"Ben?" I call again. "Who are you talking to?"
My heart starts beating faster. I throw the lipstick in the sink and rush across the hall to the kitchen. Stop dead.
My mother stands in the kitchen, a key in her hand and a finger raised at Ben like she's ready to skewer him with it.
He's leaning over the counter, arms crossed, face unreadable.
"Mom?" I stiffen. "What are you doing here? And where did you get the key?"
She registers me, then crosses to the counter in her black lace heels. "Richard left it for me. He asked me to go check on you. Especially since you keep ignoring me." Her tone is glacial.
"Check on me?" I raise a brow. "He doesn't even answer my calls."
"Well, are you surprised? After what happened?" she asks pointedly and snaps a nod at Ben. "What is he doing here?"
I glance at him—he's obviously holding himself—and the cold click in my gut tells me she's been here for a while.
"Did you say anything to Ben?" I raise a brow at her.
"Yes," she says with obvious disdain. "I told him what he should know. That he destroyed your life. That he's bad news and he should stop fooling around with you."
My eyes flare. I have a very real urge to strangle my mother with her fake pearls.
I step forward, mouth open to object, but she taps the key on the counter and stops me with her hand.
"And you, Emma, shame on you," she says, mouth pursed. "For what you did to Richard."
Blink. I just... blink.
Behind me, Ben exhales loud enough to fill the apartment and sits on the barstool next to me.
I turn to her and drag in a breath, voice too explanatory for how I should sound now. "Mom. You don't know anything about my relationship with Richard. He doesn't love me—"
"Of course he does!"
"He doesn't!" I snap. "If you heard how he talked about me, like I was something broken, like he only pitied me—"
"Because you have no sense of reality, of real life. You think this is a good idea?"
I swallow hard, feeling the familiar tremor in my throat before I can stop it.
Ben's hand finds the small of my back—protectively warm. I look at him.
"Relax, Emma. I'm here. Don't worry," he says, his voice low.
"You stay out of it," my mother shoots at him. "This is between me and my daughter."
Ben's brow cocks slowly, his face turning into a blade that's ready to split my mother in half if she says another word.
I turn to my mother, voice urgent. "Mom. Not now. Let's leave it for another time."
"No. You will apologize to Richard and ask him to forget everything. He is hurting. He will forgive you—"
"I amnotdoing that," I hiss instantly.
"You will do as I say!" she snaps, and slaps the counter, her palm cracking against it.
My attention locks on her hand—the same hand that once slapped me, and cold fire streaks through me.
