New York, New York, 2013
Serena, nineteen years old
“Mommy?” I called gently, entering the hospital room, my backpack heavy on my shoulder and hands busy with the canvas straps of my art portfolio.
“Hey, pumpkin.” Her voice was raspy and groggy, but she smiled and opened her arms for me. I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat. Her pale skin glistered in the sun, making even the smallest veins visible, and her bald head was covered by the hat Dad bought her. She had lost weight and was only a shell of the woman she had once been.
I hated seeing her like that and in that place. The private room was one of the best in the hospital: a comfortable bed with various massage buttons, a flat screen TV, a navy-blue couch, a coffee table, and a sizable bathroom. A huge-ass window allowed the sunshine to enter and made the room glow sometimes, which gave fantastic afternoon light I could use to draw my mom’s face or anything else on my mind. Multiple machines monitored her health for any changes. Without waiting a minute longer, I ran to her, threw my things on the couch, and hugged her as gently as possible. Unfortunately, her condition didn't allow for more.
Mom’s scent washed over me, the smell of hospital and medication, but underneath it was the familiar fragrance of my mom, the best woman in the world.
My eyes closed for a second, and I held the tears at bay. Sometimes it all was unbearable. My head rested on her shoulder while my hand hugged her waist as the other hand supported all my weight against the bed. Her hand gently patted my back, and I knew it was a signal to let go, so I leaned back and plastered a smile on my face. I sat on the bedside chair and grabbed her hand, needing any contact I could get from her.
“How do you feel, Mom?”
She wiggled her brows. “Better than yesterday.” Although she tried to play the happy mask, sadness slipped through it and my heart sank. We never talked about it much. Mom hated being the sick person who everyone came to see. She had been a strong, vibrant woman who traveled all over the globe.
Until cancer happened, destroying the world as I knew it.
“I want to hear all about your day. Tell me!”
Her words brought a smile to my face and snapped me back to reality and the reason for my joy. I stood, grabbed my portfolio along with the letter, and brought it to her. “My art professor is impressed with my work and even told me he can display some of it in his gallery. His favorite is this.”
Taking out the white sheet from my canvas portfolio, I showed her a painting of a lonely girl with a doll in her hand, standing in the middle of a busy street in New York. She wore a white dress torn at the hem. With dirt layered on her feet and tears running down her cheeks, she gripped her doll, which almost touched the road.
Mom looked at it closely, and then something shifted in her face, but it happened so fast it was hard for me to catch it.
“She’s beautiful, honey.” Her fingers traced over the girl’s face. “I’m glad to know your professors at the university aren’t fools who don't recognize talent.” She didn't even try to mask the pride in her voice, and my eyes rolled. Mom was the biggest supporter of my art since day one, and she could be quite a mama bear if someone made a comment about my “talent,” as she called it.
Secretly, I always enjoyed it but preferred to act annoyed.
“I’m excited myself, but more for this.” I handed her the letter and her glasses from the bedside table, and she started to read it. Slowly, another smile appeared on her face. She raised her beautiful green eyes to mine, happiness shining brightly.
“They invited you to work with Zano? The Zano, one of the best contemporary artists?”
“Well, it’s not an invitation. It’s a recommendation letter for me to participate in his workshop this summer.” My cheeks heated up with excitement, as my heart beat rapidly against my ribcage. Being able to learn from such a master was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Mom folded the letter, put it on the bedside table, and wiped tears from her eyes, making me instantly worried. “Mom?”
She shook her head, giving me a shaky smile. “I’m just so proud of you, baby girl.” She grabbed my hand. “Always remember that, okay? You have an amazing talent, and this life is so beautiful. Never forget it!” Relief washed over me, and I leaned down once again into her arms and closed my eyes.
There was no better place in the world to be.
New York, New York
June 2016
Serena
“Dad, please.” I wasn’t above begging, which, with my dad, I almost never did, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He just couldn’t do it to me.
“I warned you, Serena. I told you I was sick and tired of your antics.” His voice was low and angry, as disappointment marred his face.
My screw up was big. If I had just taken a little bit of time to think, instead of acting out, I wouldn't have been in a mess. However, I knew my father would never intentionally try to hurt me. He let me get away with pretty much everything in life. I was his one and only baby, and the knowledge allowed me to do whatever I wanted without fear of it biting me in the ass someday.
Hey, look who was wrong.
“Dad, I’ll do whatever you want me to do to fix this. I’ll talk with Alice and apologize. I—”
He stopped me with his raised hand. “Not this time, Serena.” The steel in his voice didn't sit well with me.
“You can’t take away my chance at the Milan fashion week because of one small mistake!” If that weren’t on the line, I wouldn’t have fought my dad so hard. His usual way of punishing me was the silent treatment, which lasted for a few days, and then he’d take me out to explain the error of my ways while I promised to never do it again. That was why his current harshness made little sense, if any, to me.
I was a Devlin of the Upper East Side. My family went back to the first Irish descendants who decided to build a new home in America. They’d accomplished a lot, first with fabrics, then with ice cream. Our Irish surname of Devlin was an Anglican rendering of the Gaelic surname O’Duibhlin, meaning the ones who come from Dublin, which I found quite ironic, because I’d never been there and my family didn’t speak the language. The traditions didn’t stay with us much. Each generation adjusted to the already big money and tripled it. That was the trick to the success, probably; each generation had only one son to give the empire to, so there was never the complication of dividing it.
Well, at least it used to be, because, right then, I was the only girl ever born in the seven generations of the Devlin family, which meant the whole legacy was left for me unless my dad had another child. But since he was a widower, that was highly unlikely.
I was used to the fact we were the elite, though I didn’t use my wealth much ‘til my mom died. She didn’t like spending so much money while we could do something useful with it, like charities and traveling around the world to fight for someone else's rights.
But all that seemed like another life, and I was no longer the girl who followed her mom everywhere. That part of me died along with her on that disgusting hospital bed.
“Yes, I can, and I will. I won’t waste a fortune on something you consider your personal toy of the week.”
The sharp pain in my heart was hard to ignore. My fashion dream wasn’t a game or toy for me. It had allowed me to survive when my entire world crashed down. “I have almost everything ready, and I—”
He didn't let me finish. “I spoke with Carol. She told me she wanted additional drawings from you, but you never provided them. Is that the truth?”
Crap, it was hard to keep anything from him. All those people respected Dad, and of course, they would tattle on me. “Yes, but I like my designs just fine, and I think—”
A humorless chuckle escaped his mouth. “You think what? That when an editor of an elite magazine tells you that you have potential but need to change the collection you know better than she does? That only your opinion matters?” he yelled, and I winced, because, well, that was exactly what I thought.
“Dad, I believe in what I do, and I want to present a collection in a certain way. Carol doesn’t see my vision.”
He blinked and then stared at me as though he couldn’t believe the shit I was saying. “It’s about the fact you don’t value anyone’s opinion but your own, just because you think you can have anything you want, and that is my fault. I spoiled you too much.”
I had nothing to say to that; it was the truth. There were moments when I didn’t recognize myself or what I’d become, but those moments were rare.
Dad sighed, sat down on his black leather desk chair, and put his right hand over his eyes, while his left hand tapped on the table. I knew that gesture; he was trying to find a way to fix it but didn’t know how.
He finally raised his eyes to me, giving me a calculative stare. He changed from the loving father in front of me into a ruthless businessman measuring his opponent. Uneasiness ran through me as I anticipated my verdict.
“You want fashion week in Milan? Or let me say, you want me to pay for establishing your fashion line?” he asked slowly, narrowing his eyes. Getting credit from a bank with the Devlin name was impossible in New York, so everything depended on my dad’s good mood. No one would go behind his back.
“Yes, Dad, I do. I promise it will be amazing and—”
“Prove to me you really want it,” he interrupted again and waited for my reaction.
My brows furrowed. What kind of proof did he want, anyway? Wasn’t it enough that I attended every fashion show, had my drawings, and knew every designer there was? Not to mention my three-month summer internship in Milan, which taught me how to make different kinds of coffees in five minutes.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Dad,” I replied carefully.
“I want you to draw a different collection. Twenty-five new pieces of clothing and use them, not the ones Carol has already seen. You might not care for her opinion, but I do. After all, those will be my investments.”
The request made me grit my teeth. Carol wasn’t the nicest person and had an old-fashioned take on the modern fashion world. I didn’t agree on lots of things she said and had no desire to change my design to fit her vision, but really, what choice did I have? Dad cared about her opinion, so there would be no convincing him to let me have my freedom. There was also the small fact that the inspiration wasn’t really coming to me and I felt stuck.
Or maybe it’s not really what you want to do, and you know it. When was the last time you actually took the brush into your hands and painted something on canvas? When you felt butterflies flutter in your stomach at the thought of creating some beautiful piece of art?
The longing in my chest was so profound my hands twitched.
“If that’s what you really want, then okay.” My voice was far from enthusiastic, but he just raised his brow.
“Good.” The reply was firm, and some kind of hard to place amusement flashed in his eyes. Exhaling a sigh of relief, I quickly took a few steps toward him and wrapped my arms around his neck from behind the chair. The familiar smell of tobacco and expensive cologne washed over me, calming me. No matter what, my dad was always my safe haven.
“Thank you, Daddy,” I whispered into his neck and heard him take a deep breath. He touched my head and patted it gently. Those moments were like rare treasures. Sometimes I wished to go back in time to when Dad could fix anything. Maybe then my life wouldn't have turned into a mess. But I didn’t want to think about it, because it brought only pain, and I couldn’t live with pain anymore. I preferred to run away from it, with all the power I had.
With one last squeeze, I let go and walked to the door. My hand froze on the knob as his deep, soft, but at the same time, cold voice stopped my exit. “I wasn’t done.”
What else could there possibly be? Spinning around, I faced him again with a lifted brow. “Em… what?”
“Drawings won’t be enough. I want you to go to my friend’s house for the duration of the summer. Help him there a bit. If you can do that and come back with your drawings, you’ll have my full support on the fashion line.”
My body relaxed, and I almost performed a happy dance. Helping his friends wasn’t anything new; sometimes the wives of his friends wanted me to help them with clothes or style, or they liked to be seen with me because I was a darling of the media. But it was a weird request coming from my dad. He didn’t like what I did, and he didn’t like the bad press or the stunts I pulled. Maybe the friend of his was important for the deal.
Shrugging, I agreed. “Sure. Where? Paris? Hawaii? Cuba?”
His mouth twitched and alarm bells started to ring in my head. “No, he lives in the States.”
“But no one stays in New York during the summer. Everyone travels.” It was like pointing out the obvious.
“He isn’t from New York.” Dad had friends from other parts of the States?
“Well, then, where is he from?”
“Texas.”
Whoa! What?
I had never been there, but I suspected whom he was talking about. He and Mom had a college friend named Billy "Hawk” Parker. As far as I remembered, he was a Native American who had to drop out of college because he had some family emergency back on the reservation in the first year of studies, though he got there on a scholarship. He eventually went back to school and finished it three years later, getting his business degree. Mom used to tell me his actions were selfless and the world needed more people like Hawk.
“Is this friend from college? Is he some oil magnate?” That must be it, but I didn’t know what I could help him with. I never studied business in my life, barely passing the general prerequisites. Why my dad would even consider me right for the—
“No. He has a ranch called Rising Star, which is located in Moonlight Rose, a small town in Texas.”
Did my dad just say ranch?
“Dad, why would I go there?” Confusion laced my voice, while my mind struggled to understand his idea.
“To work.”
“As a what? The small city needs a touch of fashion?” It was hard to hide the sarcasm that was evident in my voice.
“As a housekeeper.”
The silence after his words was almost deafening.
I blinked a few times. “I’m sorry, Dad, but could you repeat that?” I thought my ears must have heard something wrong; otherwise, it meant my dad had lost his mind.
“Hawk needs to leave the ranch for the majority of the summer, and they are in need of a housekeeper, since his wife left him.” Judging by his face and tone, Dad wasn’t happy about the state of his friend’s marriage. "He’ll know who you are, but the rest will have no clue. If you can survive there for six weeks as just you, not a Devlin, and create a new line, I’ll believe this dream is important to you.”
“But—” How would it prove anything to him? As though cleaning for someone else would make me a better designer or something?
“Otherwise, you can forget about Milan,” he announced dismissively and snatched papers from his desk.
I knew an ultimatum when I got one. Either I did it or he would cut me off; the message was clear. But how could I manage? I had no idea about cleaning or other stuff housekeepers did. My life was here, not there. And keeping my identity a secret? How did he expect that to happen? But then again, people in some small towns, let alone people on a ranch, probably didn’t watch shows or read magazines about young heiresses. They had more important things to do.
God, wasn’t a ranch the place with cows, pigs, and stuff like that? I didn’t even eat meat. Just the idea of being in a place where they slaughtered animals made me physically sick. If Dad wanted to punish me for every stunt I’d pulled over the last three years, he couldn’t have created a better plan.
But what choice did I have? If I wanted my line, I had to say yes. Then pray I wouldn’t die in the meantime. “I’ll do it.”
Dad’s eyes lit with surprise and then quickly covered in disbelief. A weak smile appeared on his lips. “Very well, then, I’ll call Hawk. You’ll go tomorrow, so pack your bag, but do it wisely. You can’t take tons of luggage. You’re a simple girl who needs a job during the summer.”
Yeah, I let it slide that he made a sarcastic comment about my preference to not travel lightly, because, well, I usually packed clothes for every possible occasion. But I wasn’t stupid. I would pack what I needed and act the role.
With that in mind, I left the office, ran to my room, and closed the door with a loud slam.
What the hell had I gotten myself into?
Shane
Grabbing the chair and plopping on it loudly, I sighed with relief. The day’s work was exhausting. One of the mares had a foal, and then the stall needed to be cleaned, so I spent the whole day doing just that. I loved those moments when I could just sit and do nothing. On the ranch, they were rare. Before, I used to have plenty of free time, but not anymore. The fun-loving boy who cared for nothing but himself was long gone and replaced with someone I didn’t even recognize. Sometimes life changed so suddenly, when you least expected it, and put you on your ass.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up. Hawk smiled and sat next to me on a chair. We usually ended up together at dinner, because most of the work I did was with him. At least for the last year, since I came here unannounced.
I didn’t want to think about that shit, so I moved my focus to something else, like the aching pain in my muscles that would go away with a warm shower. My body tingled in pleasure just imagining it. It was the only kind of relaxation I could indulge in. Since Hawk was here, I had to wait ‘til he left; otherwise, it was impolite. Not that I ever cared for manners, but he wasn’t someone you could mess with or disrespect. “Hey, son.” His gruff voice was exceptionally loud in the silent house.
“Hey,” I mumbled, taking a huge sip from my iced tea. Someone must have forgotten the sugar, because the bitter taste almost triggered my gag reflex, but I held it off. Hawk didn't need to know how just about everything in the place fucked with either my preferences or desires.
He was a good guy, great with people who worked for him, and he understood horses like no one else. He was a horse whisperer—but then, all the members of his family were. Their talent had to do with their Native American ancestors, and Hawk sure carried the resemblance. He kept his long, dark hair in a braid. He was tall and had a muscular body from the ranch work he’d done all his life. His skin tone was a bronze color, and he had the kindest brown eyes I had ever seen. You knew you could trust him and he would never betray you.
Granted, his family preferred to stay on the reservation, living the traditions and old-fashioned way, so I didn’t see them much. But when I did, the magic they could create with the land and animals was amazing. That was probably why Rising Star was such a successful horse-breeding ranch, which not only produced some of the best horses in the region, but it also contributed to several charity fundraisers for children from abused homes who needed healing.
“I’m going to California tomorrow.”
My hand wrapped around the mug tighter, and I noticed his grim expression. He had only one reason to go to LA—Elizabeth, his wife, who’d married him against her family’s wishes twenty-five years ago and who ran away to California after she decided to end their marriage. They had a beautiful daughter, Maggie, who was twenty-one. She studied photography and minored in business administration at the University of Texas at Austin. She was a straight-A student through school and college, and as far as I knew, she got there on a scholarship, though Hawk had more than enough money to get her in on his own. They’d had a truly remarkable marriage and ideal family.
Until me.
I ruined it, and I had to live with that guilt, though Hawk never blamed me. He told me it wasn’t my fault. But how could it not be? If it were not for my curiosity, if I’d listened to my aunt and tried for once to do something for someone else and not be selfish, I would have stayed at home and never tried to find Hawk. But I did, and I had to live with the consequences of my decision. “Okay. I’ll look after things.” Like that was necessary; the ranch functioned well without me. Carter was second-in-command, Hawk’s right-hand man. He would run everything smoothly, so Hawk would be satisfied once he came back.
“I know, but there is one thing we need to talk about. I hired a housekeeper for the summer.”
Relief washed over me at the prospect of a woman who knew what to do around here. He’d refused to hire anyone, because he hoped Beth would come back, but it would be good to have someone do laundry and other stuff. “Sure, I’ll help her out here.”
“She’s young, a college student, twenty-two years old. Needs some help with money, so I took her in. Make sure everyone knows not to mess with her or they will deal with me.” The message was clear; she was not to be touched or harassed. It wasn’t like men on the ranch were rude or crude toward women. At least, I never saw them be. But I hadn't seen any female on the ranch so far, because all the guys were single or their families were somewhere else. They usually went out to the bar to get laid.
“Will do.” Not that I wanted to babysit anyone, but if it ensured I had homemade food, clean clothes, and I didn’t have to tolerate a smelly house, I was more than ready to oblige.
“Good. Carter will pick her up tomorrow. I’ll leave in the morning. In case you need anything, you have my cell. Night, son.” He stood up, hesitated for a second, and then squeezed my shoulder and left.
He accepted me so easily when I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t want to intentionally ruin his life and create problems for him, but that’s what I did in the end anyway. I just wanted to know who I was and where I came from, to know my roots.
I never thought my selfish act would bring pain not to one, but three people.
How long does a person have to pay for his sins before it is enough?