“It is never a dull moment here,” Miguel said to her. “But let me guess… my Judy found this one.” He gestured to Ursula, who waved her ass back and forth as she announced she had finally found her missing contact. “It has her tastes all over thatculo.”
Monica took a break after the party was going all on its own. The clothes were coming off and the games had started, centering on Savannah and Ursula using a weighted quarter to constantly “lose” a bet that they wouldn’t have to kiss in front of the guests. Judith was still sober enough to take care of any problems, so that was Monica’s cue to step out onto the balcony overlooking the shrubbery in the backyard.
Night had fallen, but the sky was clear enough and the moon more than full enough to illuminate the fountain positioned in the small entrance of the labyrinth, where two employees off for the evening wandered with their headphones on. Eventually, they would make their way to their studio apartments built on the edge of the property, hidden by a grove of tall trees.
She was tempted to call her husband back in the city. She almost went up to her apartment to check in on Abigail and Matilda.Maybe help them put that puzzle together.No. She had to stop giving in to her paranoia that something would happen, let alonehere.
Something gnawed at her, though. Something that went deeper than recent events, or Abigail attempting to assert authority because she wanted her mother to stay behind. It was even deeper than her nightly yearning to hear from Henry even after all these years together.
She still thought about Jackson and how close he had come to touching her again.
Monica rubbed her hand against her chest, attempting to loosen the tightening muscles surrounding her heart.They want to protect it, but can they?The only thing more painful than having to explain Isabella’s behavior to Abigail one day was having to divulge her history with Jackson. It was something Abigail deserved to know about her mother. One day. Long from now.When she’s grown up and dating…Monica couldn’t even think about that. She was still winded by the thought of her daughter thinking she knew whatsexwas.
As she braced herself against the balcony railing, she thought of something else she’d have to explain to her daughter one day.Who I really am.
Monica couldn’t hide it from anyone mature enough to grasp it. Perfect strangers picked up onwhoshe was after talking to her for five minutes. Her own daughter? Let alone when she started having her own experiences as an adult?
She would have questions. She would have heard things from her nosy friends. The Abigail of today was much too young to pick up on things Monica kept private, but one day…
Monica would have to explain that she was submissive. In all areas of life, not just sex.
But who wanted to hear that about their mother? And what if Monica’s real self ended up being a terrible influence on her daughter?What if she gets the wrong idea? What if she thinks I’m weak? A poor excuse for a modern woman?
What if Abigail was taken advantage of because of who her mother was?
While laughter filtered out to where she stood, Monica inhaled a deep breath of the fresh air in a vapid attempt to clear her mind. It didn’t work.
What if this is all my fault?What if a part of what Isabella said was right? That Monica was never the right fit for this family?
What if Abigail’s upbringing was better left to someone else? Someonenormal?
What if I’m not normal enough for this life?And what if it brought Abigail down?
Monica took longer to get back to the party than she would have liked. Her mind kept her frozen where she stood on the balcony, staring into the empty sea of stars and wondering if the problem was her, after all.
“You’ve been so quiet lately.”
Monica was barely moved by her husband’s voice. She lay in bed, slowly applying her moisturizer while going over business that past weekend. Although she had been home for a couple of days and Henry had been attempting to woo her with his usual flirtations, Monica kept to herself, blaming her need to catch up on work since the Salon was still enduring renovations.
Eventually, he would call her out on it.
“Is everything okay, Princess?”
He was in his pajamas, halfway beneath the covers and gazing up at her with every hint of attention in his being. Monica should have swooned. Instead, she pretended that reading the ingredients of her moisturizer was more important. After all, Abigail might be plagued with the same dry skin as her one day, and she could also be allergic to one of the ingredients.
“Everything’s fine,” she eventually said. “Just thinking. A lot on my mind. Like your mother. And business. The IRS.”
“Yes. My mother.” Henry rolled onto his back, hands behind his head as he stared up at their bedroom ceiling. “Flown back to Montana with an ankle monitor.”
The corner of Monica’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Looked good on her.”
“I don’t think I had ever seen Eva cry with tears ofhappiness.Regarding our mother, anyway. At least we don’t have to worry about her for a while.”
“You mean your mother.”
Henry grunted, leg kicking over the covers as his toes wiggled atop the blanket. “Thank goodness. Just one less thing for us to fret about.”
Every time Monica tried to think about Isabella, her mind drew a blank.Oh, I remember her just fine.But something was blocking her ability to focus on the woman who attempted to ruin her life. Could it have been the other things on her mind?
