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Either way, I was going to get Lili back, if she still wanted me.
CHAPTER 20
Lili
The phone call that changed everything came while I was editing next week's show in Mama's garage-turned-studio. Three weeks of rejection calls, three weeks of former sponsors claiming "budget constraints"—when they really meant "toxic association"—three weeks of rebuilding from the ground up with duct tape and determination.
My business manager's voice practically vibrated with excitement through the phone. "Lili, you're not going to believe this. Jackson's Garden Centers wants to restart their sponsorship deal."
I nearly dropped my phone, sending my editing headphones clattering to the concrete floor. Jackson's—the company that had dropped me faster than a hot potato when Victoria's smear campaign hit. The sponsor whose loss had nearly killed my show entirely.
"Are you serious?" I gripped the phone tighter, afraid this might be some cruel dream. "Bill Jackson himself called?"
"Not just called—he wants to meet tomorrow. Says the controversy actually increased your visibility in ways they never expected." My manager's excitement was infectious. "Lili, yourauthenticity numbers are through the roof. People trust you more now, not less."
I stared at the half-edited video on my laptop screen—me in Mama's garden wearing a faded "Austin City Limits" t-shirt, dirt under my nails, talking about the difference between hybrid tomatoes and heirloom varieties.
No fancy lighting, no aristocratic manor backdrop, just honest enthusiasm and the Texas sun making everything look golden and real.
"He said something else," my manager continued. "The London situation made people see you as real, as someone who'd been knocked down by powerful people and gotten back up. Your viewer demographics are incredible—women who feel like they've been underestimated, who want to build something with their own hands."
After I hung up, I sat in that converted garage surrounded by ring lights and camera equipment that I'd bought secondhand, and for the first time since fleeing London, I felt something other than heartbreak.
Pride. Pure, uncomplicated pride in what I'd built from nothing, what I'd defended against everything, what I'd saved by refusing to give up.
My phone buzzed with a text from Cece:
Cece :How's my favorite Texas exile? Please tell me you're not wallowing in self-pity again.
Me :Jackson's wants me back, Cece. Better terms than before.
Cece:Who's Jackson? Wait—that's good news, right? Should I be opening champagne
Me : It's very good news, It means Victoria Grosvenor didn't win after all.
I typed, grinning at my phone.
The drive back to Mama's house took me past Rosie's Diner, where the waitresses still called me "sugar" and didn't give a damn about British scandals, past the H-E-B where I'd worked summers in high school, past all the places that had shaped me before I ever dreamed of marble hallways and crystal chandeliers.
I found Mama in her garden, of course, hands deep in the soil of her prize-winning tomato plants. She looked up when my shadow fell across her work, and the smile that spread across her face could have powered the whole state of Texas.
"That's the face of a woman who just kicked some serious butt," she said, sitting back on her heels. "Tell me everything."
I sank down beside her in the dirt, not caring that my good jeans were about to get ruined. "Jackson's called. They want me back, Mama. Better terms than before."
"And how do you feel about that?"
"Terrified. Exhilarated. Like I might throw up or dance, possibly both." I grabbed a handful of soil, letting it run through my fingers. "And guilty."
"You know what your problem is, baby girl?" Mama said, not looking up from her tomato plants. "You've been carrying around someone else's guilt for many weeks."
"I don't know what you—"
"You're punishing yourself for falling in love with someone whose Mama turned out to be a world-class manipulator." She finally looked at me, soil-stained hands on her hips. "That boy didn't choose his family any more than you chose yours. Are you gonna let his Mama win by staying scared?"
"I'm not scared," I lied.
"Bull." Mama's tone could've cut glass. "You're terrified that if you go back, you'll find out he really was part of it. And you're even more terrified that you'll find out he wasn't."