"Don't you dare." I grip her hand. "You're my emotional support human now."
Her lips twitch. "I'll try to live up to the title."
I glance toward the house, pulse climbing.
It's fine, I tell myself. You're pregnant, you're glowing, you have backup, and if things get bad, there's a security team that could bench-press your mother.
Everything's fine.
22
ELLE
Since my mother loves making things inconvenient for everyone around her, I decided that when she's on my turf, I'm not bending over backward.
"You sure we shouldn't change?" Natalia looks skeptical. We're lounging in the living room, towels around our waists, bikinis still half-wet.
"Nope. It's not our fault she didn't call ahead." I'm cool as a cat on the outside, even though I'm a nervous wreck within. I haven't spoken to my mother since the wedding.
What the hell does she want? With Gayle, it's never just a visit.
Then we hear the footsteps. The heavy boots of the guards, and the click of her heels: a warning siren before landfall.
I sit up straighter just as she walks in.
Gayle Donovan. My mother. My personal hurricane.
She doesn't step into the room so much as arrive. All sharp angles and sharper perfume. Natalia and I share a look that translates roughly toholy hell, brace for impact.
"Darling," Gayle purrs. Voice dripping with disapproval. "Still allergic to real clothes, I see."
She removes sunglasses that could double as a riot shield and flicks her gaze down our sarongs like she's inspecting a crime scene. I'd forgotten how small my mother makes me feel.
She hasn't changed a bit. Still looks like she's posing for a "Rich Bitch Monthly" cover in that all-white outfit. Though something's different. The outfit is perfect, but her jaw is tighter than usual. Her eyes harder. Like she's running on something other than confidence today.
I could take the bait. Beg for approval. Throw up an excuse. God knows I used to. But I'm too tired for that game now.
"We were by the pool," I say. "Sorry for not rolling out the red carpet."
"Don't apologize," Natalia murmurs beside me. Her presence is the human equivalent of grounding wires, keeping me from blowing a fuse.
Gayle doesn't glance at her. "We have business to discuss. Alone."
I cross my legs. "We don't have any business. And she stays."
For a moment, Gayle looks genuinely offended. Like I brought a commoner to a royal banquet. "Who is she?"
"My friend." I let the word hang because it's true andbecause I want it to sting. "You remember friends, right? The people you can't buy?"
Gayle sets her purse on the table. "This isn't appropriate."
"You're in my house. So you don't get to decide what's appropriate."
That earns me a raised eyebrow, her version of a slap. "So this is how you talk to your mother now?"
"No. This is how I talk to uninvited guests."
Natalia makes a tiny sound that might be a laugh, quickly converted to a cough.
