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Sensing the ebbing wave of her emotion, Seren took a half step back, releasing her from her hold.
“You have to let it go, Dillon. You run and run and run, and keep everyone at arm’s length. I know you’re terrified of who you were when you were nineteen. I know the guilt eats at you. But we can’t change the past. I’m tired of living in it. I’m tired of watching you live in it.” She brushed the back of an impatient hand across her own eyes. “There’s so much of Dad in you. There are so many things I loved about him I get to see in you every day. But you’renothim. So don’t let his decisions shape you. You’re your own worst enemy. Henrik is gone. Dad is dead. It’s time for you to let it go. It’s time for you to figure out how to love yourself.” She reached out, brushing the hair from Dillon’s eyes. “Please.”
Dillon looked away, out over the meadow, down the rolling hills to the sea. The tide had gone out in the bay, leaving a thousand shells sparkling in the rays of sun that had broken through the clouds. Above them, a goldfinch burst into a melodious tune, startling the horses, who raised their heads to hear the song.
“I wouldn’t even know where to start.” She tugged a black berry off a wild privet, flicking the poisoned fruit into the brush.
“I think you do.” Seren smiled. “Not that I’m overly fond of Hollywood.”
Dillon took a long, shaky breath, before looking at her sister. “You better learn to be,” she said, allowing herself to find her own half smile. “In a few years, you and Épée are going to be intimately familiar with Los Angeles.”
“Leave it to you to always have your mind too far in the future,” Seren chastised. “For just one minute, will you think about today?”
Dillon ran her palm over the sweep of ryegrass, thinking about how abruptly she’d left California. How unfair she’d been to Kam.
“What if she doesn’t want to hear from me?”
“Don’t be twp, little sister,” Seren poked her with the nub of her spur as she bent to collect their bridles.
Dillon knew she’d chosen the word deliberately. Another of their dad’s favorites—the Welsh word for daft. She wanted it to be okay to talk about him. To remember him. Without all the hurt.
“I promise you, she’s waiting by the phone.” Seren slung the leather crownpiece into Dillon’s hand. “Any girl would.”
Scene 25
I’d always spent New Year’s Eve with Dani. Either in Los Angeles or Palo Alto, or her family’s summer retreat in Tahoe.
If we were at the lake, we’d talk our way onto a cute guy’s boat, ringing in the New Year watching fireworks from the water. Up north, we’d take a midnight swim in her parent’s infinity pool while Marcus and his friends passed a joint around the hot tub. In LA, it was always the club scene in Beverly Hills with knee-high boots and miniskirts, the only recollection of the night restored by half a dozen wristbands.
Whatever we did, we were guaranteed to be drunk, Dani would be high, and the next morning I’d regrettably be nursing a hangover. Since we’d been old enough to drive, the tradition had continued like clockwork.
This year, however, Dani didn’t ask me to come, and I didn’t offer. We hadn’t spoken since Christmas. I’m sure she thought she was punishing me, but honestly, the silence had been a respite. I just didn’t have the energy to coddle her bruised ego.
I’d been invited to a party at the studio but opted not to go. After the night out with Elliott and Grady, I’d woken feeling like I’d been trampled by a herd of rhinos. No matter how many Advil I chased with Gatorade, or how long I stood in the trickle of water from my 1920s showerhead, there was nothing that was going to revive me enough to drag myself into Universal City toface a second consecutive night with Elliott Fleming.
“Youhaveto go!” Sophie had pitched a fit when I called her and told her about the night atBartholomew’s. “You can’t let him get away with this! You have to show him you’re not afraid of him!”
I’d held the phone away from my ear and shielded my eyes from the cheerful sunlight audaciously filtering through my kitchen window. There was no way in hell I was leaving the creature comforts of my apartment, let alone pulling on a bra or heels any time over the next ninety-six hours. Not until midweek, when I was due back in the studio.
After a futile list of reasons why I shouldn’t turn down an invitation to one of the most exclusive New Year’s Eve parties in the industry, she launched into her next bullet point: I needed to file a sexual harassment complaint against Elliott.
“Report him for what?” I asked, chugging another Gatorade, revolted by my own cottonmouth. “Snubbing my wardrobe? Making lewd comments while egging me on to knock back 92% whisky? Reminding me I’m no one in this industry?”
“Yes!”
“Sophe.” I chucked the empty bottle toward my trash can, where it banked off the wall and skidded into my living room with just enough force to knock over my guitar. My head still hammering, I dragged myself across the checkered tile of my kitchen to right the old Fender, my oversensitive ears reviling against my foiled attempt to shoot for three. “You know we’re talking about Elliott Fleming, right? The guy’s listed as an executive producer on the film, for God’s sake. Which one of us do you think will be sent packing if I show up crying that he didn’t like my outfit?”
“He suggested you sleep with him!”
“Not in so many words.”
“I can’t believe you’re defending him!”
“I’m not!” I wholly regretted relaying to her the details of the evening. I didn’t know how to explain that despite him being a pig, I didn’t feel threatened by him. It wasn’t like he’d gone full Harvey Weinstein on me and requested a blowjob in his trailer. He didn’t strike me as that type. But I should have known that Sophie—who had more guts in her little fingernail than I had in my entire abdominal cavity—would want his head on a spike.
“Then don’t just let him get away with being an asshole!”
I wanted to ask her what industry she’d been working in these last five years? Eighty percent of these people were assholes. The other twenty just did a better job of putting on a cover. And yes, the Gloria Steinem devotee in me knew she was right, and I shouldn’t let him get away with it.
