Page 63 of The Next Mrs. Parrish

It was now Amber’s moment.

“Excuse me,” she said to the tall man in front of her who’d been blocking her from Daisy Ann’s view.

“Well, howdy, Daisy Ann.”

Daisy Ann’s eyes narrowed. She handed the mic to a woman next to her and strode toward Amber.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered through clenched teeth. Her eyes moved to Amber’s neck. “Where the hell did you get that?” She pointed at Amber’s necklace. Amber looked around and was gratified to see that all eyes were on both of them.

Amber raised her voice so that everyone could hear. “Now, is that any way to treat your new partner?”

“What are you talking about?”

Amber smiled. “I am Delancey-Flynn. Hugo Bennett? Just a front. And, sorry, but the royals aren’t lining up to wear your designs.”

“What…I don’t understand…how—”

Amber pulled out copies of her stock certificates. “You’ve been had, my dear. Oh, and just so you know. I not only own the twenty-five percent you sold to my LLC, but I bought Wade Ashford’s shares as well. You see, your old partner is as crooked as a barrel of fishhooks.” She laughed. “Did I get that expression right?”

Daisy Ann looked around the room frantically, her mouth open, eyes wide.

“If you’re looking for Wade, he slipped out right when I got here. But here’s a copy of my other certificates. I’m now the majority owner of White Orchid Designs. Would you like to introduce me to my clients?”

– 39 –

DAPHNE

Our session with Hannah is almost over and I can see she’s just as fooled by Jackson as I originally thought. Now that he’s made it clear that the accusations I made in our first session were completely false, she is free to believe he’s the wonderful father and husband he pretends to be. I, on the other hand, have been painted as a woman battling mental illness, hearing voices, and making up wild stories. At first, I refused to come here, but then Jackson alerted DCF about my failed escape and they mandated it. Hannah has notes from my therapist, Dr. Marshall, as well as a copy of the letter sent to DCF on my behalf, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference. She points out that mental health can change, and the only true barometer is how I’m doing now. And since Jackson has made it appear that I’m having paranoid delusions again, which were the reason behind my runaway attempt, my behavior is considered unstable. It’s maddening.

“I’m so glad that you both agreed to come back,” Hannah says, smiling at Jackson then turning to me with a sympathetic look. “And I’m so sorry for what you’re going through, Daphne. But I promise, the medication is going to help.” She can’t prescribe anything as she’s not an MD, but she’s in practice with a psychiatrist who’s already evaluatedme.

She goes on. “I agree that Seroquel is a good start. I know you’ve managed your bipolar with diet and exercise, but clearly, you’re ina crisis right now. Sometimes these depressive episodes can cause psychosis. You’re lucky your husband is so understanding.”

“Myex-husband,” I remind her, my face hot, but then I stop before I say anything else to jeopardize my position. I don’t have bipolar disorder and this woman—I won’t call her a therapist—is a total moron if she can’t see through Jackson’s facade. She has my notes from my referring therapist, but all it took was Jackson telling her that I’d hidden my condition from my therapist to make Hannah believe his lies.

“We’ll make sure to get the prescription today,” Jackson says, patting me on the leg and smiling at Hannah.

Hannah looks at her notes, then back at me. “I know this may seem intrusive, Daphne, but DCF is requiring you to be tested weekly to make sure you’re taking your meds. I’ll be monitoring you, so when you come for your sessions, you’ll need to give me a urine sample.”

“Why would you think that’s intrusive?” I say, glaring at her.

She stands. “Yes, well. I’ll see you both next week.”

I don’t say anything on the way to the car, still seething. Jackson walks around to open my door for me, but I beat him to it. I don’t want his faux chivalry any more than his phony concern. I slide into the car and take a deep breath. He pulls out of the parking lot then gives me a quick glance.

“This could have all been avoided if you hadn’t pulled that crap at the play.”

“So now you’re going to have me take heavy-duty medication that I don’t need. Doesn’t that make you feel like less of a man, having to drug a woman to stay with you?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Darling, I’m only doing what’s best for you. You’re not in any danger, yet you concocted that crazy escape plan. Made my daughters believe I was going to hurt you all. I can only conclude that you are indeed delusional. So, no, I’m not feeling like less of a man. I think it’s admirable that I’m committed to our family despite your mental health issues.”

I laugh bitterly. “You can really talk some shit, Jackson.”

He makes a face. “Really, Daphne. Such vulgar language doesn’t suit you.”

I turn and look out the window, not bothering to answer. I’ve got to do something and soon. We’re both quiet the rest of the ride home and my mind is going in a million different directions as we walk into the house. Edgar greetsus.

“There’s a prescription that needs picking up at the drugstore. Please have someone see to it,” Jackson tells him.

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