Page 96 of Red Flag, Green Light

“Your hubris is admirable where your sanity is lacking.”

He tuts, so warmly. “For someone insisting that she’s not marrying me in a few months, you’re awful flirty.”

“Flirt; verb: behave in a manner that suggests interest or an attempt to attract, but without serious intentions.” I suck my teeth. “Marriage seems…prettyserious, don’t you think?”

“I adore when you define words. Makes me all the more eager for our wedding day. I can’t wait to hear how you definelove.”

My eyes roll.

Mars stands on his pedals and coasts down a slight decline. “Come along, Merriam Webster, we’ve got a taco truck to catch.”

First of all, the taco truck isn’t going anywhere. I have never once seen it anywhere different whenever I’ve passed it on my shopping days. Second of all…show off.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Marketing tip: open loops for future books while making them relevant to your current story. Do not close them. (Everyone saybye-byeto Amelia!)

Mars

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. What am I doing?” Amelia’s breaths rake through her lungs while she falls apart in Ceres’s arms, practically hyperventilating. “Moving in withBrian?TheBrian? He’ll hate me in days.Hours.”

“No, he won’t,” Ceres soothes.

“He will. He really will. I’m annoying. I’m terrible. The worst. I just… Everything I own fits in my car. That’s it. Right here. This is everything I have. And…my parents. What have I done to my parents? I couldn’t have told them sooner? I couldn’t have given them more warning?”

“Mellie,” Ceres murmurs, “the last thing you needed would have been more time for them to be passive aggressive. As it stood, that was…rough.”

Roughdoesn’t begin to explain the behavior I witnessed this morning. They got mad. Really mad. Irrationally mad, considering all their grown daughter said wasI’ve found a better job than what I’m doing now, but I need to move, and I’ve already been accepted, so I need to start soon…which means…I have to move…today.

Any kind, loving parent might be shocked or concerned at the sudden nature of such a statement, but Amelia’s jumped straight to livid. There was no communication. No concern. No worryabout her. No interest in what her job even was. Just a point-blank accusation and a violent depiction of selfishness.

How could you do this to us?

You’re leaving?

We’re not getting any younger.

You know how much we rely on you.

What are you thinking?

When things fall apart, don’t assume you’ll be able to just come back home.

That’s what you’re giving up, Amelia. A home. You know that, right?

How stupid can you get?

And on and on.

They made sure she knew she wasn’t allowed to take any of her furniture—a modest twin bed and dresser set I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she’s had since she was a kid. While we were emptying her closet, her mother stood by, barking about which dresses she could take and which had been bought withnot her money.

Pure spite saw to it that half her bedroom stayed in that dismal place.

So, yeah. Everything she owns fits in her car, because until this point in time? I don’t think she even owned her own life.

“Why is this so hard?” Amelia’s voice cracks. “I’m twenty-five. It shouldn’t be this hard to move out when you’retwenty-five.”

It is when you’ve been living twenty-five years in an emotionally-manipulative environment.

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