Page 145 of Cherry Beats

“Tess, please tell me you didn’t bring him here without letting me put my face on first.”

“He’s not here.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t hide her disappointment. Irritated, she wafted a rougher hand this time to practically demand I get my arse inside.

“I’m not coming in. Not today,” I said quietly.

Her face fell, the forced smile slipping like greasy oil from a smooth surface. “What’s wrong?” she asked, looking me up and down, taking me in.

I looked smarter that day somehow, even though my hair was scraped back, and I wasn’t particularly wearing anything new. The blazer possibly scared her. She’d never seen me in anything so formal before.

“I’m here to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?”

“I’m going away for a while.”

“With him?”

“No, Mum.”

“Why not?” She frowned.

“Because I need to do something on my own first.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“From Hollings Hill? I don’t quite know yet. From you guys and this family …” I blew out a breath. “A while.”

Her eyes narrowed, her body language shifting instantly. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be the distant daughter you pick up as and when it suits. I can’t be in the background all my life.”

“In the background?”

“I need to learn how to be okay with being in the spotlight—without feeling guilty about it.”

“What on earth are you talking—”

“Don’t do that,” I warned her. “Don’t pretend I’ve ever mattered. The only time I’ve really mattered to you in the last ten years has been because you knew I was with Presley.”

“That’s not true,” she said, her lie betraying her voice.

I smiled at her softly. This was the right thing to do, even if just for a few months, years, however long. I needed distance, and to enjoy that distance without guilt. To offload some thoughts and tell them the truth. I needed to realise it was okay to be at the forefront of the show, not just an extra locked up in her room, standing invisible behind a bar, or being the child nobody even knew was there.

It was okay to be centre stage.

To be adored by someone like Presley.

To be adored by myself.

“It’s true, Mum. We both know it, and it’s okay. Part of me understands, too. I know I’ve always let you push me aside, never demanded anything, and then slipped away to create my own life while Freddie just takes and takes and takes and takes off you. I can see why you don’t feel close to me. I’m as much to blame as you are.”

She scoffed and raised her chin. “So, what? You think you’re better than us now? The lower class not good enough for Princess Tessa anymore?”

“Not at all,’ I answered softly. “I don’t think I’m better, but I am different. And maybe I want more than this life you live. Is that such a bad thing? Shouldn’t a mother want her daughter to do more and be more than she ever was?”

“I—”

---