Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
The person who finally puts an end to our collective torture is Tate’s mom.
It’s a testament to her southern upbringing, the way Gemma Bartlett wipes her palms on the front of her dress before taking a breath and stepping closer to my grandmother.
“Avalon Bay will be sad to see you go, Lydia. I’ve enjoyed running into you around town and chatting with you, and I do wish we’d gotten to know each other better over the years. I hope Boston treats you well.” With a soft smile, Gemma clasps Grandma’s hand, then releases it. “Now, I’m afraid I must take my leave. I’m feeling a wee bit under the weather.”
Without sparing a glance at my mother, Gemma drops the proverbial mic like a fucking rock star and walks away.
It’s chaos after that. Not the kind of chaos where people are screaming and running and making a scene. A quiet chaos, where everyone disappears in the blink of an eye. Tate’s father goes after Gemma. A stricken Tate follows Gavin. My mother drains her glass and hands it to a waiter, then calmly saunters toward the arched doorway.
I stare at her retreating back, the casual sway of her hips in that black cocktail gown. I remain frozen for a moment. Before the rage propels me into action.
Heart rate dangerously high, I hurry after my mother. She’s walking at a fast clip, and I don’t catch up to her until she’s gliding through the lobby doors to step outside.
“Are you kidding me?” I grab her arm before she can approach the valet. “No way. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Don’t speak to me in that tone.” Mom flings my hand off.
“Me? You’re unhappy with the way I’m speaking to you? How about the way you spoke to everyone in there? What the hell was that?”
My voice is shaking wildly. A leaf in a hurricane. My palms feel numb, pulse racing. And through my blood surges the kind of rage that produces tears. That makes you sob like a helpless child because the ferocity of the fury is too strong for even an adult to handle.
As my throat tightens to the point of pain, I snatch Mom’s hand and drag her away from the valet station.
“Cassie! Let me go.”
“No,” I snap.
“Cassie,” she says sharply as she stumbles on her heels.
I slow down to allow her to regain her balance, but I don’t stop moving until we’re well out of earshot of the Beacon.
“You had an affair with Gavin Bartlett?” I demand.
She looks amused by the question.
“Don’t smile at me like that.” I clench my teeth. “Are you getting pleasure out of this?”
“A little bit, yes.” She chuckles. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so angry. You can relax. It was a long time ago.”
I gape at her. “You want me to relax? You cheated on Dad.”
“We were already separated.” She pauses. Mulling. Then she amends that. “Talking about separation, anyway.”
“But you weren’t separated.” I drag a tired hand over my eyes, willing myself not to cry. “When did this happen? The year before the divorce?”
“Yes. I was trading in your grandfather’s boat and dealt with Gavin at the dealership. And, well …” She shrugs. “You’ve met the man. He’s charming. Not to mention gorgeous.”
My head is spinning. I don’t want to know the details, and yet I do. “Who initiated it?” I ask warily.
“He did.”
For some reason that surprises me. I pictured Mom as the instigator, strutting into the dealership in a tight dress, set on ruining a man’s life.
“And it took a lot of persuasion on his end. I’d never cheated on your father in all the years we were married. If we hadn’t already been having problems, I’m sure I would have remained faithful.”
I feel sick again. “How long did it go on for?”
“Four months. Then I got pregnant.” The humor and indifference finally abandon her, replaced by bitterness. Dark and acute. It fills her eyes, burning hot. “The thrill of an affair fades awfully fast when real life creeps in. He asked—no, he demanded—that I get rid of the baby. Said he couldn’t do that to his family.” She shakes her head angrily. “It was perfectly acceptable for him to be sleeping around on his wife, hurting her every single day by betraying the vows he took. Getting his rocks off in hotel rooms on his lunch break and then going home acting as if he was the perfect husband and father. So long as he was having a good time, then I was useful to him. And then, when his perfect little bubble burst, I became an inconvenience.” Mom laughs without a shred of humor. “Victoria Tanner is nobody’s inconvenience.”
“So, what, you were going to keep his baby out of spite?” Oh my God. I want to throw up.
“No, I was keeping it because it was mine.” She sounds offended I’d even voice that question, yet doesn’t realize her answer is equally disturbing. As always, she talks about people, including an unborn child, like they’re possessions. Tools for her to use whichever way she wants.