As Mr. Clarkson or whatever his name was stood there like a spare part, I touched Harper’s arm and said, “I have my cell, if you need me, call.”
“She will be quite safe, sir,” Clarkson muttered, looking offended.
We ignored him. “It’s fine. Just do what you need to do,” Harper whispered, aware of our eavesdropper just standing there like a dick.
“Please do make yourself comfortable. I’ll send one of the girls in with some lemonade.”
“Thank you.”
Harper gave me a small smile and went into the room, sweeping a glance around before lowering herself stiffly onto one of the sofas. I felt a twinge of anxiety; again, yes, my mother lived there, but both she and her family were strangers. What if they worshipped Satan or something? At the end of the day, if anyone hurt or upset Harper, I’d burn them to the ground.
After watching her settle and pull out her cell, I shook off the far-fetched thoughts and followed the guy with the stick up his ass.
As we went towards the back of the house, past the staircase, my palms started to sweat.
Eventually, the tight-lipped shmuck took me into another sitting room, explaining that Mrs. Leibrock was on her way down and I was to take a seat and wait for her. Yeah, that wasn’t happening, so I decided to remain standing.
I took in my new surroundings with a lump in my throat. Fuck me, I’d give anything for a blunt right then. Calm my nerves.
The décor of the lounge matched the same theme as that in the hallway: bland as fuck. As I scanned the walls and flooring, beige dominated an insanely tidy room. Everything was way too perfect; the space even had that new smell. You certainly didn’t get the feeling that this was the place where people wouldloungearound.
The large, no doubt expensive sofas set around the walnut coffee table were immaculate, with not a single crack in the leather, suggesting they were relatively unused.
The area oozed wealth, but as sitting rooms went, it was cold and insipid and about as welcoming as a dog turd would be on the fancy rug lying by my feet.
Apart from a few scattered oil paintings that adorned the cream walls, the room had hardly any color. There wasn’t even a TV in there. Just an array of ornaments and vases that made the place feel like a museum. Not that I had visited one of those in the past decade.
Anger raced through my veins as I took in the lavish house and paced over to the windows. Even the garden was perfect, with tidy flower beds, tall trees, and a swimming pool. Compared to the Summers’ residence, the entire estate was small. Compared to Ma’s house, it was a fucking palace. Our living room and small yard were shitty in comparison.
Fuck, I was almost hyperventilating. I needed to say my piece and then get the fuck out of dodge.
The click of heels against marble was the first sign I had company, and those nervous knots in my belly started to twist again. I wondered how dear old Mom would feel having me there in her sanctuary, and I wondered how easy it would be to make her life difficult. Rattle some cages. I doubted her husband or their son knew about me.
Deep breath, Nix.You can do this.Harper’s reassuring smile moments before gave me courage.
The woman purposefully cleared her throat, but I didn’t turn around until she spoke. If she looked down at me in any way, I’d lose it. That day had been a long time coming, but I wasn’t ready for how hearing her speak would make me feel.
Tortured.
Do not let your temper get the better of you.
“You did get big. I always knew you would.” Her voice was softer than I expected, and recognition must have kicked in as the hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention, almost reaching out towards that sound.
You did get big,were her first words to me? Is she for real?
My fists curled on instinct, and so I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans. Slowly turning around, I locked eyes with my birthmother. Luna Rose Carter, or should I say Luna Rose Leibrock? I gave her a slow once-over, taking in her tired expression. “Really?” This close, she looked older than she had in the car. She was stocky for a woman, with brown hair that was scraped back into a severe bun. She didn’t look like you’d expect a mother to: warm and inviting. The woman looked more like her inhospitable-as-fuck house.
“Yes,” she replied with an uncomfortable smile.
“So, youdidthink about me then,” I added without smiling back.
After a large swallow, she sashayed further into the room, and I ground my teeth. “Of course, I did, Phoenix.” Her brow was scrunched, suggesting she was unnerved by my words. And so, she should be. Her use of my name annoyed me; maybe I should demand she call me Mr. Carter and not be so informal.
I dashed away the petty thought, but would still make that point.
“How do you figure that,MrsLeibrock?”
“You can call me Luna.” Oh, thank you for small mercies, I felt like snapping. So, I had permission to call her Luna, but not mother, so it appeared.
