Page 100 of On The Edge

“Truth?” Maddix tries to pull away from me but I hold her tight.

“She was just telling me how you got her a ticket to be here tonight. Funny though as that’s total bullshit,” she says in Spanish, oblivious to the fact that Maddix understands her. Her smile is benign, but I can see her need to hurt me, to hurt my father, beneath it. Aren’t I always the pawn in their selfish game? “There were two tickets. I know because your father asked me to attend. When I said I couldn’t, he gave them to you and Sofia. And then Sofia fakes being sick so you can bring your newest plaything simply as a means to piss off poor ol’ Dominic. Like father like son, using women as pawns in their game.”

Maddix tenses beside me as I wince at my mother’s fucking words. She knows exactly what my mother is saying. I don’t have to look beside me to know Maddix is staring at me with those big green eyes loaded with question and confusion.

“That’s not the case,” I state for damage control.

“Yes, it is,” my mamá continues, ignorant to anything and everything unless it benefits her. “Your sister said so herself. I couldn’t find her in this mess of a crowd so I called her to ask where she was.”

Fuck. Shut the hell up.

“You do like to dangle your toys in front of your father’s face, knowing he can’t touch them.” She makes the comment like a student eager to let the teacher know she understands the backstory.

Maddix steps out of my reach and when I try to keep my hand on her back, she steps even farther away. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Navarro, but I have to run to the ladies’ room,” she says in flawless Spanish.

My mother’s eyes widen as she chuckles. Yes. She heard and understood every goddamn word you said.

I sneer at my mother as Maddix starts to walk away. “Maddix?” I call after her.

She turns to look at me, tears welling in her eyes. “Petition to get an extra one, huh?” Her eyebrows narrow. “More like, use me.” She doesn’t say another word before walking away. My chest aches with the need to go after her but—

“Well, she’s a sensitive one, isn’t she? Not gonna last much longer in your world if she can’t handle—”

“That’s enough. Got it? That’s fucking enough,” I snap.

“What did I do?” She bats her lashes.

“The same thing you always do. Every goddamn time.” I take a few steps away, looking at this woman who I used to think hung the moon. She was unconventional and exciting and free-spirited and so very different from my father. Only to be crushed when I was old enough to realize the whirlwind trips into town—to spoil us rotten and treat us like adults when we were kids—were simply a means to assuage her guilt for leaving us behind because she was too selfish to be a mother. “I love you, Mamá, but right now I kind of hate you.”

“Hijo,” she calls out as I start to walk away.

My chest aches. The dread is like a weight in my stomach. Is that how this whole thing started out weeks ago? Me using Maddix to stick it to my papá? I’m not proud of it, but yes, it was.

But then I came home. Then the white bikini happened. Then . . . whatever this is between us happened. And I did want her here tonight. To share the evening with. To spoil her with. To make the memory with.

I’m proud to have her on my arm and not just as a fuck you to my papá. I’m proud to have her on my arm because she’s her. Because we’re whatever we are. And because when I think of this evening, she’s the reason it has been fucking incredible.

Until now.

“Stay. Chat.”

“No,” I say to my mother, my voice low, my back to her. “I need to go fix what you just broke. Again. And I’m getting fucking sick of having to do that over and over again.”

I can’t find Madds anywhere. Not at the main party in the palace gardens. Not inside in the great hall where people mill about drinking cocktails. Not out front where guests have veered off near a catwalk of sorts to take in the sparkling lights of the world’s smallest and wealthiest country.

I head toward the valets. “Hi. Have you—”

“Mr. Navarro. Great race in Monza,” the eager valet says.

“Thank you. Um . . . have you seen my date by chance?” I ask, feeling like a teenager looking for his girlfriend at a high school dance. “She wasn’t feeling well, and I wasn’t sure if she left or not while I was engaged in an important conversation.”

A lie to save face while my insides twist.

“Your date? Blond hair? Light-colored dress?” a second valet asks as he walks up and I nod. “I had a car drive her home. She’s not far ahead of you. Shall I get your car for you?”

“Please.” He can’t get it fast enough.

The streets are busy with tourists milling about. Tonight’s gala has been advertised to the public as a place to watch for the stars so people are lining the streets, and I have to be more than cautious as I ascend into the hills of foot traffic.