Sloan’s fingers curled against the doorframe. “Yes,” she said, then, more honestly, “because I can’t go back to how it was.”
Chapter twenty-four
Dinner was a quiet affair. Gloria sat at the head of the table. Sloan chose to sit to her right, and Matty took the seat to her left. They kept snatching glances at each other, both trying to pretend the kiss hadn't happened—that it didn't mean anything, that it wouldn't happen again.
“I want to get a mobility scooter,” Gloria said as she stuck her fork into a tube of pasta.
Sloan glanced across at Matty, who held her gaze. “Your idea?”
“I may have mentioned it was something that might be useful.”
“A little dangerous, isn’t it?”
“Not really,” Matty replied.
Gloria clanged her fork down. “I can decide for myself, Joan.”
Matty pressed her lips together, watching Sloan’s jaw tighten as her hand disappeared under the table. It wasn’t her place to speak up, but the tension after the kiss was unmistakable now.
“I don’t think Sloan was saying anything different. She’s just worried about you,” Matty said.
“None of her business, or yours, what I spend my money on.”
Sloan set her napkin down too hard and pushed her chair back. “Excuse me.”
Matty watched Sloan leave the room. Gloria continued to eat as though nothing had happened.
“She cares about you, that’s all,” Matty said.
“I don’t recall giving birth to you,” Gloria said coldly. “You’re just the hired help.”
“Yes, I am—hired by her,” Matty said.
Gloria’s right shoulder lifted as she shrugged.
“She’s trying. Give her a break,” Matty said, standing and following Sloan.
A cursory glance at the lounge and kitchen showed Sloan wasn’t there.
Matty hovered at the foot of the stairs, uncertain.Was this really her place to be interfering?
She touched her lips, remembering the kiss. She wasn’t just staff—not tonight.
One by one, she climbed the stairs. Gloria’s room was at the front. The bathroom door stood open on the landing, along from two other doors, both closed.
Matty paused, thinking it through. Sloan wouldn’t want the room next to her mother. She’d want space.
So Matty crossed the landing and stopped at the door above the kitchen. It faced the garden, with a view from the window.
Her hand hovered, then she knocked gently, nerves fluttering in her stomach. “Sloan?”
No response.
“Tell me to go and I will. If you don’t, I’m coming in.” She gave it a moment. Then with no response, she did just that and found herself inside a room she wasn’t quite expecting.
White walls were adorned with contemporary artwork—brightly coloured paintings of naked women in intimate poses. A black metal four-poster bed sat against the far wall, complemented by dark furniture. Her feet sank into plush carpet.
Sloan was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the window, staring into the late-evening sun.
