Page 119 of Knot So Fast
My shoulders hunch automatically, that childhood instinct to make myself smaller in the face of parental disappointment.
But then she groans, pinching the bridge of her nose in a gesture I've apparently inherited, and takes several deep breaths that sound like she's trying to center herself before she commits matricide.
"I'm totally here against your father's wishes, obviously," she says, and the admission surprises me enough that I straighten slightly. "He's having a hissy fit and wants to take you out of the will."
I actually smirk at that, the idea of being disinherited somehow less terrifying than I thought it would be. Maybe because I've already been living without their approval for days now and the world hasn't ended. Or maybe because the idea of being free from their expectations—even if it means being free from their money—has its own appeal.
My mother arches an eyebrow at my reaction, waiting for an explanation.
"I mean," I say, trying to organize my thoughts, "it's an honor to have inheritance and all, but do you think I was going to rely on waiting for my parents to die to be rich in life?"
That makes her smirk, the expression transforming her face from disapproving parent to something more familiar.
"You wouldn't be a Vale if you did such foolishness. Though your reaction comes from me more than your father."
I smile at that small acknowledgment of similarity, but it drops as the weight of everything crashes back down. "I'm not living, Mom." The words come out raw, desperate.
"The track is where I belong. Not in Pilates classes, or having tea with a bunch of elite fake Omegas who'd rather spend hours talking about who has the better designer Hermès bag their Alphas bought them, or how many babies they're going to pop out, or which private schools they're going to attend."
I can see her processing my words, that analytical mind that built a business empire alongside my father working through the implications.
"I get why you're protecting me," I continue, needing her to understand. "You don't want the accident to repeat itself. But a fake life trying to protect this body while my heart is dying on the inside... it ain't it."
I sigh, gathering courage before looking directly into her eyes—those mirrors of my own that have seen so much more life than mine.
"Racing again... it was frightening." The admission costs me something, but I push through. "I shook with fear but also adrenaline. But I felt alive. Rejuvenated. Free. If that means risking doing it all over again, to be in that vehicle to experience that high, I'll take the risk."
The silence that follows is heavy, pressing against my skin like humidity before a storm.
My mother's face is unreadable, that perfect mask she's worn to countless board meetings and social events giving nothing away.
I fill the silence with nervous energy, words tumbling out before I can stop them.
"If you wish to take me out of the inheritance, I'll accept that. And I guess if... if you don't want me to rely on you or speak to me again, I can also accept that."
My voice cracks on the next words, the child in me who still desperately wants her parents' approval breaking through.
"Can I at least get a hug before I'm cut off?"
Something in her expression cracks, and I catch the glassy sheen in her eyes before she blinks it away. She sighs—deep and heavy like she's releasing years of carefully held control—and then her arms are around me, pulling me into a hug that smells like Chanel No. 5 and home.
"I'm not disowning you," she says against my hair, and I have to bite my lip to keep from sobbing.
She pulls back, gripping my shoulders with manicured hands that have signed million-dollar deals and held me through childhood nightmares with equal intensity. Her voice drops to a whisper: "If this is what's going to bring you joy again... so be it. We can advise you and protect you, but your happiness is yours to claim. And if that's on the track... so be it."
The relief that floods through me is almost painful, but questions still burn in my throat.
"Why didn't you strive for your dreams if you raced? Why did you stop?"
Her smile is sad, tinged with something I can't quite identify.
"Did you fall out of love with the sport?" I ask, trying to understand how someone could walk away from something that clearly meant everything.
She laughs, but it's not a happy sound. A single tear escapes, tracking down her cheek and probably ruining foundation that costs more than most people's grocery bills.
"Racing was my world... until it couldn't be anymore."
She looks back into my eyes with an intensity that makes me want to look away, but I hold her gaze. Then she takes one of my hands and places it on her stomach, the gesture so unexpected I don't immediately understand.
