“I’ll give you a day to cool off, but you’re going to need help packing. I’ll stop by tomorrow.”
“Take the damn ring and go,” I grit out before hanging up. My throat clogs as I suck in a deep breath, exhale and repeat.
When my eyes stop burning, I make another call.
She doesn’t answer on the first ring. She never does.
When I’m about to give up, her voice comes on the line. “Hey, sweetie. Lovely hearing from you,” she says with surprise in her tone.
“Hey, Mom. How’s your tour?” My mother isn’t a singer like me. She’s a writer. A writer of historical romances, the kind with all the fancy ball gowns on the cover. She’s almost always either on tour or at a writers’ retreat, leaving her apartment in Manhattan empty for most of the year.
Which brings me to the reason for my call.
She sighs. “It’s tiring, but it’s the job. Lucas sent me comments on my first draft forLady in Whiteyesterday. I swear the man is deliberately trying to make me miss my deadline.” I tune out for the rest, waiting for her to pause so I can ask the dreaded but desperate favor. When she goes on, I wonder if it’s a sign that maybe Ishouldn’task. Maybe this is my chance to reconsider and find an alternative. Because it’s going to come with a price.
She takes a breath. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure? Do you need money?”
As usual, the woman doesn’t hold back.
“No. Well, not exactly. My apartment is being renovated—for a month. They want to start soon. Like tomorrow soon. Can I stay at your place for a bit?”
If Eric thinks I’m going to stay at the apartment and wait for him to show up, he’s got another thing coming.
“Oh.”
That’s it. That’s all she says. She’s going to make me drag it out of her.
“Is it a bad time? Are .?.?.yourenovating too?” I ask slowly.
“Well, no. Not exactly. I am heading back, but I’m having a photoshoot for my new book this weekend at the apartment. You know it’s got that wonderful view of lower Manhattan and .?.?. well, I can’t have extra .?.?.thingsaround.”
“OK, Mom. I get it.” I sigh but don’t end the call just yet.
“You know the Lennox Hotel is one of my favorites. Perhaps you can—”
“You know I can’t afford that, Mom.”
“Well, you would, if you took my advice for a change,” she mutters.
“I’m not getting married just so I could afford a stay at the Lennox, Mom.”
The woman is also the trustee of the inheritance my grandmother left me. Locked up until I’m twenty-eight—or married. It’s not a fortune, but it would be enough to buy a modest home in the suburbs, a decent car, and high-end coffee for a year.
“There’s nothing that says you have tostaymarried. Heaven knows, with or without that stupid clause, you’d be separated within a year.”
Ouch.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“All I’m saying is, with the chaos you call a love life, I’m not holding my breath for a happily ever after.”
It shouldn’t hurt. Because she’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. In fact, she’s simply saying everything I’ve convinced myself of, so I should be glad she’s given up on me.
After all, I have.
“It’s only another four years. I’ll wait.”
“You’ll wait. The Lakeview Estates won’t,” she mutters.
