Page 34 of Innocent Princess

"Why?" My voice is barely above a whisper. Ryker adjusts himself before one of his warm hands lands on my leg, above my knee, and squeezes.

Fred sets down his glass behind him and crosses his arms. "We were both still in high school when we found out we were pregnant. Anna, just seventeen. Me, eighteen and getting ready to graduate. We'd been dating for a while, and well, we got careless. When we found out, we knew we wanted to stay together, and we wanted to raise the baby, but our parents had different ideas. They were not happy."

"My parents told me they were not ready to be grandparents, and we were not ready to be parents," Anna adds.

"I had a scholarship and was heading to college. Anna still had a year left of high school so, she and the baby—you—wouldn't have been able to come with me. With Anna's parents refusing to help, I couldn't stand to leave. My parents were upset, but when they found out I was considering transferring to a local college, they were livid. A youth pastor at Anna's church helped us think through all our options. Eventually, adoption seemed like our only option." Fred looks forlornly at the floor.

"It broke my heart, giving you up, Zella, but we wanted what was best for you. Two teenage parents, without any support, struggling through high school and college, would have been so hard. That's not the life we wanted for you." Anna sniffs.

I nod in understanding. I can't fault them for putting the needs of their child above their wants.

"I do understand. I do appreciate that; I didn't have a bad childhood."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ryker make a face. I fight back a glare and ignore him.

Hesitantly, Fred asks, "But you didn't have a great one?"

"No, it's not that. My mother loved and cared for me greatly. Life was never hard, but she was very protective." I fidget in my seat.

"She pretty much kept Blondie here under lock and key. No friends, no public school, no normal every day experiences that most teens get to have. She's being polite right now." This time I do glare at Ryker. He only chuckles.

"I wish I would have known about you. I would have liked to of known the truth." I want to be completely honest with them. I'm over secrets and lies.

"We had a semi-closed adoption. While we never met your mother, we were given her name. The agreement was that we were not allowed to reach out unless she chose to contact us. She sent us photos for a couple years, but when you were five, we stopped hearing from her."

I chew the inside of my cheek, thinking about everything I've just learned.

After a few moments, Anna pushes her chair out and stands. "Would you like to see my workshop, Zella?"

"Absolutely." I smile as I stand.

"Why don't you help me prepare the steak for dinner, Ryker?" Fred says, granting Anna and me some time alone. Though Fred might be a stranger, he is technically my father, and I'm about to willingly leave him alone with the guy I'd like to call my boyfriend.

Ryker clears his throat, clearly having the same realization I just had. "Yes, sir." He nods and swallows.

I bite back a smile and follow Anna through the house to the back, where there is a large room, partly covered in windows. The studio, which resembles a sunroom, is filled with everything an artist would need. There are a few easels and a full wall of shelving with art supplies. A table near the middle of the room is clearly an organized mess, with papers and several sketch pads lying about.

"I do my painting and planning in here." She points to a door on the side of the room. "That leads out to my pottery wheel and kiln."

I wander around the room, running my fingers along the plains of the table and supplies. "This is an amazing workspace. I love it."

She smiles, looking around. "This was an add-on we had done a couple years after we moved here. What is your specialty?" she asks from the doorway.

"I love to draw. Pottery is fun, but I'm not amazing at it." I giggle and remember the vase I made in my ceramics class last semester.

While taking in everything about the room, I notice a painting on one of the windowless walls. It's a willowy sunflower, and I gasp when I realize why it looks so familiar.

"What?" Anna's alarmed voice sounds from behind me now.

I point to the painting. "Where did you get that?"

"I drew that. It's one of my favorites." She doesn't say anything else.

My eyes dart around the room. "I've seen this before," I tell her. I don't mention that I drew a similar version.

Hope shines through her eyes. "We broke the rules a little when it came to contacting you. Once we had your address, we sent you a birthday card every year. I like making my cards. For a while, all my cards had this flower on it. We never knew if you got them, but since they never came back to us in the mail, we at least assumed that they were delivered."

The pain of knowing they tried to reach out makes my heart hurt. I don't tell her the whole truth: I found a card once—just the front of the card with the flower design—and it has always stuck with me. I no longer want to dwell on secrets.

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