Page 159 of Valentino

My phone lights up.

MOM. Video call.

My stomach turns.

Her contact photo is from some gala in Monaco, smiling at a camera with the effortless charm she saved for strangers and never quite seemed to have for me.

I could decline.

I've earned the right to decline somewhere between the drugging, the kidnapping, and watching a man trade his life for mine like it made perfect sense.

Instead, I take a breath, sit up against the headboard, and answer.

"Amanda, darling." Her smile is already in place, polished and weightless, the smile she gives donors and waiters and, apparently, her only child. "There you are. You look... rested."

I'm wearing Valentino's shirt and nothing else, and my hair looks like I lost a fight with a wind tunnel.

Rested.

Sure.

"Hi, Mom."

"Listen, I'll be quick. I know you're busy with your little campaign." She waves one manicured hand, and behind her I can see the curated beige of whatever hotel suite she's haunting this week. "The anniversary party is in two days. Thirty years, can you believe it? Everyone will be there. The Hendersons, the Brices, that lovely senator your father plays golf with. We need you there, darling. People ask about you."

People ask about you.

Not we miss you.

Not where have you been?

Not are you okay?

To be fair, she doesn't know what happened. No one told her. No one knew where to start.

A laugh comes out of me before I can stop it. Short. Ugly. Surprising both of us.

"What's funny?" she asks.

"I'm not coming."

Her smile flickers. "What do you mean, you're not coming?"

"I mean I'm not coming."

My voice stays level, and a burst of pride spreads through me.

"You don't deserve me at your party, Mom. The same way I apparently didn't deserve parents who gave a single fuck about me."

"Amanda White. Watch your mouth."

"No. I won't, actually."

The words come fast now.

"I'm done pretending. You never wanted a kid. You wanted an accessory you could mention at dinner parties. Our daughter's in fashion. She's in Milan. She's wonderful. You sent me a thumbs-up emoji, Mom. The biggest moment of my career, two years of my life, and you sent me an emoji you'd send a dog walker."

She opens her mouth.