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The number of views on the site was a shocking testament to the
speed of the internet. Already, the pro-Delvecchio contingent had disseminated
the link through every social network on the web. The scandal had made the local
news. With a pinched expression on her face, Courtney Proctor narrated the
“Jeffries issue,” as she called it. Besides the sex video, she managed to bring
up the fact that Sonnet had made a sudden departure from her job at UNESCO and
wound up in a menial role with a “shock reality show” production company,
working closely with a convicted felon. The ace reporter had pulled together
some “man in the street” interviews and aired some of the more incendiary
comments: “This makes us wonder what else Laurence Jeffries is hiding.” “The
video just proves it. If the guy can’t raise his own kid, how’s he going to
represent a whole state?”

Regardless of the inanity of the remark, Sonnet knew the
scandal had taken hold. No wonder her unread email queue was full. She dared to
glance at it, and could tell just from the subject line that the word was out,
far and wide. Senatorial candidate Laurence Jeffries’s illegitimate daughter was
not only a reject and a slacker, hanging out with unsavory characters—she was a
slut. And the damage was already taking its toll, according to the follow-up to
the first broadcast. Laurence Jeffries’s numbers had slipped below his
opponent’s.

“Who did this?” Sonnet whispered, horrified. “Who’s behind
this?”

“The Delvecchio camp, of course,” her mother said. “Deep
breath, okay?”

Sonnet rose from her chair, unable to look at her mother and
Greg. “Excuse me,” she mumbled. Somehow she managed to stagger to the bathroom
before she threw up.

Chapter Twenty-Two

When she could manage to think straight, Sonnet called
her father. “I just saw,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not going to lie,” he said. “It’s very damaging.”

“What can be done?”

“Orlando’s got somebody on it.”

Orlando. She hadn’t spoken to him since they’d parted ways. She
could feel her father’s disappointment coming through the phone. “He’ll fix it,”
she mumbled. That was what he did. He did things right, and he kept his nose
clean. No wonder her father counted on him.

“Sonnet, I warned you about the company you keep,” he said,
“but you didn’t listen.”

The company she kept. He meant Zach. He couldn’t even say the
guy’s name. Though her father didn’t say it, he was ordering her to get back to
being the good daughter he knew, or he couldn’t associate with her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I sound like a broken record,
but it’s all I can think of to say.”

“There’s a glimmer of good news for you,” her father said, and
now his voice sounded a tiny bit less tight.

“Please, I need some good news.”

A pause. Then: “The Hartstone Fellowship is being offered to
you again.”

“What?” She was dazzled. “Seriously? Dad, what did you do?”

“It’s what
you
did. It’s your
achievement to claim,” he said. Now the disapproval was gone, replaced by a note
of pride and hope.

“I thought I’d lost my shot at the fellowship.”

“You’ll get an email explaining everything, probably later
today. There’s an opening for a directorship in Bhutan.”

Bhutan. She nearly reeled with excitement. Bhutan was a tiny,
isolated, mountainous kingdom tucked away in the eastern Himalayas, bordered by
China and India. Peaceable and impoverished, it had recently adopted a
constitution and was ripe for aid. Her work there would help Bhutanese children
gain access to quality education.

“That’s incredible,” she said. “Really?”

“Really. The only contingency is that they need you right
away.”

“How right away is ‘right away’?”

“Does next week work for you?”

* * *

Only a couple of hours earlier, Sonnet had envisioned
quite a different night with Zach. She’d been thinking about wine and kisses,
deep sighs of contentment as he took her in his arms. That was a fantasy; she
should have known better. Now she had to force herself to go and see him. She
knocked once and let herself into his little bungalow on Spring Street. He was
standing at the kitchen bar. He wore the same face as her mom—slightly
nauseated, helpless, frustrated.

“You saw,” she said.

“I feel lousy about this. I don’t know what the hell to
do.”

“It’s too late to do anything. I look like a complete slut, and
my dad’s opponent is broadcasting it all over the state. He’s already slipped
below Delvecchio in the polls.”

“To be honest, I’m more worried about you.” He took a step
toward her.

Just a short time ago, she would have fallen into his arms, at
his feet, wherever. Now she just felt…violated. Betrayed.

“How could you let this happen?”

“I didn’t let anything happen.”

“You were supposed to make sure that…that thing on the camera
was deleted.”

“I thought I had. I took out the SD card. I didn’t think about
the camera having a memory backup. Jesus, I wasn’t thinking of anything that
night, Sonnet. Anything but you.”

“Oh, God.” Her skin crawled, and she wrapped her arms around
her middle. Whether or not Zach was to blame wasn’t the issue. A wedge had been
driven between them—or maybe it had been there all along. Even if he’d made an
honest mistake, the damage was done, and it was clear they were on different
paths. The scandal had blown through her like a storm, and she was no longer
blinded by his kisses and her emotions.

The two of them…she couldn’t imagine how they could make it
work.

“The Hartstone Fellowship is back on the table for me,” she
said. “I’m going to Bhutan next week.”

“What? Next week? Sonnet—”

“It’s for the best. I can’t turn it down again.” She felt
hollow, but determined. She would give up the fellowship to help her mother
through cancer. But to give it up because of a wild night of sex…no. That was
too transitory.

“I have to go,” she told Zach. “I have to go, and you have to
stay, and it’s crazy to pretend there’s anything in our future together.”

His eyes, too blue and too beautiful to look at, turned dark
with anger. “I’m not pretending a damn thing, but whatever. Go. Do what you have
to do. Marry Rivera. Tell him you want him back. Turn yourself into something
respectable so your dad can get elected.”

“It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that.”

“I’m not going to marry Orlando, which you would know if you’d
been listening. I’m not marrying
any
body.”

“Fine with me. Look, I’m not going to stand in your way or try
to talk you out of anything.”

This was what she had asked of him all along, to step aside and
let her forge ahead with her plans. Now he was doing just that. He had dreams
and plans of his own; he couldn’t simply follow her around the globe, carrying
her bags for her or taking pictures. And she couldn’t bring herself to let this
opportunity slip by a second time.

There was a catch, though. She hadn’t expected it to hurt so
much.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sonnet returned to the world she knew best, back to
Manhattan. Everything about it felt familiar—the traffic sounds, the smells of
exhaust and garbage and sizzling street food, the press of crowds, the
bustle…yet it was a life that didn’t seem to fit her anymore. She couldn’t
imagine going back to the way she’d been…before. Before her mom got sick, before
the baby had been born, before she’d returned to Willow Lake.

Before she’d looked into the face of her best friend and
realized she’d fallen in love with him.

She could not deny the power of what had happened there. She
was a different person now.

From the bottom of her heart, she believed she had found
something rare and special with Zach, a deep and abiding passion fueled by a
kind of love she’d never felt before. Yet despite what her heart knew, she
questioned whether or not it would endure. She and Zach both understood the
price of being together. The cost of being with him was the plan she had for her
future. The life she’d always dreamed about beckoned, even though it meant
leaving everything, including Zach, behind. For a while, at least.

She found herself completely alone, packing her bags and
getting things boxed up for storage or charity. She missed the kids at Camp
Kioga and worried about some of them returning to a life full of danger and risk
in the city. She missed Jezebel and working with the rest of the crew. She
missed her family and couldn’t stop thinking about Zach.

Despondent, she went to see her father, hoping for a word of
encouragement and wisdom from him. He invited her to his home for a farewell
dinner, a rare opportunity for Sonnet. His wife and daughters showed her the
same cordial welcome they’d always extended to her, none of them bringing up the
ugliness of the scandal. Now Sonnet realized she would always be the outsider,
no matter how big she dreamed and what she achieved. Her own family wasn’t here
in the opulent, comfortable home. She belonged to Nina, the mother who had
sacrificed everything in order to give Sonnet a good life. Her father had
sacrificed nothing for her sake, and his regard for her was tied to her
performance.

After dinner, Sonnet opened up the box of Godiva chocolates
she’d brought to share.

“So are you excited about Bhutan?” asked Layla.

“Totally. I feel really lucky that the opportunity is still
there for me.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it.”

“Ah, thanks. I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“That’s not what I was talking about. I mean, you’re totally
smart and all, but the luck? That came from Daddy.”

A small chill touched the back of her neck. “Did he tell you
that?”

“Nope. Just overheard him talking about it to Orlando.”

Orlando?

Her expression must have given her away. Layla touched her arm.
“Listen, I know you probably think I’ve always had the perfect life with our
dad. Don’t get me wrong—he’s amazing, but he’s the same guy with me as he is
with you—demanding and difficult. My mom’s a perfectionist. I feel the pressure,
too. It’s not easy.”

“Wow, I… Thanks for saying that.” She felt a tiny bit closer to
her half-sister. “Have some more chocolate,” Sonnet said, handing over the whole
box. She herself had lost her appetite entirely. “I’d love to hear more.”

A short time later, she stood in the doorway of her father’s
study. The room was like the Oval Office in miniature, with a massive desk set
in front of the bay windows, a braided navy area rug, a sitting area with a sofa
and two wing chairs. On a credenza were several laptops, each with a different
window open on the monitor. The space seemed to radiate power and control; in
that way it was perfectly suited to her father.

He was at his desk, writing something by hand on a yellow legal
pad. He was left-handed, like Sonnet. She used to always like the fact that they
were both left-handed.

“I came to say goodbye,” she said.

He smiled and stood up. “You must have a lot of packing to
do.”

“You would know.”

Her tone caused his smile to fade. “Know what?”

“Everything that’s involved in getting me to leave the
country.”

A brief, dry laugh escaped him. “Why do I get the feeling
you’re taking issue with me about something?”

“Because I am. You engineered the fellowship for me—both times.
Just to get rid of me during your campaign.”

“You are eminently qualified for that fellowship. Past winners
went on to worldwide recognition.”

He was a politician, she reminded herself. A good one. He would
admit to nothing. He was trying to flatter her instead of taking responsibility.
He had concocted a plan to send her overseas to avoid having to answer questions
about his past. Then when she turned down the fellowship, he’d tried getting her
engaged to Orlando to up her respectability quotient. When that backfired, he
went back to the fellowship solution. She’d never have been offered it on the
strength of her qualifications alone. She should have known better.

“I really don’t want to argue,” she said. “I only want you to
know, I’ve made other plans for myself. You’re a really wonderful candidate, and
I don’t doubt for a moment you’ll get elected, despite what your opponents say
about the past. I’m not at all worried about your chances.”

“Sonnet—”

“It’s all right. I’ll let you go now. I can see you’re busy.”
She felt strangely liberated. She was no longer his to manipulate. She couldn’t
be swayed by his influence. In his way, he cared for her, but it was so very,
very limited. His love for her was conditional. It depended on her ability to
strive for lofty goals, to wear achievements like the leaves of a laurel
wreath.

Out of habit, she checked her phone for messages. There was a
text from Zach:
Your buddy Orlando leaked the
video. Ask him about it.

Very slowly, she put the phone in her bag. “About that
video…”

His brows came together in a frown. “Like I said, Orlando’s
handling it.”

“You mean, Orlando
handled
it. How
about you ask him how it was leaked in the first place?”

“What are you saying?”

“He leaked it. I don’t know how, but I think I know why.”

“He’d never leak anything so damaging to my campaign.”

“Unless,” she said, thinking about Orlando’s true colors, “he’s
doing a favor for Delvecchio.” Yes, she thought. Orlando was all about attaching
himself to the winner. Now that Delvecchio was the frontrunner, he might easily
shift his loyalty. Because to a guy like Orlando, loyalty was a moving
target.

“That’s preposterous.”

“Then you won’t mind asking him,” she said simply.

“Fine, I’ll do that. But you’re reaching, Sonnet.”

“Ask him.”

“I said I would. The quicker we put this behind us, the quicker
we can move on. You’re still planning to accept the fellowship,” he stated.

She nearly laughed. He simply didn’t get it. “No. Like I said,
I have other plans.”

“Listen, I understand you’ve let something upset you, but don’t
let the children of Bhutan suffer because of it. They need you, Sonnet. You were
chosen for a reason. This could open so many doors for you.”

It was the same spiel she’d heard ever since she’d gone to
American University and he’d taken her under his wing. She had to admit, he was
persuasive. Like any good politician, he knew how to draw someone into his way
of thinking.

The fellowship would be a feather in her cap for sure, and a
way to make her father proud, but she was done living her life for her father.
“I’ve always been a planner and in a way, that’s been my downfall,” she
confessed to him. “I’ve been so busy making plans and sticking to them like glue
that I forgot who I was. I lost my way. I only hope I can find my way home.”

“You are home,” he said. “Your mother is all right. That was
your goal when you went back to Willow Lake to take care of her. Now it’s time
to get on track once again.”

“That’s exactly what I intend to do.” She went to the door.
“Good luck in the election. You’ve always had my vote.”