yeah, that’s probably true.”

For Alice, there was immense relief in Gabi’s honesty. Tears welled, and Alice blinked them back, refusing to cry.

Gabi reached for her, and Alice shook her head. “Don’t. I can’t.”

A nod. “Okay.”

And it was. And that, somehow, summoned more tears, pushing a fat one down her cheek. She dashed it away. “I’m going to ruin my makeup.”

“It looks so good,” Gabi replied immediately. “I noticed it right away. Assume it was for Jack?”

“Stop—”

“Okay, okay. Back burner again.” A pause. “So hear me out, what if you say, fuck it, anddon’tstay? Come back with me and Roxanne. Hell, hitch a final helicopter ride with a billionaire—you shouldn’t though, helicopters are death traps, did you read that piece in thePost?” She shuddered. “Anyway. You’ve got a job, an apartment with original hardwood that any realtor would callcozy,friends who love you, and that’s before we talk about the art galleries that love Alice Foss. Who needs the extra zero in their bank account?”

It was a lot more than one extra zero, but that wasn’t the point.

Alice shook her head. “I can’t.”

“You don’t need it.”

“I know. But if I leave—no one inherits.”

Eyes widened. “No one?”

“No one.” She paused. “And I think that was his point. Summon me back to the family fold only once he was too dead to apologize for pushing me out in the first place.”

“And them? Have they apologized?”

No, and they wouldn’t. “They haven’t even thought about me for a second, except to make sure I’m present and accounted for.”

---