After a second, her mouth moved into something like a smile that was really a grimace. “Yes, I understand what it is to put family first. You are being foolish and ungrateful, though, which I will not understand. You should be thanking me.”
“I just did,” I reminded her of the beginning of our lunch. “I will again, when you help me get Brandon back.”
Another eye twitch as we stared at each other across thousand-dollar china. I was nothing and no one, an orphan from Bum Nowhere, Texas, but I was done letting other people attribute my worth. I was smart and capable and I could carve out a life for Brando and me, even if everyone else stood in our way.
Even if Caroline Constantine forbade it.
“Eat the rest of your lunch and we will discuss it again like adults after you’ve had some sustenance. Clearly, you have low blood sugar,” she said dismissively, turning back to her salad.
And that was it.
When I knew Caroline wasn’t the kind benefactor I’d hoped for, when Elias’s words of warning finally sunk in.
Because it was obvious she wanted to use me just as badly as Tiernan had wanted to and I was going to find out why.
Right fucking now.
I stood, tossed my napkin on the table, and leveled Caroline with my own cold gaze. “I’m going for a walk, I’ll make my way back to Bishop’s Landing myself. If you open the gate to me, I’ll be grateful. I want to stay with you, Caroline, and I’m thankful for your graciousness, but you clearly don’t understand me.” I placed my fingers on the table and leaned over so I looming slightly over her. “I may be young, but I’m not stupid. I don’t know what’s going on between you and the Morellis, but clearly, you’re using me in your war against them and I won’t be a pawn. You want to use me, fine? But first, you get me my brother back.”
I turned on my heel and stalked out of the restaurant with my head back, the speculative gazes of the other diners rolling off me like water off a duck’s back.
9
BIANCA
I called Elena Lombardi, Tiernan’s lawyer, on my way to the subway.
She didn’t seem surprised to hear from me, but I had the impression she was a hard woman to rattle.
“I need help,” I told her honestly as I shifted through Tinsley Constantine’s old Prada purse to find some change. Instead, I found a condom, a tube of lip gloss and a crumpled hundred-dollar bill. “I didn’t know who else to call.”
“Well then, I’m glad you called me, Bianca. That is why I gave you my card.” There was a pleasant smile in her voice along with the trace of an Italian accent. It made my heart pang to hear it because Aida had spoken to us in broken Italian from time to time and I hadn’t heard it since she passed away. “How can I help you?”
I explained my situation leaning against a traffic pole at the mouth of the subway station. She listened without interrupting until I was through, somewhat breathless even though I hadn’t moved an inch.
“You want to know how to get custody of Brandon for yourself,” she repeated thoughtfully. “I’m afraid that’s going to be impossible until you are eighteen and even then, improbable unless you have a full-time job and a permanent residence of your own.”
Frustration burned away my lingering politeness. “Fuck that. How is that fair, Elena? I’ve been taking care of Brando since he was born and now, I can’t even see him because Tiernan won’t let me.”
Silence.
“I don’t truly believe Tiernan would keep you from your brother,” she said slowly, as if she was still processing her thoughts. “You have to understand, Tiernan is a man who has never gotten what he wanted. At every turn, it’s been ripped away from him. Now, it seems he feels very passionately about having you and Brandon in his life. Sometimes, when people feel threatened, they lash out and threaten others. I’m not saying it’s the same, but that feeling you have because someone is trying to take Brandon from you? Is it possible Tiernan could be feeling a little of that, too?”
I hadn’t thought about that, which shamed me a bit. It was easy to look back at our time in Lion Court, even before those weeks Tiernan visited our home in Texas, and see the bond he and Brandon had formed. The memory of the big, bad scarred man making pancakes with flour on his face for a little boy because he’d thought he’d missed his birthday. The Hulk figurine that had appeared on Brando’s bedside after his seizure. Picasso, and the date for surgery set in January that might actually stop my brother’s seizures permanently.