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“Uh-uh.” She shook her head, pointing the spatula at me. “I’m not accepting that. I’ll be more specific. What’s going on with you and Fury?”
I closed my eyes and dropped my head into my hands. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Too bad. Because if I have to spend one more morning watching your sorry ass trudge around in that ratty robe, looking all sad and pathetic, I’m going to march right over to Mr. Bigshot’s office and ask him what’s wrong.”
My head shot up so fast that it spun, but I didn’t wait for it to stop before blurting out, “You can’t do that.”
Vanessa’s eyebrows shot up, her expression shifting as she slid the pancakes onto a plate and brought it over to me. As she retrieved butter and maple syrup, she said, “You like him, Sienna. I know you do.”
“I do,” I admitted, reaching for the knife and fork she’d set before me.
Her kindness piled on a fresh layer of guilt; this was how she handled her worry—by taking care of me while trying to figure out the problem and how she could fix it.
She returned to the stove to prepare her own breakfast, giving me a moment to think as I ate. I knew there was no way I could avoid sharing, not when she’d made those funny-shaped pancakes. I’d never been able to resist those, and she knew it.
“It’s not about whether or not I like him,” I finally said.
“He likes you,” she countered. “Don’t even try to tell me he doesn’t. Men like him don’t bring girls flowers and invite them to spend holidays with their family if they don’t like them.”
“I know he does,” I said, setting down my fork and letting my shoulders slump. A heavy sigh escaped my lips. “How we feel doesn’t matter. Not when we don’t… move in the same circles.”
“Move in the same circles?” Vanessa echoed. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Remember that story last year about the Broadway star who fell in love with some British noble, ended up having his kid, and won a Tony? Everyone was calling it a Cinderella story?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yeah, they presented at the Tonys together this year, right?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know about that, but the actress? She’s one of Fury’s cousins.”
Vanessa’s eyes widened as she sat down across from me. “No way!”
“They were both there,” I said. “Tony-winning Broadway star and British nobility.”
“Well, I mean, people like that have family, so a new girlfriend or whatever is bound to be surprised at a holiday dinner, right?”
“I guess,” I agreed. “But that’s not all. He also has a cousin who plays in the Philharmonic, another who’s a famous designer. I heard there’s an archeologist, someone who makes really expensive whiskey, and a professional soccer player.” I shook my head. “And no matter what the rest of them do, they’re rich. These people have money coming out of their ears.”
“That sounds painful,” Vanessa said dryly.
“They don’t flaunt it,” I continued. “I mean, the house we were at was big, but not a palace. Nice cars, but no Ferraris or whatever. No massive diamonds or crazy electronics.”
“Well, did any of them treat you badly?” she asked. “I mean, you don’t seem pissed, which is what the Sienna I know would be if someone looked down their nose at her.”
“No,” I blurted. I might’ve had my issues, but they were mine. I wouldn’t let anyone think Fury or his family had done anything wrong. “They were all great. Nice, and they weren’t faking it.”
Vanessa set down her fork and leaned back, folding her arms as she gave me a hard look. “So you’re saying that the rich, well-known family of your smoking-hot man—who likes you and whom you like—was genuinely nice when you came to Thanksgiving dinner as a last-minute addition… and you’re staying away from him because you ‘don’t move in the same circles’? Do I have that right?”
I was going to regret answering her, but when she got that look on her face, there was no point in trying to avoid it. She’d keep at me until she said her piece.
“Yes,” I said, mimicking her pose. “That’s right.”
“Then you need to stop being an idiot.”
I wished I could say I was surprised by her words, but nope. She had no problem being polite and kind to people, but if she thought someone needed the truth, she’d deliver.
“Look.” She leaned forward, her expression softening. “He’s a good man, and you said he knows about your past and doesn’t care. He wants to be with you. Don’t let your self-worth issues make you give up someone like that.”
I bristled at her ‘self-worth issues’ comment, but deep down, I knew that was the truth. That didn’t mean it annoyed me any less.
