Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Clutching it in my hand, I leave the room, tucking my tangled hair behind my ear as I head downstairs. My mother hasn’t come back to my room, but I know she’s in the house. Macon won’t be able to tell her and me apart in a few years. Fifteen-hundred-dollar heels, married to a banker or a lawyer …
I do the math in my head real quick, remembering that my father doesn’t think Mars is his son, but Mars was born long before Macon’s parents died. Macon was off in the military. I didn’t think it was him anyway. Thank God.
A blender whirs in the kitchen, and I head in, leaning against the doorframe and folding my arms over my chest.
My mom holds down the lid as the yellow slush spins like a whirlpool inside the machine, and I can smell the tequila and the citrus.
She stops the blender, glances up briefly, and pours a glass without missing a beat. Walking it over, she hands it to me and I take it.
Strangely enough, I feel no anger toward her. None at all.
I hold the drink to my nose, smelling the Cointreau and agave syrup. My mother makes the best margaritas. “You always were a wonderful mixologist.”
“It’s good to have a skill.”
Mine has yet to present itself.
She walks back to the island, filling a glass for herself. I don’t take a drink.
“You know, I never really thought about it, because it wasn’t like I had a choice,” I tell her, “but if anyone had ever asked me, I would’ve said that I liked you more than Dad. I still do. You know why?”
She fits the pitcher back onto the blender base and lifts her eyes to me.
“Because you eventually win,” I reply. “You always claw your way back to the top. It was the only quality I ever hoped I inherited.”
She takes a long drink, and I step forward, setting my cup down with the island between us.
She drops her eyes. “The affair only lasted—”
“It wasn’t an affair.” I tighten my fists around the back of the wrought iron chair, making my knuckles ache. “You and your friends victimized a young man who’d just lost his parents and was trying to support his five siblings.”
She stares at me, no change in her expression.
I go on. “And you don’t care about it any more than you care that I hate you for it. All you care about is that I fall into line.”
That’s why she wanted him away from me. Oh, I can fuck Macon Jaeger all I want. I can pay him for some fun. Someday. After I give Jerome Watson a couple of kids and make his house a home. Then she’ll encourage me to have all the fun I want. Discreetly.
“I’ll meet with Jerome Watson,” I tell her.
Her eyebrows lift.
“And I will get you a settlement from Dad.”
“How—”
“What does it matter?” I blurt out. “You’ll be well taken care of.”
A small smile crosses her lips, happy that I’m taking care of business.
Oh, yes, I am.
But I’m not finished yet. “On two conditions,” I tell her. “You go to the house in the Keys until further notice. And …” I harden my voice. “You sign over the house.”
“What?” she asks.
“To me.”
“You’ve got to be kidding—”
“Or I’ll tell everyone what you did to him,” I say.
“You think that will shock them?” She looks about ready to laugh. “Like your father or anyone else in this town doesn’t have secrets of their own?”
I set my phone down on the island. “Everyone.”
Her face falls, her eyes shifting to the phone.
She breathes in and out for several seconds, her jaw clenching over and over again. “Mars and Paisleigh—”
“Will stay with me for now,” I reply. “We’ll discuss guardianship once I touch base with Dad.”
We stare at each other, and I know everything she’s thinking. Her children are leverage. She doesn’t want to give that up. Relatives will pity her—give her money—if she has children to support.
And deep down, she really does care. Not as much as Mars and Paisleigh deserve, but if something happened to us, she’d cry. Genuinely, I think.
But I also know she doesn’t want this anymore. She married him, never thinking he’d take off with someone else. She would give him a home, kids, and the respectable family image, and he’d give her the life. He’s the one who broke the deal.
She wants to be free. She’s still young, after all.
Besides, Bateman and I have been taking care of the kids 85 percent of the time for the past nine months anyway. She’s already gone.
“Okay,” she says. The tone is clipped, but she agrees.
She turns and takes out a pan, setting it on the stove. “Can I make you some lunch?”
“Pack,” I tell her. “Go now.”
She twists around, shocked.
I start to walk away. “I’ll let you know when I talk to Dad.”