My grip instinctively tightens on her hip. My father is quite charming, especially when he wants to get a woman in bed. Not that Josslyn would ever do that—to me or herself. Still, it’s annoying to know he and his friends are going to talk about her the moment we walk away. The dress she’s wearing isn’t even form-fitting or revealing, but that won’t matter.
“It’s nice to meet you as well, Mr. Barlow,” she responds with a smile as she takes her hand back.
We greet the other three men, who, unlike my father, at least have the decency to wait until we’re not in front of them to check her out. We speak to them for a couple of minutes, about the Owls and Titus—who’s friends with two of them—and we walk away to look for my mother.
“That wasn’t terrible,” she says quietly.
“It was torturous.”
“If that’s the case, you should never go to one of Titus’ law firm parties.” She laughs and rolls her eyes, as she adds, “At least they didn’t call me ‘exotic.’”
That makes me laugh under my breath. When we finally find my mother, I’m expecting a repeat of what happened with my father, but she shocks the shit out of me by pulling Josslyn into a hug. A warm hug. It’s very quick, but still. My mother has never been much of a hugger.
“I’ve been meaning to thank you,” she says to Josslyn. “I just … I haven’t been able to … I?—”
“It’s okay,” Josslyn says quietly and grabs my mother’s hand. “I understand.”
My mother smiles sadly, gratefully—I’m not really sure which, since I haven’t seen enough of her smiles to tell them apart. I stand there dumbfounded. There’s no denying that Josslyn has a gift. I grab her hand again and intertwine our fingers. My mother takes note of it and glances up at me, her eyes widening a touch. Ella, Hamilton, and Lucas walk inside and Josslyn starts wiggling her hand out of my grasp.
“I’ll be right back,” Josslyn says, shooting me a look that tells me I should speak to my mother.
I watch her until she reaches them and narrow my eyes at Ella, who fully checks her out. Lucas, as well. At least Hamilton knows better.
“I didn’t realize she was the one you were on a date with at that fundraiser until I saw the photographs,” my mother says. “She’s not like us, you know?”
My eyes narrow. I brace myself for the inevitable talk about our different social classes and backgrounds.
“There’s a calmness to her. A kindness,” she says instead.
I swallow hard and give a nod when words fail me. That’s exactly what I thought about, the first time I saw Josslyn. Her spirit is a balm on my cracked interior, healing and soothing the underlying pain buried there.
“I suppose you thought I’d try to talk you out of it,” she says.When I don’t speak, she continues. “I won’t. I’ve done a lot of reflecting this past year. Our family was broken long before I became pregnant with you. Your father and I longed to be with other people and felt trapped when we married,” she says.
“I love your father. Over the years, we’ve become great friends, and that was my hope for you, but after Mallory…” She clears her throat. “The episode with your sister opened my eyes to many things. The Hamiltons tried to tell us. Your aunt and uncle tried to tell us. If I’d listened, if I’d been more like them … I hope one day, you’ll forgive me for failing you and your sister.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” I say.
I open my mouth to say the biting words that have been on the tip of my tongue, as I've waited years for a moment like this, but I stop when Josslyn’s hand motions to grab my attention. My friends and cousin are laughing at whatever she’s saying. Genuinely laughing. The cold anger I’d been harboring is replaced by a warm feeling that slithers down my body.
“You’re serious about her,” my mother says after a moment.
“Very,” I respond, meeting her gaze.
“I’m glad for you.”
She glances past me and dons a placating smile to face whomever is walking over.
“Finn! I was hoping you’d be here!” Gracie sets a hand on my arm.
I stiffen and look up, thankful that Josslyn’s still turned away from us. Ella catches my attention, and her eyes widen in concern.
I glare at Gracie. “Get your hand off me.”
Her expression sours, but she drops her hand and looks. “I was hoping to speak to you,” she says, smiling at my mother. “And I guess this is the perfect time to ask what your thoughts about Finnslumming itare.” Her eyes flick between me and my mother. “I mean, after all those years of talking about the list of hopeful matches you had for him, and he decides to bring around?—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” I say, jaw clenched. The last thingI want is to give her a reaction, but I can’t help it. “If you have nothing nice to say about my girlfriend, I suggest you leave now.”
She gasps, eyes wide. She looks at my mother again, waiting for her to jump in and back her up.
