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I gritted my teeth.
“You are so stubborn,” I grumbled.
She batted her eyelashes at me. “And you aren’t?”
“Fuck. I don’t want to do this.”
Concern washed over her features. “Then don’t.”
“I need to talk to him about it—about my mom.” Which I was dreading. “But…I can’t pretend she didn’t abandon me. But if he tells me…” I blew out a harsh breath, though it didn’t dissipate the tension behind my breastbone. I rubbed, wanting to move it.
“I overheard her and Pop Syad one time,” I said.
“It was the night of Lev’s funeral. I was upset, didn’t want to sleep alone.”
“So you went to your mother,” Aya said in a soft voice. “Of course you did.”
“They were too busy glaring at each other, throwing around hurtful comments to notice me.”
“But you remember every word.”
It wasn’t a question. Aya knew I’d kept that conversation close, taken it out and studied it, obsessing over it.
“Mom said she didn’t want new security, but Pop said I needed it, especially now that Lev was gone—that I was his heir and needed to be treated like it. Mom said I needed time to process Lev’s death, to just be. And Pop Syad said I didn’t get that luxury. Mom said he’d never given it to her either. Pop said that’s why Mom had married Brad, and the situation devolved.”
I gazed down at my clasped hands. “Mom kept accusing Pop Syad of trying to control her, manipulate her, bend her to his will.”
“Did he?”
I snorted. “Till the day he died. I’m pretty sure Pop Syad sought Steve out, hoping his presence would cause Mom to fall in line, but Mom refused to let Pop Syad take me to Paris.”
“I was supposed to go to school there—” Aya said.
“Le Academie de Honore?” I asked.
She nodded, eyes wide. “Right. We talked about that. I wouldn’t have remembered the name until you said it. Wow,” she muttered. “They really did—”
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Why didn’t you end up in Paris, then?”
“I think Pop gave in to leaving me here when Mom promised she wouldn’t interfere with my new security—that was Steve.” I ran my teeth over my bottom lip, almost chewing on it, until Aya touched her fingers there.
Aya lifted her head and met my gaze. “Did Pop Syad keep her away? Did Brad? Did Steve?”
I shut my eyes. If Aya’s suggestions proved true, I was going to feel even worse—if that was possible. I wasn’t sure I could feel worse about my mother. I stroked her hair with my free hand, letting the gesture soothe us both. I liked the puff of warm breath that hit my neck, reminding me I wasn’t alone.
“I don’t know.”
“But it matters to you. And Steve could tell you.”
I resisted the urge to shrug, not wanting her to move again. Her weight was comforting. “Maybe.”
“Just think about it, okay? That’s all I’m asking.”
“Will you give me an incentive to do so?” I asked.
Aya giggled. “No one would believe you’d been sexually inactive for years.”
