“My son,” I say evenly, “has always had a wandering eye. I imagine that played into your breakup.”
She stiffens almost imperceptibly.
“I’m not naïve,” I continue. “Nor am I territorial about people he discarded.”
Her gaze sharpens at that. “And what if he didn’t just discard them? What if he let them walk in on him in bed with someone else? What if he learned that behavior from his parents, blamed it on genetics?”
“Parent, singular.” I meet her eyes. “I would never do such a thing.”
She bites her bottom lip. “That’s very good to know. If a man ever does that to me again, he will learn the true meaning of pain.”
I grin. “Sounds like you’ve got big plans for your future cheater. How will you kill him?”
“Kill him? And let him off that easily?” She snorts a laugh. “You can’t learn the true meaning of pain if you’re dead.”
She’s twisted. I like that. “Fair enough?—”
From inside, I hear my mother’s voice rising toward impatience. Brunch is reaching its social expiration point.
Perry winces. “We should go back in before someone notices.”
I nod once, reaching for my phone and sending her a quick text so she has my number. “Text me.”
She holds my gaze for a fraction longer than good manners requires. “I might.” And then she’s gone.
Later, Amber corners me in the library.
She does it the way she does everything—quietly, without making a scene. The door shuts behind her with soft finality,sealing us in among shelves of inherited knowledge and unnecessary wealth.
“You’re flirting with our son’s ex,” she says without preamble.
I pour myself a glass of water from the sideboard. “Good afternoon to you as well.”
“Don’t deflect.”
“I’m not.”
She crosses her arms. Even in daylight, even in cashmere and pearls, she carries the same sharpened composure she always has. Beautiful and controlled. “She’s Faith’s sister too. Are you serious about this?”
“I’m aware of who she is.”
“According to Meron, she was also your patient.”
“Briefly. And telling you who my patient was is a HIPAA violation?—”
Her mouth tightens as she ignores the laws that are inconvenient to her tirade. “Meron is going to have a fit.”
I take a slow sip of water before responding. “Meron does not get to choose who I flirt with, Amber.”
Her eyes flash at that. “He’s chief of the department.”
“And I am not violating any policy.”
“You don’t think this looks bad?” she presses.
“I think you’re unusually invested in the optics of your ex-husband’s dating life.”
She scoffs. “Someone has to be.”
