Page 94 of Broken on the Mountain
I cross the room and pick up the envelope, recognizing Mom's preferred stationery immediately. It's heavy, cream-colored, and embossed with the Whitman crest.
Like we're goddamn royalty.
It must have been delivered yesterday while I was flying back, and when I got back home I was too ruined to even see it.
I tear it open, and read my mom's scribbled note.
Piper,
Considering you can't answer your own calls now, I hope this reaches you in time. The final fitting is today at 2 PM. Do not be late.
We then have a hair and makeup trial at 4 PM.
Gown pickup will be Thursday.
Maxwell will collect you at 6:30 for the gala on Saturday, 7 PM sharp.
Do wear the Louboutins. And for God's sake, don't even think about wearing those boots again.
—Mother
I stare at the note, then at the boots by the door.
No 'love.' No 'looking forward to seeing you.' Just commands and criticism, wrapped in expensive paper.
At the fitting last week, I'd stood on that platform in my hiking boots, mud-streaked and defiant, and told Monique to hem the gown for them instead of heels.
I'd felt powerful. Brave. Like maybe I could actually choose myself for once.
Then I came home and agreed to attend the gala anyway.
Coward.
In Stone River, I hiked to waterfalls and jumped off the cliff. I learned to identify wildflowers and competed in a chili cook-off and cared too much that we lost.
I slept under the stars wrapped in Chase's arms, feeling more at home on a thin blanket on the rocks than I've ever felt in this penthouse.
In Stone River, I laughed. I was messy. I wasreal.
In Chicago, I'm perfect.
And I'm dying.
I'm dying.
Chapter Nineteen
Chase
The dart hits the bullseye again, and Knox lets out a groan that echoes through Timber Tavern.
"That's six in a row, Morrison. You're either getting better, or I'm getting worse."
"Both," Travis calls from the bar, where he's demolishing a burger that's roughly the size of his head. "Definitely both."
I retrieve my darts and step back, letting Knox take his turn.
Friday night at Timber is exactly what I need after the week from hell. The low rumble of conversation, the cozy warmth of the fireplace, the kind of easy company that doesn't demand anything from me except showing up.
