He hissed out a stream of air in frustration. “You were what, twenty-one then? And still bringing that up? Come on.”
“Twenty-two,” she corrected him. “And being literally dragged onto a plane in Milan by your goons is something I’ll never forget.” Or forgive you for, she added silently. “So why are you coming out here? For what purpose? To bully me into coming home, aka doing what you want? That ship sailed long ago.”
“Listen to you. My goodness. Is that really what you think of me?” he asked.
“Yup. Based on your track record.” A burst of anger shot through her veins. “I’ll never forget what you did. You’re lucky I ever spoke to you again after that stunt.”
“Let’s not go off the rails, here. The past is the past,” he said dismissively.
“Really? Past events affect the present.”
“We’re fine in the present.”
“I am,” Tess said. “But how about you? How’s your family, Dad?”
He grunted in response.
“You lost Pierce,” Tess said. “Dane and Charles barely talk to you. You ready to put me on that list too? The past matters. As for the present, don’t you threaten me that you’re going to come out here, because I have my own life. Don’t threaten me, ever.”
“I’m not threatening you!” he yelled.
“Wish I could replay the tape,” she said. “Sure sounded like it to me.”
“Excuse me for missing you,” he spat. “For being concerned for you.”
“Oh, stop it. You’re not. You know I’m fine, or you would’ve heard otherwise. You just don’t like that you don’t know why I’m choosing to stay in Aspen, what I’m doing.” She sighed. “You still want to control my life, even now. Nothing’s changed.”
“That’s not true,” he proclaimed.
“Sorry, Dad, but it sure sounds and feels like it.” She rose and started pacing the studio. Stress wasn’t good for her. She drew long, deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth. “If you simply missed me, you would’ve left me a voice mail saying so. Not called me a bunch of times, been obnoxious about it, then made demands when you reached me.”
“I’d say you sound like your brothers,” Charles II said, “but apparently you haven’t been in contact with them very much either. You’re not talking to any of us.”
“Yes, I am,” she said, but felt a pang. The truth was, she hadn’t been good about returning texts and calls. It wasn’t like her. Why was she shutting them all out this way? It was something she needed to examine more closely. “Dad, I’m fine. I didn’t want to argue with you. Let me get back to painting, okay?”
“You haven’t even asked how I’m doing.”
“You sound fine to me. Same as always.”
He snorted. “Sorry to bother you. Excuse me for caring.” He hung up.
She growled as she set the phone down. Pierce didn’t understand why she still talked to their father, why she stayed loyal and tried to keep communication open. Days like this, she didn’t understand it either.
She went to the low table for her water bottle. As she sipped, she stared out at the scenic view outside the glass wall. Acres of evergreen forest stretched before snow-capped mountaintops in the not-too-far distance . . . The majesty of it never failed to move her. She gazed at it all as she calmed herself. She had been testy, and went straight into combat mode. But her father was capable of things . . . She knew him all too well.
Of course her mind went back to Milan. She’d gone to Italy the summer after graduating NYU, to travel and paint and find herself a little more. She spent a week in Venice, two weeks in Rome, then went on to Milan. There she’d met Paolo, on her second night in the city. She couldn’t help but smile now as she recalled him. Handsome, sweet, sexy as hell, and nine years older than her, they’d hurled themselves into a passionate fling. She was only supposed to stay in Milan for a week. She ended up staying for three.
It would have been longer, perhaps. But her father somehow caught wind of why she’d changed her plans, and didn’t like it. He’d sent his people—security goons—to Milan to bring her home. The memory of those three men, standing in her small flat, watching her pack her things, still made her blood boil. She’d had no say in the matter. She’d barely even been able to wish Paolo a tender but tearful goodbye, but at least she’d been allowed that much. She’d never forget the way he caressed her face and whispered sweet nothings in Italian against her ear as he hugged her that last time.