She strokes my head gently, her eyes glimmering as she studies my face.“Thank you.For being born into this messy world and for being my daughter.”
“Oh, come on.You sound like we’re never gonna see each other again.”I laugh and hug her tight, trying not to cry even though my chest feels heavy.
How could I have been so blind?She’s always been there—supporting me, believing in me, proud even now.When I finally pull back, I take a breath.
“How do I look?”I ask, hands on my hips, chin up.
The sleeveless black jumpsuit I’m wearing hugs my frame perfectly, studded with tiny white beads tracing the plunging neckline and open back.I ditched the dress Alan bought and bought this one myself.Pants are smarter anyway, in case I need to run.
My blonde hair is slicked back into a tight ponytail, clean and polished.The whole look screams runway chic.No one would suspect what’s hidden beneath the sparkle.
“You look stunning.I’m your biggest fan,” Mom says with a little laugh that makes me smile.
“But you’re my celebrity chef.”I laugh too, and when the laughter fades, I pull her into another hug, tighter this time, ribs pressed together.“I love you so much, Mom.”
“I love you too, honey.”Her voice cracks.
“Alan’s here.”The woman’s voice from the receiver crackles in my ear.
“He’s here, Mom.”She nods and hands me my small white shoulder bag.
The doorbell rings.I kiss her cheek and walk toward the door.No need to peek.I already know who it is.
Alan stands on the porch, eyes wide, mouth open.He looks stunned, caught off guard by me.
“Good evening, Alan,” I say in a low, sultry tone with a smile.
“Oh, uh—good evening, Milady.”He clears his throat.“Sorry.I was just… mesmerized.”
“You better start getting used to it.”I grin, half teasing.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he says with a chuckle.
“You’re leaving now?”my mom asks behind me.
“Yes, Mrs.Baxter.I hope you don’t mind me taking your daughter away for the night,” Alan says, flashing a polite smile.
“Just be careful,” she says softly.We both nod.“Bye, honey.”
“Bye, Mom.Lock up tight,” I say before stepping out.I’ll be back, I promise.
“Shall we?”Alan places his hand on my waist and guides me toward the sleek black limo waiting at the curb.
“Wow.A limousine with a driver?”I whistle, eyes wide.
“Wait till you see the inside.”He smiles, opening the door for me.
“I feel like a celebrity already,” I laugh.
“You are, my love,” he says, closing the door and circling around to join me inside.
As the limo glides through the city, we talk.I try steering the conversation toward finance or his business network, but he dodges every question with practiced ease.I’m sure he has no clue what I’m really here for, but a part of me worries he might start to suspect.So I drop that topic.For now.
* * *
We return to the same house as last week.It’s pretty bold of us to come back here after the chaos we caused before.What’s even more ironic is that Peter and Amy still invited us, even though Amy kicked us out the last time we met.
“You think Amy’s not mad at us anymore?”I ask Alan as our car lines up in front of the house.
