Camilla was clearly taken aback but kept her voice even. “No. You’re over eighteen, and you have your own money. Your father made sure of that. But I’m asking you to slow down and do your homework and to finish your schooling while you’re doing it. A master’s degree is a real accomplishment, something you can be proud of no matter what you decide to do down the road. And Paris. You’ve always wanted to go, and it’s the kind of thing that looks good on a résumé. Who knows what the future holds for you? Maybe it is this gallery of yours. Or maybe it isn’t. Just wait a little, that’s all I’m saying.”
Rory wet her lips, once, twice. “I signed the lease last night.”
Camilla’s face went blank. “Oh, Aurora. Tell me you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to go back to school. Or go to Paris. I want to do this, to follow my dream.”
“Your dream.” Camilla shook her head dismissively. “Until a year ago, I never heard you utter the word gallery. And then it was only because Matthew put the idea in your head. He thinks because you have a trust fund, it doesn’t matter if you fail. He doesn’t know a thing about the art world, but he’s filled your head with this silly notion—a gallery for artists no one has ever heard of. You gave it up once. Now you’re running back to it because you don’t know what to do with yourself.”
“That isn’t true. But even if it were, why does it matter? Why can’t I just want what I want? Why does everything I do have to pass some kind of test with you?”
“This isn’t about me, Aurora. It isn’t even about you. It’s about Matthew. You’re trying to prove something to someone who isn’t even here, because you’re miserable and afraid. You don’t know the first thing about running a gallery—or what happens when you step out on a limb and fall. But I do. You’re nowhere near ready to take on something like this, and if you’d slow down for a minute, you’d see that.”
The words rankled more than Rory cared to admit. It had all happened so fast, and with no due diligence to speak of. What if her mother was right? What if she had jumped into the deep end of the pool because of something Hux said once, because she couldn’t bear the thought that she might never see him again?
“You haven’t thought this through, Aurora. Let me contact Steven Mercer and have him make a call or two. It might cost you a little something—rash decisions generally do—but the man knows his way around a contract. I don’t care what you signed. He’ll get you out of it.”
Rory stiffened, infuriated by her mother’s cool assurance. “I don’t want to get out of it.”
Camilla leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table with both hands. “What if you can’t make a go of it? Have you thought about that? Or do you intend to keep throwing money at it until you’ve burned through your trust fund?”
Rory sagged back into her chair. “Your faith in me is overwhelming.”
Camilla’s face softened. “It has nothing to do with my faith in you. I just don’t want to see you disappointed, and I’m afraid you will be. It’s a big thing to open a gallery. And an even bigger thing if you’re not ready. Statistically—”
“Yes, yes. You already said that. I promise if I go belly-up, I’ll move away and change my name. I won’t embarrass you. And who knows, maybe I’ll finally make you proud.”
For a moment, Camilla looked genuinely startled. “You’ve always made me proud, Aurora. Always.”
Rory held her gaze. “Have I?”
“Of course you have.”
“Then be happy for me. After all these hideous months, something good is finally happening. Celebrate with me. Please.”
Camilla nodded coolly, a reluctant gesture of defeat. She reached for the bottle of Veuve and refilled both their glasses, then after a splash of orange juice, held up her mimosa. “To my daughter—the gallery owner.”
“Thank you,” Rory said over the rim of her glass. It was hardly a ringing endorsement, but then she hadn’t expected one. They’d reached a kind of armistice, though, and for now that would do. It’s what their relationship had always been, an endless cycle of arrows and olive branches. “I know it isn’t what you wanted for me. But it’s what I want for me.”
Camilla’s smile faded. “You’ve always been so much braver than me.”
It was a strange admission. Not a confession—her mother didn’t believe in confessions—but an unexpected compliment.