“Just a little strange that it wouldn’t ever come up, don’t you think?”
“Not really,” I reply cheerily before making a silly face at her daughter, earning me a delightful little baby giggle.
Daphne shifts so that I’m forced to stare at her instead of the toddler, and…Wait, why does she look worried?
She swallows before wetting her lips, as if she’s fighting to find the right words. “Stella, I just—”
But she’s cut short by rushed footsteps careening into the hallway, and we glance over to find Janelle hustling toward us with an apron clutched in her outstretched hand.
“You better get in the kitchen before Grandma decides she’s on pie duty,” Janelle warns as she shoves the apron at me. “It’ll be your fault if any of them have soggy bottoms.”
Desperate as the dessert situation seems, I find myself glancing over at Daphne again, curious about her concern and wanting her to finish her sentence. But upon second look, the crease between her brows is gone and her breezy smile has returned, widening further when her daughter loudly repeats, “Soggy bottoms!”
“That’s right, baby,” Janelle coos. Then she refocuses on me, a plea in her eyes. “Can you take care of it?”
I sigh and take the apron. “Yeah, of course.”
“Thank you,” she gushes, backing away. “Just be warned, it’s chaos in the kitchen. And I think your mom wants to talk to you.”
She’s gone before I can protest, disappearing around the corner as quickly as she came. I hesitate before turning to Daphne again, hoping to return to our conversation, but she’s already headed for the living room. Her daughter gives me a bright wave before they step through the doorway. I’m tempted to rush after them, but knowing my mother wants to speak—and wanting to avoid all the aunts—keeps me from doing so.
With a groan, I stride after Janelle. I’m in enough trouble with my mother. Putting off this conversation won’t get me back in her good graces.
But when I get to the kitchen, there’s too much happening for us to talk besides shouting to each other to pass the butter and asking if anything needs more seasoning. Just as I think I’ve escaped the fate of having a chat until after dinner, Mom crooks her finger, motioning for me to follow her out of the kitchen. Damn it.
As the others start bringing platters and bowls out to the dining room, I brush past and sulk my way to Mom’s office. She doesn’t see clients at home often, but the space is set up to facilitate it, making me feel like I’m sitting down for a deposition.
She takes a seat in the cushy leather chair behind her massive oak desk while I take one of the two smaller wingbacks in front of it, crossing my legs and trying not to shrink in on myself. I’ve never been afraid of her, but I’ve always been…intimidated. She’s a no-nonsense woman, and it carried over into her parenting style.
“Did your assistant get that list of divorce lawyers I sent over?” she asks without preamble. NoHow are you doing, honey?NoHow’s married life treating you?I didn’t expect there to be, but it would have been nice.
And of course she’s the one who drew up the list, though my assistant failed to mention that in the email. “She did,” I answer. “Thanks for that, but I won’t be needing it.”
Mom’s lips turn down at the corners. “You’re really going to stay married to that man?”
Her comment has me bristling. I understand she doesn’t know Thomas and she’s well aware that I’ve stumbled into this marriage, but the dismissal of him and our relationship—fakeas it is—hurts. She thinks I’ve made a terrible decision, one that she’s determined to rectify, despite me telling her multiple times now that I don’t want or need her help.
“That manhas a name, you know,” I say, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “And yes, we’re staying married, because that’s what two people who want to be together do.”
Her scoff is loud and harsh, though the way she cringes a little as it echoes through the room tells me she didn’t mean to let it out. Either way, it stings like a slap.
“We both know that marriage was a mistake,” she says, gentler this time, but her disbelief continues to shine through. “This was a drunken Vegas wedding to a man you claim you know. Maybe youdoknow him—maybe you weren’t lying to me about meeting him when Janelle met Ron. But my gut is telling me that you did something you regret and now you’re trying to cover it all up.”
Her gut’s not wrong, and mine is churning hard enough that I’m worried the truth is going to come up and out, splattering all over her desk.
“This is all very real, Mom.”
She stares me down, either searching for signs of deception or waiting for me to break and tell the truth. It’s a look that has worked on plenty of people in the past, myself included, but today I stay strong.
Eventually, she sighs and glances away, realizing she’s not going to get what she wants out of me. “I’m just…I’m disappointed in you, Stella.”
A crack opens up in my chest. Her words seep into it, burning and biting the entire way down.
“I understand you’re hurting from what Étienne did,” she pushes on, dark eyes finding me again. “And I know you have that wild streak—I swear it’s been there since the day you wereborn. But the daughter I raised knows better than to let it run her life, and yet you went ahead and got yourself into a mess.” She leans forward, forearms on the smooth wood, her gaze imploring. “Let me help you. We can clean up this mess together and you can move on with your life. Please, Stella. I don’t want to see you doing this to yourself.”
I’m wavering, the chasm in my chest filling now with the love I know she has for me, even though she has a hell of a way of showing it. I could so easily collapse into her arms and confess everything, then sit back and let her fix it all in that calm, efficient way of hers. She’s offering it up on a silver platter, waiting for me to take it. Waiting for me to admit that I need her help because I’m incapable of fixing this on my own.
But I’m not. I’m perfectly capable of handling this in the way that I see fit. To be quite fucking honest, the fact that she thinks I can’t is infuriating.
