Page 120 of Fall of a Kingdom

“So, make us. Makemeunderstand.”

“I’m going to die, Quinn. I just want to live the rest of my life—however long that is—on my terms. I don’t want my children to see me with tubes coming out of me, stuck in bed for months on end. I don’t want them to see me sick and thin because I can’t keep solid food down. I want them to remember me this way, the way I am now. I want Flynn to remember me this way, too.”

“Is this for you, or for them?” I asked.

Her gaze narrowed and I knew I’d struck a nerve.

“Fine, it’s for me,” she snapped. “For fuck’s sake, don’t I deserve the quality of lifeIwant? It’smyfucking life!”

“Of course you do,” I said, instantly backing down. “Quality over quantity. I get it. But what if you could have both? What if you defy the odds?”

“What if I don’t?”

“If this were Flynn—if he was the one right now in this situation, what would you want for him? Furthermore, how would you feel if he told a bunch of people about his tumor before telling you?”

“I’d be livid,” she said immediately. “Without question. But I had plans to tell him—”

“Plans go awry all the time. You know this. Especially in our world.”

She turned to look out the window again. “I would respect his decision. A man in his position… He can’t ever be seen as weak. Better to die a king than survive as a beaten dog.”

“Barrett—”

“Enough, Quinn,” she commanded, her tone unyielding. “Enough. I’ve made my decision. Please respect it.”

I was silent for a long moment, trying to come to grips with the fact that one day all too soon, Barrett wouldn’t be here anymore. The tumor growing in her brain would leach everything she was. It would take her body, but first it would take her mind.

We’d be left with nothing but a memory of who she was, even before she was truly gone.

Chapter41

FLYNN

Gianna Frisco loomedover me as I leaned back against the plush sofa of the penthouse suite.

“You have to talk to the press,” she said. “You’ve been out of the public eye for years, but you’ve just been firmly thrust back into the limelight because of what happened at The Rex.”

I looked at Gianna. She was a no-nonsense woman with the relentless energy of a Pitbull. She was a New York City native, born and raised in Manhattan. A rare breed. Native Manhattanites had an indomitable will. An inner knowing that they belonged with the best. She’d graduated Magna Cum Laude from Columbia, and before I’d hired her to run PR for The Rex, she’d worked for a multi-billion-dollar tech company.

“Flynn,” she snapped. “Are you listening to me?”

“I’m really trying not to,” I stated.

She sighed like a mother who was at a loss on how to deal with a recalcitrant child, and it made me think of my own.

I grinned.

“Flynn! For the love of God, pay attention!”

“What am I supposed to say to the press, Gianna?” I demanded.

“The point of PR is not honesty. Never honesty. It’s about getting ahead of a story before it spirals out of control. You should’ve called me immediately after it happened.”

I glared at her, but she was used to dealing with people in power positions, so she ignored me and went on.

“Not addressing the press is no longer an option. It’s time to calm things down. We’re going to play on the emotional aspect of what could’ve happened but didn’t because of your top-notch security team. That takes the pressure off you, and makes you appear compassionate and in control. It also means you’re cooperating with the authorities.”

“You have it all figured out,” I mused.