by Carrie Quest
It’s a good try, but it’s not going to work. I walk over to the window and gaze out at the Iceberg Palace.
“Take a couple weeks,” he finally says. “I’ll push the meetings I set up for you.”
If the last twenty-four hours hadn’t happened, this is the point where I’d hang up, trash my phone, and not talk to him for years. If ever. I hadn’t planned on getting drawn into a negotiation, but I don’t have a choice now. Not if I want to protect Belle.
She didn’t want me to owe him anything, but, like I said, she’s a much nicer person than I am. Too nice to understand how low a person like my father can go.
“I’m not coming back,” I say flatly. My heart is racing, but there is no emotion in my voice. I’ve learned from the best, after all. “But I do have some information about Venezuela, and I’m willing to pass it along as a gesture of good faith.”
“Good faith?” He’s amused, like I’m a little kid showing off by reciting my multiplication tables.
“This information can have you broadcasting within the next six months.”
“And you want a cut? A nice little cash injection before you disappear with Miss Belle into your new life?”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
He strikes a match and inhales deeply. “Nothing? Your apartment? Your car? Your brother’s tuition?”
I hate that he uses Jake against me like this. My brother deserves to be so much more than a bargaining chip. My hand starts shaking and I press it against the hotel window, concentrating on the cold seeping in through the glass. Willing myself to calm down. I’ve always given in when he brings up Jake, but not this time.
“Our stuff is out of the apartment, the cars are in the garage with the keys in them, and I’ll be paying for Jake’s school. I already arranged it and he’s eighteen now, there’s nothing you can do.”
“Really?” He huffs out a laugh. “With what money?”
“I have a job,” I remind him. My father has dismissed all my earnings as peanuts because I don’t make billions a year like he does. The guy is so out of touch that he probably thinks a carton of milk costs five hundred bucks. For someone who is obsessed with wealth, he has no concept of money.
But my prize money and sponsorship deals have added up over the years, and all of that has gone into my own bank account in France and been carefully invested. I’m not a billionaire and I won’t be buying any private jets, but I also won’t need to work again if I don’t want to.
“I’ve also got the money from Mom,” I say. It’s getting harder to keep my voice calm now, because if Belle is a weakness my father can exploit, then my mother is a huge open wound, and he’s always ready with the salt. “Uncle Etienne turned over the trust to me on my birthday.”
“The house?” His voice sharpens. “That place would make a great hotel. You talked to anyone yet? Investors? I’ll send you some names.”
“I’m not turning it into a hotel.”
“Just going to sell it? I’ll take it off your hands. Name your price.”
“No.” Short. Abrupt. Direct. Solid.
Not a word my father is used to hearing.
“Your mother would be touched at your loyalty,” he says. Sarcasm drips from his words. If Belle was here, she’d be picturing him as a bulldog with strings of acid drool hanging from his chops. “Pity the bitch didn’t deserve it.”
I breathe in deep, once, twice, three times. Insulting my mom is one of his favorite ways to throw me off center and manipulate me. All he’s ever told me about her is that she left us and never came back, and then she died. I’m hoping my uncle will tell me more when I make it to the island.
“She gave up her lawsuit pretty damn quick, I can tell you,” he continues.
My hand curls into a fist and I bite my lip, forcing myself to keep quiet. Any lawsuit my mother may have filed is news to me, but demanding information will give my father all the power in this conversation. So I keep quiet, using his own technique against him, letting the silence stretch out again.
“Nothing to say?” He chuckles, but there’s no mirth in it. Only cruelty. “You’re just like her, you know. Ungrateful. I gave her everything and she still left. Wanted to take you and your brother away from me, can you imagine? My sons. I had her thrown out of all the family properties, and she was arrested nine times for trespassing, trying to get you back. Persistent, I’ll give her that.”
“You never told me.” The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I wince. Weakness.
“Then she filed her little lawsuit, but her lawyers were no match for mine, plus I had a couple of the judges in my pocket. Kept all the records sealed, spun it out for years, and blocked her visitation. Then she got sick and left you anyway. What a waste.”
My mind races. He’s never been this open about what happened with my mother, and I’m dying to ask more, but I know how easy it is to get tangled up in his words. He’s an expert at leading you down a rabbit hole of arguments until you’re so lost that you agree to anything, just to escape.
Still, this might be my last chance. I lick my lips and clear my throat.
“You always said she didn’t want us,” I say. “But it sounds like she sure as hell did.”
“Not enough, obviously.”
“She got cancer,” I remind him. “That wasn’t a choice.”
“If she wanted you badly enough, she would have got better.”
I clamp my mouth shut, because yup, there’s the rabbit hole, and I’m not diving in. Not today. Everything he’s saying makes a twisted kind of sense if you understand his worldview. Weakness will not be tolerated, and only weak people would be foolish enough to get sick. Only stupid people would be crazy enough not to bribe judges if they had the chance. He’s open about this shit because he believes all of us think the same way, that everyone else is also faking human decency but he’s man enough to speak the truth.
I sit down hard on the bed, wishing I could hang up and finish this conversation later. I’d always suspected he was lying about my mom of course. I’d fucking hoped he was making it all up, but the little boy inside who’d been left behind hadn’t really believed it, and it’s going to take some time to get my head around the truth.
Or as much of the truth as I’ll ever know, anyway.
But I can’t hang up now, because he still has those pictures, and at the moment he’s pissed enough to use them.
“Remember that brunette you sent in Aspen? After the X Games?”
The total change in direction throws him, and he takes a few puffs of his cigar, running the angles to see if he can figure out where I’m going with this.
“Not really,” he finally says. “They all run together after a while.”
“She was Italian,” I say. “And she brought a couple friends.”
“Lucky you.”
I roll my eyes. He must know damn well I don’t fuck any of his “gifts.” I’m sure he demands a report afterward.
“One of them was Alejandra Lopez.”
“Ah. Interesting.”
“It was.” We’d ended up in the VIP section of some club, and while the brunette and the other girl made out on the bench next to us for the benefit of the photographers, Alejandra and I talked a little. Her dad happens to be one of the richest businessmen in Venezuela, and corrupt as fuck, so we had plenty in common. Chances are he actually sent her there to spy on me.
“We’ve kept in touch, and I can set up a meeting for you with her father.”
Silence. I stand up again, unable to keep still. If this carrot isn’t big enough, then I’m screwed. My father has been trying to break into the Venezuelan media market for years, but they’ve shut him out repeatedly. The government controls everything, and my father needs a connection like Lopez. Which is why I’ve been sitting on this news for months, waiting until I needed something to bargain.
“Why don’t you take the initial meeting, and if anything comes of it you let me know.”
&nb
sp; “That’s not going to happen. I’ll give you a phone number and let him know you’ll be calling. But remember, his daughter and I are tight, and he lives to make her happy, so if you fuck around with me, then your deal might just disappear.”
“Ah, yes. The ‘good faith’ gesture. And what do you want in return, if it isn’t money?” The derision in his tone is clear. What could be more important than money?
“The pictures,” I say. No need to elaborate. He’ll know which pictures I mean.
I must have caught him on an inhale, because his laugh turns into a cough. Good. I hope the smoke is burning his damn lungs. I hope he chokes on it.
“I don’t know,” he says. “The lovely Belle has broken her end of our agreement if the two of you have been spending time together again.”
“The phone number for the pictures,” I say. “That’s the deal, and it expires in one minute. After that I’m gone.”
“Fine,” he says cheerfully. “Set up the call. I’ll delete the pictures, and I’ll talk to you soon.”
“You won’t, actually.”
He laughs. “Give me a break, kid. You’re really going to give up all this—the money, the women, the power—for a gimpy ex-figure skater you’ve already fucked and a run-down house on some third-rate French island? You’ll be back. Believe me. You’ll be here begging by Christmas.”
Of course he doesn’t think I can stay away, because he can’t imagine that anyone would give up his lifestyle. And of course I don’t trust him, because he’s a liar and he won’t delete those pictures. But if he thinks I can sour his deal, he will keep them quiet, at least for as long as it potentially benefits him, and that’s the best I can do.
I pull up the email I wrote to Alejandra this morning and send it, then text her dad’s private number to my father.
“Done,” I tell him. And then I hang up the phone, cutting off whatever he was going to say. I no longer care.
I am no longer his son.
I glance over at the mini-fridge, which I know is stocked with beer. It’s fucking tempting to crack one open—hell, maybe crack five or six open—and stare out the window for an hour or so. Try to process some of this shit. If Belle wasn’t waiting, that is exactly what I would do, but she is waiting, and that’s a damn good thing.
So I stuff my shit in my bag instead and call to confirm our car to the airport, making sure they know where to pick us up. Ten minutes and I’m ready to walk out of this life and into my new one. One more step and my plan is finished, and this is the easy part.
All I have to do it show up and get my picture taken. I’ve been training for this my whole life.
9
Belle
Zoe does not respond at all well to me ripping up the contract. Or trying to rip it up, anyway. That sucker is thick and my first attempt at tearing it in half ends with me grunting, eyes bulging out with effort, as my knuckles turn white.
I’m pretty sure I strained a bicep.
Eventually I take the first page off and shred it into little pieces in front of her. Not as dramatic as ripping up the whole thing, but she gets the idea.
“Don’t be a pain in the ass, Isabelle. Now I have to sweet talk the front desk into letting me use the printer again.” She rolls her eyes and shakes a few ragged strips of paper off her toe.
“I’m not signing it,” I tell her. I’ve been repeating myself for the past ten minutes, but she refused to believe me, which is why I decided to rip it up in the first place.
“So you’ve said. What the hell are you going to do for work then? You’re not exactly qualified for much else.”
I draw myself up to my full height, which isn’t as effective as I’d like, since Zoe is four inches taller than me.
“I might go back to school,” I tell her. “I’m not sure yet. But first, I’m going to take a vacation.”
“A vacation?” She raises one eyebrow. “Who the hell are you taking a vacation with if not me?”
Ouch.
“With Gabe,” I say. “We’re going to the Ile de Joie.”
Her lip curls, like she’s caught a whiff of dead skunk. “Gabe Power? When did you talk to him?”
“Last night.”
“Ah.” She strolls over to one of the chairs near the window and takes a seat. “So you saw him last night, after three years, and now you’re going to quit your job and take off to some island with him.”
I nod. “Yes.”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“It’s not up to you, Zoe.”
She continues like I haven’t even spoken. “No, Isabelle. You’re going to get dressed up in the clothes I chose, and then you’re going to get your ass over to the Iceberg Skating Palace, where you will sit with Kimmy and comment on the skating. You will be beamed into millions of households around the world, exactly like we planned. And after that, you’re getting on the plane with me and heading back to Boston.”
“It’s not up to you, Zoe,” I repeat.
“I know the thing with Gabe was difficult for you,” she says. “But it worked out for the best, Isabelle. And believe me, putting your career first is what’s best for you now. Hate me if you want, but I’m taking care of you. The same way I always have.”
“No, Zoe.” I walk over and sit in the chair across from her, pulling it in close so our knees are practically touching.
“I know you think you’re helping, but you’re not. I don’t want to host those damn showcases anymore, it’s too painful. And I hate being on camera—you know that. So why would I ever want to get a job in television?”
“Because it pays well and it’s something you can do,” she says flatly. “You have a GED and no work experience, Isabelle. You’re damn lucky to even have these opportunities. I’ve killed myself opening these doors for you, and you’re not going to throw it all away. I won’t let you.”
Her face is flushed, streaks of red across her cheekbones, and I don’t need to look in the mirror to know I look the same. My eyes wander over her face, noting her freckles and the way her nose tilts up at the end, just a tiny bit. A perfect ski jump nose.
Just like our mother’s.
Just like mine.
I’ve seen Zoe as my manager for so long that it’s easy to nearly forget that she taught me to read, and write, and love boy bands. All we talk about anymore is work. If she was my sister first and my manager second, would we be curled up on the bed together right now talking about Gabe, the mutilated contract forgotten on the floor?
It’s been so long that I’m not sure we can ever go back to being sisters and not colleagues, but it’s time to try.
I take a deep breath. “You’re fired, Zoe.”
She rolls her eyes again. “Whatever, Isabelle. Get dressed.”
“I’m serious. You’re an amazing manager, and you’re right, I don’t appreciate everything you do. You should be working for someone who does. I’m not signing that contract and I’m not going to meet Kimmy tonight. I’m leaving for the island with Gabe.”
Her mouth falls open and she stares at me, searching my face, really looking at me for the first time in years. I wonder if she’s noticing our similarities as well, remembering back to a time when I was just her baby sister.
“You’re serious,” she says.
“I am.”
She jumps out of her chair and starts pacing. “These chances won’t come along again, Isabelle. If you walk out now, I won’t be able to get you back on the ice.”
“I don’t want to be back on the ice, Zoe. I want to be somewhere else.”
“Without me.”
The pain in her voice surprises me a little.
“Without my manager,” I say. “You’ll always be welcome in my life as my sister.”
“Well, that’s fucking great, Isabelle. I’ll be thrilled to visit you and Gabe in your love shack, which is all you’ll have once his father gets through with you. Have you considered the matter of those photos?”
“Gabe’s taking care o
f that,” I say.
Her eyes narrow. “Really? The same Gabe who disappeared on you three years ago? You really think he’s going to defend you from his father? He’s not a white knight on a snowboard, Isabelle. He’s a snake who’s already left you high and dry once. He’ll do it again.”
“He won’t,” I tell her. I wish my voice wasn’t shaking, but she’s hitting some vulnerable spots here. I clear my throat and try again. “That’s not what happened last time either. Gabe didn’t just disappear. He told me about the hospital.”
Her eyes flicker away from mine.
“I was trying to keep you safe, Isabelle. His father would not have been happy to find out Gabe was visiting you.”
“I would have been happy, though,” I whisper.
“Isabelle…”
I hold my hand up. I’m not interested in hearing her excuses right now. “I trust him, Zoe.”
“Really?”
I nod. “Yes.”
My voice is strong and clear. I do trust Gabe, but even if the worst happens and it all falls apart again, I still wouldn’t want to sign that contract or go to the Iceberg Palace tonight. This isn’t about Gabe anyway, not really. It’s about me and what I want for my life.
Zoe curses and starts grabbing her stuff. The remains of the contract get stuffed into her bag, along with her glasses and wallet. I silently hand her a sweater she left on the sofa the other night and she snatches it out of my hand without a word.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she tosses over her shoulder as she stalks to the door. Her tone makes it clear that she thinks I don’t.
“I do.”
Her only reply is to slam the door. The sound echoes through the room, then fades away until I’m alone in the silence. I’m not sure whether I want to dance for joy or throw myself on the bed and weep uncontrollably, but before I can decide, there’s a knock at the door.
I pad over and peer out the peephole. Zoe glares up at me.
