Page 31 of Wilde About You

"Last I saw, your father was in his study on the phone, and your mother was rethinking the color she chose for the dining room. They already finished painting it, but she's decided she doesn't like the shade of peach she chose so they'll be painting it again." Another eye roll.

"Well, if they're both busy, I'll join you in the kitchen. I need grilled cheese fortification before I face them."

Ingrid smiled weakly. She was a staff member in the household, but she always knew what was going on because my mom often confided in her. "Come, let's go to the kitchen. There's a new chef, but he took the day off for his daughter's birthday, so we have the place to ourselves."

We reached the kitchen without a parent intercept, and as far as I was concerned, I didn't have to see either parent all day. I was so flustered and frazzled by everything that had happened in the past few days, the notion of one of Ingrid's buttery grilled cheeses, a hot bath and then bed for the rest of the evening sounded heavenly. I was so angry at Ace that I couldn't imagine ever speaking to him again. But I'd made him a two-part promise to stop his blackmail tricks. I would speak to Mom and Dad or at least let them rant and rave at me for a while, and I wouldn't see Colin again. The last part of the promise made my stomach knot up with disappointment. Colin had been the only bright spot in the last few days. I'd left a little piece of my heart behind with him. But I didn't want to be the cause of his financial and professional ruin. It was amazing just how much havoc "a tiny slip of a thing" could wreak so quickly.

I pulled a stool up to the kitchen island. Butter sizzled on the frying pan, and a pleasing moment of nostalgia swept through me. On rainy days or days when I'd had a tough time at school, which happened a lot, Ingrid would bring me into the kitchen for a snack and a chat and I always felt better afterward. She'd pulled on her blue checked apron. She smiled as she dropped the bread onto the pan.

"So, tell me, Sadie, what's going on? I know your parents received something in the mail, something that has them both quite upset."

Ingrid turned with the spatula and gave me a pointed look. "I suppose you're in some kind of trouble."

I sighed. "Oh Ingrid, you know how my life is like a terrible never-ending roller-coaster ride?"

"Yes, but I don't think you'd have it any other way." She turned back to the stove and flipped the sandwich. It sizzled again. "Would you like this with a slice of tomato?"

"Nope, too healthy. Just butter and cheese, thanks."

Ingrid placed the sandwich on a plate and sat on a stool next to me. "What's going on, Sadie?"

I took a bite and closed my eyes to bring back the wonderful memories that came with that bite. "You're still the queen of the grilled cheese, Ingrid."

She laughed lightly and pushed some hair off my forehead. "I like what you've done to your hair."

"Do you? Thanks. Mom will hate it. And then I'll like it even more."

Ingrid placed her hand on my arm. "What's happened, Sadie? I can see in your face that it's taking its toll, whatever it is."

"I took a photo. It's a picture that would be quite explosive if I released it. It would earn me great recognition, but it would turn some lives upside down, so I haven't found the courage to post it or sell it."

"So the note⁠—"

"Yes, I have some people trying to get the photo from me, and they are not nice people."

Ingrid touched her mouth lightly. "Oh, Sadie⁠—"

"Yep, so typical. I finally get that one photo that will launch my career, but it comes with a whole bunch of baggage."

Ingrid's gray brows bunched with worry. "You should stay here. It's safe here with all the security cameras and gates."

"I'll stick around if it's all right with Mom and Dad."

Ingrid sighed. "Of course it will be all right. I know you've always felt like the odd man out⁠—"

I covered my mouth to avoid spitting out food from laughter. "Understatement. And it's more like the odd-daughter out."

"Still, in their own awkward way, they love you and worry about you."

"Mom worries about me in between picking paint colors, and Dad only worries that I'll embarrass the family."

"No, I know better than that. Why, just the other day I found your mom poring over your baby album photos. She went on and on about how you'd been beautiful since the day you were born."

"I guess it's good that I'm at least pretty enough for the family, but in every other way they consider me a failure. This photo would show Dad that I'm a good photographer. He's always thought it was just a silly hobby."

"Wrong again. He looks at your website, occasionally, to see what you've posted. He cares more than he lets on."

"Was that Sadie I heard at the door?" Dad's baritone voice rolled down the hallway. He reached the kitchen. "You're here. Meet me in the study right now." He spun away and marched off in his expensive leather shoes.