Page 97 of Wallflower
His brow furrows. “I take it by the look on your face that it isn’t good?”
“What?” I try to smile. “No, it’s good. It’s great. It’s… It’s wonderful.” I can’t keep up the act, weak as it is, and I slump with a sigh. “It’s complicated.”
The lines on his forehead get deeper. “Violet. What’s going on?”
“Chord showed me the studio in San Francisco yesterday.”
Dad brightens. “He did? That’s fantastic. I’ve been sitting on that secret for weeks, and I hate keeping things from you.” He taps a fist on the tabletop. “Tell me: do you love it? Chord worked hard to pull it together so quickly. Approved everydesign choice to make sure it was what he envisioned for you. He’s a perfectionist, and I was impressed.”
“He is, and it is perfect. I love it.” I tear up at the memory of my new studio, a decade of my dreams pinned to the walls, each and every inch of those pinboards painstakingly transferred and installed by my dad. “Thank you for all the work you did.”
I slide my flat hand across the table, and he sets his on mine. I add my other, and he does the same until they’re stacked together.
Dad’s fingers curl in around mine. “What’s wrong, Violet?”
I sniff and huff out a humorless laugh. “I got a job offer yesterday.”
“You did?”
“Yes. With a very famous and well-respected designer. Leonardo Bellucci.”
Dad scratches his forehead before covering my hands again. “So… you don’t want the studio after all?”
I shake my head with an uncertain shrug. “The job is in Milan. If I take it, I’ll be gone for three years.”
Dad leans back in his chair, hands sliding from mine as he puffs out his cheeks, then releases a stunned breath. “Milan? As in Italy?”
“Yes.”
He rubs one finger under his nose, and his voice is uncertain. “Right. Okay. Well… I’m happy for you. This sounds like the chance of a lifetime, and you’ve earned this. You deserve it.” He grimaces and leans forward again, stacking his hands on mine. “I’m proud of you, Blossom. Incredibly proud.”
A single tear rolls down my cheek. “I’m not going to take it.”
Dad frowns. “Because you don’t want to?”
“Because I have a life here,” I reply. “Chord gave me this amazing new studio, and if I stay in San Francisco, I can negotiate a part-time contract with the Fury. I’ll move back toSan Francisco with you, focus on design one or two days a week, and stay with the team so we can keep our health insurance. Hardly anything has to change.”
“Violet.” He yanks his hands back with a shake of his head. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Chord is one thing,” he says. “I’ve kept a close eye on him these last few weeks, and he loves you. I’m sure of it. If he hasn’t told you yet, he will soon. And if you want to stay because you love him too, I’ll support you one hundred percent. But I won’t let you walk away from this opportunity for me. It’s not going to happen.”
“Dad. Please. Just listen to me.”
“No.” His voice is firmer than I’ve ever heard it. “You listen to me. I’m not moving back to San Francisco.”
I swallow with difficulty. “You’re not?”
“No. I like it here, so I’ve decided to find myself a real job. A new place to live. Make a fresh start in Aster Springs.”
I don’t believe him. “You’re just saying that.”
“So what if I am?” he asks. “Dammit,I’mthe parent. You’re my daughter. It’s my job to worry about you. You’re not supposed to worry about me.”
My chest aches, and there’s a tickle in my throat. I’ve used my dad’s depression to justify my fear of success over the years, but it’s not fair. Nor is it the whole truth.
I stare at my hands and mumble, “I don’t want to be like Mom.”
