Page 8 of The Inn Dilemma

I grit my jaw. I can’t speak for Kent, but I know Christian will be happy Nova has finally come home. There may be some lingering anger, especially with everything going on with their dad, but Chris will forgive her.

“Nova,” I say gently.

“What?” she asks.

“Things with Chris may be uncomfortable at first, but your brother has missed you. He’s a lot more forgiving than your dad. And Roxy, his new wife, is great, and so is her nephew, Axel. You practically have a whole new family waiting for you. Including a broody teenage boy.”

She blows out a slow puff of air. “I’m not ready, Holt. Let me live in this private little bubble for a few more days. I promise I’ll talk to him when I’m ready.” Thevulnerability in her words has any further protests dying on my lips.

Nova wants to be more—to do more—than what the previous men in her life expected her to be. I saw it even when we were kids, but now I understand it. Now the purpose of our relationship has been made clear.

Lord, give me wisdom to help her and be the friend she needs.

Chapter Three

Nova, Age 16

Ihave my phone tucked between my ear and shoulder as I thumb through my jewelry choices and answer Mom’s endless questions.

“Are you wearing the dress I laid out for you? Our stylist picked it out specifically for this event. You know how your father is.”

I also know how Mom is.

“Yes, I promise I’m wearing it right now.” I look at my outfit in my full-length mirror. It’s a frilly dress with an asymmetric hem in a charcoal black. Mom has also set out strappy sandals to match. As I do a little twirl, I say, “It’s actually really cute.”

“Actually cute?” she asks with a scoffing laugh.

Even though Mom does have great style, it’s more for a forty-something-year-old woman, not a sixteen-year-old girl. I can’t count the times one of my dad’s business associates thought I was much older because of the clothes Mom’s stylist picked out for me. Christian just needs to wear a classic suit and seamlessly fit in with all age groups.

“It’s something I’d pick out for myself.”

I let my eyes wander around my elegant room. Some girls may think white walls are boring, but white is a classic color. Little pops of Tiffany blue picture frames hold photographs of the queen of elegance, Audrey Hepburn. The frames tie in with the throw pillows on my bed.My bedroom is one of the few areas of my life where I can be the real me. When I turned thirteen, Mom surprised me with a full room makeover and gave me full creative control.This room has become my sanctuary from the madness of life as a Price.

“And the other dresses? Do you realize how much money I’ve spent on your clothes?”

The irritation in Mom’s voice pulls me back to our phone call. My chest feels too tight. I shouldn’t have said anything, but I was so surprised by the outfit that my words got away from me.

“No, no, no. Truly, I’m so grateful for everything you and Dad have bought me.” My eyes once again scan my room, moving from my desk with my brand-new laptop to the wall of bookshelves full of my favorite childhood books, classic literature, and contemporary romances.

“Well, maybe you should get a job and start buying your own clothes,” she snaps.

The thought excites me. “I could.” But then Dad’s words come back to me: “Your mother doesn’t have to work. She works just to defy me. Women were designed to be at home, take care of the house, and provide whatever their husbands need.”

Mom chuckles. “You know I don’t mean it. Your father would never hear of it.” The disdain in Mom’s voice is palpable.

“I know,” I say sadly.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Just be sure you get to the Denver Performing Arts Center before five.”

“Okay, Mom.”

Without even a goodbye, she hangs up. And I hang my head.

I give myself a hard look in the mirror. My face is already made. I can’t cry and ruin the work I put into my makeup. Besides, by the time I get to the events center, Mom will have completely brushed off our entire conversation. There’s no need for me to wallow either.

Picking up my phone, I send a text to Zack, my flavor of the week, as an act of rebellion.

Me: Meet me at Big Blue in thirty minutes.

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