She laughs uproariously, far more than my words deserve, pulling me into another lung-seizing hug. “Didn’t know you offered business advice.”
“Anything. Just tell me and I’m always ready with an uninformed opinion.”
I tap into the app on her phone to see the writeup, and stare in wonder.
The influencer is Dahlia. The girl Wilder dumped Friday before last, clearing the way to give Clare her run at the royal.
I don’t know her, we don’t share a single class, but I knowofher, everyone does.
Just while I’m watching, the post gathers another couple of dozen likes to add to the hundreds already there. Admittedly, her hair does look absolutely fabulous but still… this is a big deal from someone who has sponsored posts scattered throughout her impressive feed.
A feed I stop scrolling when I find a tranche of photos including Wilder, Maddox, and Zane.
“Just today, I made three times the amount I cleared all last week. Every client bought product and the mark up on those items is ridiculous.” Mum claps her hands together, giving a few shuffling dance steps. “Oh, I hope this momentum continues. Honestly, I’d lost all confidence I was any good.”
“Of course, you’re good. This town is just ridiculously insular.” A statement I know she’ll agree with because it came straight from her mouth numerous times before today.
Instead of taking her turn to cook, Mum orders Chinese takeaways and when the food arrives, we settle on the sofa, sampling from each other’s containers, both delirious from the good news.
When we’re full apart from grazing, we turn on the tv and pass judgement on the new season batch of Traitors. For the first time in ages, I enjoy Mum’s company without my internal nag going into overdrive.
Mum finishes an anecdote about a customer who fell asleep in her chair and woke screaming about ducks. I’m still laughingwhen she gives me a nudge. “And what about you? I haven’t heard a good bout of gossip from you in ages.”
“Oh, same old, same old. Clare’s still trying to bag a bazillionaire so she can support me as a starving artist.”
But instead of letting me away with it, Mum’s eyes sharpen. “What about that cute boy who dropped by the other weekend? The one with the hot car.”
Her obvious ploy makes me snort out a laugh. “The one with a gorgeous fiancé who can barely lift her ring finger?”
Mum’s eyes widen. “He’s got awhat?I thought me and your dad were young to get hitched. At least we waited until our early twenties.”
“Guess he knows she’s the one.” Commercials come on and I twist my gaze from the screen. “Did you know when you met Dad? That he was the one for you.”
She bursts out laughing. “I couldn’t stand him. The man was full of himself, charming everyone with his nonsense. If he hadn’t been pure sex-on-legs, I never would have slept with him and then where would we be?”
I arch an eyebrow at her wondering if I should have her committed. Nothing aboutDadwassexy. “Wait? Does that mean you only married him because of me?”
She rolls her eyes. “Typical teenager thinks she’s the centre of the universe. If anything, having you turn me into a beached whale endangered the entire affair.” I tickle her in revenge, and she splutters with laughter, wrestling me into submission. “If we’re being truthful, he was the one who convinced me we could do it. Form a family. He knew well before I did.”
“Not love at first sight, then?”
“He was an arrogant prick, strutting around like he owned the place.”
I can’t stop beaming at the description. I’ve never heard any of this from her before.
Mum reaches for my hand, firming her jaw to stop it trembling. “But he was also the one who told me I could run a business when I was scared to try. He supported me through my bad times. That’s why I haven’t yet packed it in to get a salaried job, because he’s still in my head saying, ‘You’ve got this,’ and he was never wrong.” She sighs. “Just another thing that annoyed the hell out of me.”
“You do ‘got this,’” I tell her, earning a wistful smile before she grabs me close, kissing the top of my head.
Later, in bed, I revisit Dahlia’s page, scrolling through the photos even after they fill with shots of the royals. I enlarge one, zooming in on the detail of Zane in a glossy black shirt, sleeves rolled up his forearms and the front gaping halfway open to reveal the firmly defined muscles of his torso.
He’s adjusting his belt with his large hands, and I pause, swallowing rapidly as I remember the feel of them on my body. I curl up my knees as a phantom palm covers my mouth. My chest hitches but I let myself breathe through it, lessening the powerful hold it has on me.
In the photo, they don’t look scary. Prominent veins swell along the backs, making my lips pulse with far too much blood.
He’s glancing up in the first photograph, camera catching him off guard, one eyebrow arched and an unfamiliar softness hiding in those sharp eyes. A second shot, taken a moment later, captures the beauty of his smile and I linger on it, tracing the curve of his lips until they’re etched in my memory.
I can’t recall ever seeing him smile before. His default expressions range from blank to grumpy.
