Page 64

I shake her hand, her grip warm and steady. “It was. Chaotic,” I manage, even as my mind races. I glance sideways at Damon. His jaw is locked tight, eyes narrowed.

Sarah studies the tension in the room and sighs, turning to her son. “You didn’t tell them I was coming?”

“I didn’t want them to back out before they heard what you had to say,” Sy scowls, crossing his arms.

Sarah, Sy’s mother, rolls her eyes while shrugging off her coat. Sy takes it and hangs it on a hook by the elevator. When he walks back over, she’s not finished admonishing him.

“You know better than to surprise another frat like this. Especially when the Baroness is involved. You can’t just ambush them–even if it's just with your mother.”

“See? She gets it,” Damon says tightly, thrusting his hand out. “Damon Kemp.”

“Of course, Damon.” Sarah’s gaze drops briefly to the heavy signet ring on his finger. “Lots of transitions right now for you, too, I imagine.”

If possible, the tension in the room elevates. I look between all of them, frustration bubbling up.

“It’s under control,” he mutters, withdrawing his hand and shoving it in his pocket.

“Anyone want to tell me what’s going on?” I blurt. “Like, why you’re here, or what this has to do with me?”

Sy’s arms cross over his chest, the bottom edge of his bruin tattoo visible. “My mom is a psychotherapist. She’s worked with trauma victims for years–complex cases, including memory issues, the kind of stuff that goes beyond what I can do. I think she might be better equipped to help you right now.”

“If you agree,” Sarah adds quickly. “I’m not here to pressure you in any way.”

I turn to Damon. He stares at me for a long second, then shrugs, though I can tell he’s not thrilled with the change-up. “It’s up to you.”

I take a breath, weighing everything. The truth is, I’m tired of spinning my wheels. If there’s even a chance this could help me remember, help me understand what’s happening inside my own head, I want to explore it.

“I’m willing to try,” I say.

Sarah smiles, warm but professional. She looks at Sy and Damon. “Gentlemen, I’m going to need the room. This works best when it’s just Arianette and me.”

Sy stands without argument, but Damon hesitates, his hand lingering on my lower back. I reach for him and squeeze his fingers.

“I’ll be okay,” I tell him softly. “Maybe it’ll work?”

He gives one last hard look at Sarah and says, “Don’t fuck with her head. Got it?”

“I won’t,” she says gently. “We’re just going to talk.”

He follows Sy toward the elevator, and a moment later, we’re alone.

I press my back into the sectional across from Sarah, the soft fabric enveloping me like a quiet embrace. The afternoon light pours through the tall windows, casting a gentle glow across the living room and highlighting the warm tones in her auburn hair. She sits with effortless poise, legs crossed, hands resting calmly in her lap. There’s a quiet strength in her presence that immediately puts me at ease.

“I know they can be a lot,” she says with a small, understanding smile.

My eyes dart instinctively toward the elevator doors and back again. I can still feel the weight of Damon’s reluctance lingering in the air.

“Royal men,” she clarifies, her tone light, but knowing.

“Oh. That. Yeah,” I reply with a soft laugh, rubbing my palms over my thighs.

Sarah leans back slightly. “A million years ago, Sy and Nick’s fathers were both Dukes,” she adds, her gaze steady on mine.

I tilt my head, studying her more closely. She’s obviously beautiful–elegant features, kind eyes–but there’s something deeper there. A quiet resilience. A backbone forged in fire.

“You were the Duchess?” I ask, surprise coloring my voice.

“I was, before we made the decision to leave,” she says, a grin breaking across her face. “And somehow, despite my best efforts, I managed to raise two boys who dove right back into it.”