STILETTO SISTERHOOD - Book Two

Eshe | The Pursuit of Happyness

The ice cream was melting. Eshe could feel it softening inside the container into a soupy mess as the sedan pulled up into the palace's driveway.

Well, at least she'd kept to the code.

A woman waited on the front steps. Sweating in a suit. Her hair drawn back into a tight bun. Her long, severe face guarded as Eshe popped open the car door and slithered out. She'd tried to dress respectably for this occasion.

Her first time in Spain. And inside a palace.

"Hello, Ms. DeGuzman. I am Concepcion De La Fuente, and pleased to receive you on behalf of la Princessa."

Eshe curtsied. And immediately regretted the foolish instinct. Concepcion wasn't a royalty. Did people even curtsy anymore?

"Alonzo will see to you bags," Concepcion went on as if Eshe hadn't just embarrassed herself. "I will bring you to la Princessa."

"Must get exhausting," Eshe commented as she was led inside the muthafreaking palace yo! Her eyes lit up in wonder and awe at the grandeur, the magnificence and old-world charm. It felt ancient and new all at the same time.

"What is exhausting?"

Eshe blinked, drawn back to the moment. It took a second to remember she'd asked a question in the first place. "All this formality. 'La Princessa', when we both know she would prefer to be called just Shayne."

Concepcion kicked up her chin as they wound up a flight of stairs enrobed in carpet and brass rods anchoring it down. "Formalities are tradition, and tradition is important to respect. To maintain."

Eshe pressed her lips together, the lukewarm tub of Double fudge brownie explosion ice cream—Shayne's preferred Death by Chocolate—bounced against her thigh as they walked in equally tepid silence.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and lifting it out, her blood shot with ice. A cold spike from head to toe.

How much longer are you going to play this little game of independence?

Charles

Eshe curled her fingers around her phone. Squeezed. God, she'd almost thrown it at the wall. Smashed it into a thousand pieces. If he was texting her now, it meant only one thing. He knew she'd dropped the neurology internship, and that she'd left home. He'd spoken to her mother. Her father. God, maybe even Lana, too.

She tried not to picture him sitting at her family's dinner table. Smiling and laughing as her parents brought him all up to speed on her latest little misadventure. Maybe he even knew she was in Spain. She'd called her mother on the way over, to put her mind at ease.

Her mom had sighed about Eshe being irresponsible. About coming home and making amends with her dad.

It's not too late. You can still go back to Dr. Cavanaugh and ask for your placement in the program. I'm sure she'd understand if you just apologized.

Well, Eshe didn't want to apologize. She didn't want to beg for something she'd never really wanted in the first place. And ask for forgiveness? Hah! She had a right to be happy. To pursue her passions and dreams—even if no one understood them aside from her Sisterhood. The Sisterhood was all she needed. To hell with everyone else.

A maniacal laugh escaped her in a dark bubble of panic and glee.

"Ms?"

Eshe jolted as Concepcion waved a hand before her face. When had they stopped walking? Eshe smoothed a hand over her belly where nerves winged and kicked like baby in the womb. "Sorry. Zoned out for a second."