Page 156 of Be My Bride

Inhale. Exhale.

I can breathe.

I can move past this moment.

Inhale. Exhale.

My phone lights up and I choke on a breath.

Scar gleefully belts out his warning.

He’s got his reasons for wanting to take over the Pride Lands.

He knows who he is.

Whereas I—

Hell, I’m not doing this. Not today.

I’m twenty freaking four. Past time for me to get over this anxiety.

I slide my palms against my pants. They’re tailored. Italian. Expensive. Good for commanding the attention of a boardroom filled with stodgy businessmen who don’t take me seriously. Crap at resisting moisture. These clothes weren’t made for people who sweat.

The hall outside is dark. The entire floor is dark. My assistant is at home, or out with her friends, or enjoying dinner with her family. The other employees are living their lives.

At least they have one.

I get up with the cell phone.

It’s four steps to the window.

To the expansive city lights that unfurl before me, like the world got turned upside down and now the stars are dangling from the tops of towering buildings. I want the view to suck me in. Want to blur with the stars.

But there’s Scar in my ear.

Telling me to Be Prepared.

I answer the call. “Mom.”

“Kastle.” Her tone bristles with annoyance.

A lump of unsteadiness clogs my throat. Her voice is sharp. It tears at the tattered threads keeping me together.

Which is stupid.

She’s my mother.

I owe her everything.

Yeah, it wasn’t perfect growing up. But I had a roof over my head. Food on the table. Every amenity a kid could want. It was enough. Could have been worse.

I tell myself that over and over.

Could have been worse.

At the tender age of five, I got plucked out of an orphanage in China and dumped into the lap of luxury. Moving, breathing, jumping when my parents gave the cue came with the territory. I was a puppet on strings, but at least they were luxurious strings. Italian. Expensive.

Could have been worse.

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