Page 28 of Twisted Control

“Both,” I blurt. “Definitely both. The mirror work was very…reflective.”

Julian gives me a kind but slightly pitying look.

Kill me now.

“Well, it was lovely meeting you⁠—”

“Grace,” I supply quickly.

“Whitmore, yes,” he says. “I know who you are.”

He says it with the faintest yikes flicker across his face. The polite, slightly pained expression people give when they’ve seen your worst moments on the internet.

My stomach drops.

He shouldn’t know who I am. He’s supposed to be a deep, introspective, crystal-collecting hippie who doesn’t watch reality TV. I assumed he was like Drew—blissfully unaware.

Apparently even zen mindfulness authors have time to watch trashy drama.

Julian steps neatly around me and greets Purple Cape Lady with warmth. “Mom, so glad you could make it.”

Mortified, I spin around and nearly collide straight into Drew’s chest. I grab his arm and yank him away, cheeks burning like I’ve stuck my entire face in the essential oil diffuser.

“The mirror work was reflective, huh?” Drew murmurs, clearly savoring every second of my humiliation.

“Shut up,” I hiss, cheeks still on fire. “We’re leaving. Right now.”

“I don’t think so,” Drew says, fighting a grin. He grabs my elbow gently but firmly and steers me toward two empty seats near the back. “This crap might actually do you some good. You could use a little lesson in authenticity.”

I freeze mid-step. “What? Because I don’t admit I like you?”

“You said it,” he says without missing a beat, looking far too smug as he pulls me down into the chair beside him.

Julian’s talk is exactly what I expected—pretentious, slow, and stuffed with words like alignment, authenticity, and higher self until they all blur together into white noise. I try to look attentive, nodding at what I hope are the right moments, but my brain keeps drifting. I spend most of the time wondering whether my new cream cashmere cardigan would look better with the oat-colored trousers I just bought, or if that would be too matchy-matchy.

“…can only pretend for so long,” Julian says, his voice dropping dramatically. “The true self always wants to be known. It craves to be seen.”

I sit up straighter, suddenly alert. That actually landed.

“No matter how tightly we try to control it, eventually… it will come out,” he finishes.

Everyone breaks out in applause and Julian smiles serenely at the room. When the applause dies down he asks if anyone has a question. Before I can talk myself out of it, my hand shoots up. He nods in my direction.

“What if you’re trying so hard to be the person your family wants you to be, but it’s exhausting and it’s not really you at all. How do you choose between being authentic and pleasing your family?”

Julian’s peaceful smile stays perfectly in place, but I catch the subtle shift to mild annoyance in his expression.

“Ah,” he says, “we actually just spent the last hour discussing exactly that.”

Soft laughter ripples through the room.

My face ignites. Oh God. Of course I missed the entire thing while mentally styling outfits. I want the floor to open up, swallow me, and spit me out in another country.

“Actually,” Drew’s deep voice cuts through the chuckles, instantly silencing them. He rises to his full height beside me, broad shoulders squared. “She asked about family pressure. You’ve been talking about societal expectations. Those aren’t the same thing.”

The room goes dead quiet.

“I don’t know if you’re stupid or just full of shit,” Drew says. “My money’s on both.”