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“Why didn’t you leave? Find your own way?”
“The Kings are a powerful family, Isabella. And Julian wielded his power so effectively that I simply stopped fighting. I wanted him to love me, yet I let him dim me, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the soft version he’d chipped from the ruins of my ambition and self-confidence.”
“Sebastian isn’t his father.” The words come out with more force than I intended. Eleanor is talking about abuse, but no matter Sebastian’s temper, I can’t believe he would ever try to control anyone—control me—in such a way.
“No, he isn't,” Eleanor agrees. “But he has spent many years living in that man’s shadow. He is terrified of failing, Isabella. And when most men, including the King men, are terrified, when they feel they’ve lost their hold on something, they’ll do almost anything to feel in control again.”
I remain quiet.
Is this a warning?
Eleanor puts the shears down. “I see the way my son looks at you when you aren’t aware. It’s the look of a man who has finally found something he didn’t know he needed so desperately, like finding the North Star, so he can navigate his way home. But a star is a dangerous thing to follow if you’ve only ever known the dark. He might try to make you soft because it’s the only way he knows how to keep someone.”
“Your son and I—”
Eleanor holds a hand up. “I don’t know what is going on between you two, and it is not my place to pry. All I’m telling you is that my son is a good man, but his life is complicated. Whatever happens, Isabella, don’t let the King family's weight extinguish your spark. Help my son find the man he truly is, because the world doesn’t need another person like his father.”
Footsteps approach. I turn to see a staff member offering me a friendly smile. “I have the bulbs ready for the fall planting, Mrs. King. They arrived just this morning.”
“Wonderful.” Eleanor gives me a small smile and a knowing look before she follows him out.
I’m still thinking about what Sebastian’s mother said as I get back to work in the library. Sebastian doesn’t look up when I come in. He’s too buried in some files his pet hacker sent him.
My phone buzzes. It’s a social media alert about my ex, Mark.
Mark is sitting on a white linen sofa next to a woman cradling a newborn. The woman is slim and blonde, with a bright white smile and a country-club vibe. The caption reads: Happy anniversary to these two! So glad Mark found his peace.
Anniversary? According to the hashtags, they’ve been together a year and a half, and the baby is three months old. Mark and I were still together a year ago, when this child was conceived. He was still telling me he loved me, even as he complained that I was “too much to handle.”
Mark didn’t need space. He needed someone who wasn’t me. Someone who could give him something I clearly couldn’t.
Eleanor’s words are suddenly in my head.
I wanted him to love me. I let him dim me, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the soft version he’d chipped from the ruins of my ambition and self-confidence.
What would I have become if I’d stayed with Mark? Would I have let him chip me away in order to win his love?
“Isabella?”
“Hm?” I force cheer into my voice, blinking away the wetness from my eyes as I put my phone down.
Sebastian watches me from across the table. “What’s going on? You look like you’re crying.”
“Just yawned.”
He frowns. “You’re a terrible liar.”
I don’t want to tell him. It’s too raw, too painful. And it makes me feel vulnerable.
“Isabella.” Sebastian’s voice softens.
“My ex apparently had a baby with his girlfriend. Or wife. Whatever she is.”
He stares at the image when I hand him my phone, his brow furrowed. “I thought you had just broken up the night we met at the bar.”
“Yep.”
“Ah.” Apparently, he’s done the math, too.
