“What? Oh. That. Hang on one second.” Picking up my cell phone, I texted Brayden again: Better make that thirty minutes.

“I know someone got her to do it,” Adrian continued. “I mean, Lissa likes me, but she’s got a lot going on. She wouldn’t have just thought one day, ‘Oh, hey. I should call Nathan Ivashkov and tell him how awesome his son is.’ You got her to do it.”

“I’ve actually never talked to her,” I said. I didn’t regret my actions at all but felt weird at being called out on them. “But I, uh, may have asked Sonya and Dimitri to talk to her on your behalf.”

“And then she talked to my old man.”

“Something like that.”

“I knew it,” he said. I couldn’t gauge his tone, if it was upset or relieved. “I knew someone had to have prompted her, and somehow I knew it was you. No one else would have done it for me. Not sure what Lissa told him, but man, she must have really won him over. He was crazy impressed. He’s sending me money for a car. And upping my allowance back to reasonable levels.”

“That’s a good thing,” I said. “Isn’t it?”

My phone flashed with another text from Brayden. The dance will nearly be over by then.

“But why?” Adrian asked. He sat down on the floor beside me. There was an almost distraught look to him. He leaned closer to me and then seemed shocked as he realized what he was doing. He leaned back a little—but only a little. “Why would you do that? Why would you do that for me?”

Before I could answer, another text came in. Will you even be back in time? I couldn’t help be annoyed that he wasn’t more understanding. Without thinking, I typed back: Maybe you should just leave now. I’ll call you tomorrow. Sorry. I flipped the phone over so I wouldn’t see any other messages. I looked back at Adrian, who was watching me intently.

“I did it because he wasn’t fair to you. Because you deserve credit for what you’ve done. Because he needs to realize you aren’t the person he’s always thought you were. He needs to see you for who you really are, not for all the ideas and preconceptions he’s built up around you.” The power in Adrian’s gaze was so strong that I kept talking. I was nervous about meeting that stare in silence. Also, part of me was afraid that if I pondered my own words too hard, I’d discover they were just as much about my own father and me as Adrian and his. “It should have been enough for you to tell him who you are—to show him who you are—but he wouldn’t listen. I don’t like the idea of using others to do things we can do ourselves, but this seemed like the only option.”

“Well,” Adrian said at last. “I guess it worked. Thank you.”

“Did he tell you how to get in touch with your mother?”