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‘From your boss, who works for me and probably thought he had to. A week where I have to explain why my daughter, who I placed in this organisation, is too flighty to take her job seriously.’

Ari let out a short, humourless laugh. ‘I’m a glorified assistant, Mum. Let’s not pretend I’m holding up the foundations of the company.’

Her mother’s jaw tightened, the muscles in her face visible as she fought to contain her frustration. ‘You’re more than that.’

‘Am I?’ Ari muttered, finally looking her mother in the eye. ‘Because I spend most of my time scheduling meetings for men who don’t even look at me, writing reports no one reads, answering emails about things I couldn’t care less about.’

Her mother’s voice grew crisp. ‘It’s a stepping stone.’

Ari let out another breath, shaking her head. ‘A stepping stone to what? I don’t want your job. I would be shit at it, apart from anything else. God, you could have atleastput me on the creative side.’

Her mother met her gaze. ‘Creative is a dead end. Corporate is better.’

‘Creative is a dead end? You run a fashion brand,’ Ari said, mildly appalled.

‘You think you’re above me,’ her mother said. ‘That’s the problem, Ari. But I work hard to make sure you have all this.’

‘I’m not aboveanyone. I just—’ She stopped, pressing a hand to her forehead like it could smooth out the tight knot of frustration pressing against her skull. ‘I just think I should do something else.’

Her mother sighed, not unkindly, but also not with sympathy. ‘Then do. No one’s stopping you from carving your own path. But if you want my help, you’ll get it.Allof it.’

Ari didn’t respond to that. She couldn’t.

She could feel Nancy’s quiet presence in the room, though she didn’t turn to look at her. Nancy had seen this kind of scene too many times to count—the same push and pull, the same dance, Ari running away from what her mother demanded and Sandra Stark trying, in her unrelenting way, to mould her daughter into someone she couldn’t quite be.

Ari wondered if she’d ever find the strength to put a stop to it. But then what? She was useless. Her mother was right. She could leave any time and do her own thing. But she didn’t have her own thing. Unless you counted flirting and drinking.

‘Where is this wedding, anyway?’ her mother demanded, breaking the silence.

‘It’s in Scotland. It’s going to be a long journey,’ Ari answered, her voice flat.

‘You need a whole week for a Scottish wedding? How? It’s in this country.’

Ari smirked. ‘Don’t say that to a Scottish person, Mum. They’ll revolt again.’

Her mother didn’t respond, possibly not understanding that a joke had been made. If she had a sense of humour, Ari didn’t know where she kept it.

‘Whose wedding is worth all this?’ her mum asked.

Ari hesitated. ‘It’s Paris’s wedding,’ she replied, already bracing for the inevitable reaction.

Her mother didn’t immediately speak.

‘My ex-girlfriend,’ Ari added with a sigh.

‘I know that!’ her mother said quickly. ‘You burn through boys and girls at lightning speed, Ari. It took me a second.’

‘I was with Paris for two years,’ Ari reminded her, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice, but it slipped through anyway.

‘Then why on god’s green earth are you going to her wedding to someone else?’ her mother asked, baffled.

Ari didn’t want to answer that just yet. Not with her mother like this. She would answer later. For now, she just wanted her mother out of the room.

So, she lied. ‘I want her to know I’m happy for her.’

‘Who cares if she knows you’re happy for her? She’s an ex,’ her mother said dismissively.

‘That’s not how I think, Mother,’ Ari shot back, irritated.