We get up and walk toward the door when Dad’s voice stops me.
“Bronx. Your mother wants to see you.”
Fuck. I’ve been avoiding Ma since everything went to shit. Not because I don’t want to see her, but because she sees too much. Always has.
Kingston leaves, and I follow the scent of simmering marinara sauce to the kitchen. She turns away from the stovethe second I walk in, like she sensed my presence and the chaos waging a war inside of me.
“Bronx,” she says, pointing at the kitchen island. “Sit.”
She scoops some pasta onto a plate and covers it with sauce. Then she places it in front of me. I take a deep breath, my stomach roiling at the thought of eating, but I know better than to argue. Food is Ma’s love language, and refusing it is like spitting in her face.
“So,” she says, sitting on the stool next to me. “It’s over. The arrangement. The fake marriage. The whole mess.” She narrows her eyes at my face. “You should be relieved to not have to pretend behind closed doors.”
I push food around my plate. “Yeah. Relieved.”
“But you’re not.” She drums her fingers on the marble.
It’s not a question. Ma always could read me like an open book.
“It’s complicated.”
“Okay, tell me why.”
I drop my fork. It clatters against the plate. Ma watches me with those sharp eyes that see everything, and I know she’s waiting for me to stop bullshitting and tell her the truth.
“I fell in love with her.”
The admission hangs in the air between us and she doesn’t look at all surprised.
“And how does she feel?”
“She hated me from the beginning and maybe a little less as time went on. But now she’s back to wishing me dead. She overhead things she shouldn’t have. Now she thinks the whole thing was a game and that I was just using her.”
“Were you?”
“No. Kind of. I mean, I was supposedto, but...” I rake a hand through my hair. “In the end, I couldn’t go through with it.”
“Why not?”
“Because she was...” I struggle for the words. “She was real, you know? Fierce and stubborn and fucking beautiful. And when she laughed...” I stop as Ma folds her arms across her chest.
“Did she make you happy?” she asks.
The question makes my gut wrench, not because it’s true but because I let that happiness slip through my fucking fingers.
“Yeah. She did.”
“Happier than you’ve ever been?”
“Yeah.”
“You know, I didn’t trust that girl when I first met her,” she says. “I thought she was too wild, defiant, and angry. A liability to our family. Although, she reminded me of someone else I know.” She gives me a pointed look. “Like Livvie.”
I let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah. And?”
“And look how that turned out. Best thing that ever happened to your brother.” She crosses her arms. “Sometimes the women who challenge us the most are exactly what we need.”
“Tierney’s different?—“
