Page 102 of Shallow

“Do you seriously have to wear those indoors? You look like abee.”

She takes them off and tucks them inside her Fendi purse. “Shiloh, please, I’m begging you. Saveyourself.”

Here wego.

I steeple my fingers and glance down at them. “Don’t you mean save the Westname?”

I expect an overly-dramatic protest. Maybe a speech about the responsibility that comes with bearing a name known around the world. Nope. What I get is a middle-aged spitfire jumping out of her chair like a spider monkey with a firework shoved up herass.

“I don’t give a shit about the West name,” she hisses. She leans over the table, placing our faces inches apart. “You’re my daughter, and I just got you back. I can’t lose you again. Notnow.”

“What do you mean not now?” I ask, her words striking me as odd. “What’shappened?”

“Now’s not thetime.”

“Really?” I laugh, nodding around the tiny, bland room. “Time’s all I’ve got. Tellme.”

The fire fades from her face as she sinks slowly back into her chair. “Your father has filed fordivorce.”

The words hit me hard, and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s for the embarrassment I know she feels, because my father has always been a shit husband who has never been worth more than a paycheck and a lastname.

I reach across the table and grip her hand. “Oh,Mother…”

“It’s fine,” she offers, attempting somewhat of a smile. “I’m really all right. This isn’t exactly a shock, you know. For God’s sake, Alistair lives in Europe ten months out of theyear.”

“I’m so sorry. I wish I could do something tohelp.”

She tightens her grip on my hand. “You can. Don’t be me. I haven’t been the best role model for you, Shiloh. Up until now, I’ve watched you follow in my footsteps and make the same mistakes I’ve made. The booze and pills helped me to pretend it wasn’t my fault, but we both know that’s nottrue.”

“My choices were mine. You can’t blame yourself forthem.”

“No, but I can blame myself for forcing you to raise yourself. For teaching you to value beauty and money over love and honesty.” Her eyes settle on my scar, and I have to look away. I know what she’s thinking and I can’t handle her shouldering blame for an accident Icaused.

“It’s harder for me to change a mindset I’ve lived all my life,” she continues as I stare at my lap. “But, you, darling, there’s still time for you to fight for achange.”

“Not enough for this kind of fight, Mother,” I whisper, picking at a loose thread on my jumpsuit, the move eerilyfamiliar.

“What about for Cary? Do you have enough in you to fight forhim?”

How am I supposed to answer that? Tell her that I have enough fight in me to take on every paparazzi camera from here to Antarctica for him, but love him enough not to? That I love him enough to let him go and find someone who can give him a normallife?

Because I do. I love him enough to do all of that and more. I love him. I think I’ve always loved Cary Kincaid. Even when he was Carrick Kincaid. Even when he was just Lawn Boy. Even when I took everything away from him for no other reason than Icould.

I didn’t say it wasn’t a twisted kind oflove.

But love, nonetheless. The kind that stays with you. The kind that has you sitting in an interrogation room at one o’clock in the afternoon discussing your impending extradition with yourmother.

“Anyone ever tell you ladies it’s not polite to talk about people behind theirbacks?”

The minute I hear the deep, rumbly voice behind me, I can’t breathe. Everything feels like it’s happening around me rather than tome.

“Speak of the devil,” my mother says with a shit-eatinggrin.

Cary moves closer and laughs. “I’ve been calledworse.”

I don’t dare turn around. Concentrating on breathing is hard enough. “How did you get in here?” Iwhisper.

“Will’s got a few friends in the precinct who owe him favors,” he says, his breath fanning over my shoulder. He’s so close I can smell him. Not cologne. He doesn’t need it. He smells of soap and a hard day’swork.