“Okay,” she whispers, smirking as she types out her message.
“What are you two going on about?” Mother asks, pulling our attention to her, and Ivy tucks her phone in her pocket.
“Nothing,” we both answer before sharing a grin.
Mother rolls her eyes and points to the table. “Have a seat. Rhonda will be up with food in a moment.”
“We could have just grabbed our plates while we were down there,” Ivy points out and Mother shakes her head as she sits at the head of the table. Ivy and I sit opposite each other on the other end and I bite back a smile as I think about how fitting it is—Mother on one side, Ivy and I on the other.
“That is what I pay Rhonda for, my dear.”
“So, Mother, why are we here?” I ask as the elevator doors open and Rhonda wheels out a cart full of covered plates. She turns to Rhonda, ignoring my question, and I sigh as I rub my temple. I’ve not had enough caffeine for this shit. Rhonda places a dish in front of each of us before pulling the dome off and I hold back a grimace at the egg white omelet and toast on my plate. Ivy’s nose wrinkles as she meets my gaze. We’d both prefer something smothered in gravy, but Mother would chew us out—something about not being able to land a good man with hips the size of Texas. And by “good”, she means rich.
“What’s this about?” Ivy asks, ignoring her food and I’m right there with her. If it were just Ivy and I, I would love to stay for breakfast but with Mother, I want to go as soon as possible.
“What?” she asks, looking offended. “Can’t I have breakfast with my daughters?”
“No, you can’t,” I reply, taking a drink of orange juice. “You’ve never wanted to sit down to a meal with us.”
“What’s so wrong with catching up with your mother? You have those silly little weekly dinners with…”
“Mother,” Ivy and I both say at the same time and she clamps her mouth shut. She’s always had a problem with Aunt Dottie. Maybe it was because Dottie called her a vindictive bitch at Daddy’s funeral or maybe it went back way before that; I’m not sure but we’ve heard this rant too many times to count.
“Fine,” she snaps. “I called you over because I heard a little rumor at the club yesterday.”
“And?” I ask. Does she expect us to guess? It could be anything, and knowing the ladies that hang out at the club, it’s likely I won’t give a damn anyway.
“When were you going to tell me you are dating Julian Henshaw, Ivy?”
“Uh,” Ivy stutters, choking on a bite of toast. “Where did you hear that?”
“His mother.”
Ivy’s face falls and I wish there was something I could do to help her. It makes sense she would hide this from Mother since the woman is probably already drawing up wedding plans and divorce papers for Vi. Her eyes widen and she nods. “Uh, yes.”
“Wonderful,” Mother exclaims, beaming at Ivy, and I roll my eyes. She doesn’t even know the man. But, as usual, all she cares about is his bank account and his name. “How long have the two of you been seeing each other?”
“Four months.”
“Excellent. And things are going well?” she asks, her gaze locked on Ivy, and I swear, she could be an interrogator with the FBI.
Ivy nods. “Yes, they’re going very well.”
Mother laughs, clapping her hands together, and as I watch her, I wonder what happened to her to make her this way. What was it that turned her into this person? Because I have a hard time believing she was born obsessed with wealth.
“Are we thinking wedding bells?”
Ivy groans, tossing her fork down on the table. “Jesus, Mother. I don’t know. We’ve only been together for a short time and we just moved in together.”
A look of horror washes over Mother’s face. “You moved in with him?”
“Yes.”
“How many times have I told you girls to get a ring on your finger before you move in with a man?” she hisses, pressing her fingers into her forehead like our mere presence is giving her a migraine. Hopefully, it is so she’ll kick us out.
“Mother, we haven’t been together that long.”
“Ivy,” she sighs, shaking her head. “You don’t let a man like that get away. Whatever you have to do to lock it down, do it.”
“No, I will not force him into something. We love each other and if we decide to get married, we will.”
I give Ivy a little nod of support and Mother scoffs.
“Love? Love has nothing to do with it. The Henshaws are a very influential family and Julian makes a good match for you, Ivy.” She turns her attention to me. “And what about you, Carly? Any men in your life?”
“You mean besides the orgy I had last night?” I ask, my patience gone, and Ivy chokes on her juice as Mother’s eyes bug out of her head.
“Carly Rae Mills,” she gasps, clutching her pearls as she looks at me in horror. This is totally worth the verbal beating she’s about to give me. “How dare you speak like that in my house?”
I bite my lip to stop myself from pointing out her “house” was paid for by all her ex-husbands.
“No acceptable man will ever want you if you keep up this behavior,” she hisses and I roll my eyes.
“Oh, fuck. I didn’t realize,” I quip, my tone dry. “What ever will I do?”
She stands from the table glaring at me. “Where did I go wrong with you?”
Without waiting for my reply, she stomps off.
“Probably spent too much time with me and didn’t buy me enough shit!” I yell at her back as she storms inside and Ivy giggles next to me.
“Oh my god, you will pay for that.”
I sigh. “I know.”
* * * *
I pull up to the curb in front of the little pink house, the only place that’s ever felt like home, and throw the car in park, more than ready to sit down for Sunday night dinner with Ivy and Aunt Dottie. After grabbing my phone out of the cup holder, I turn to reach for the door, but it buzzes before I can even get it open. Chance’s name flashes on the screen and I’m fighting back a smile. This man is ruining me. We’ve been texting almost non-stop since Wednesday night and I almost feel like a teenager again. Each new message that comes in has me falling deeper into this dark abyss. I know better than to allow things to continue but I can’t stop it either. I’m useless at resisting him.
Chance:
Go out with me?
There may be a question mark at the end of his message, but I know damn well it’s not a request. In the short time we’ve been talking, I’ve learned that he’s single-minded when it comes to something he wants and turns out Chance Turner wants me. He won’t quit until he’s worn me down. It terrifies me but there is also this excitement racing through my body, zapping me with sparks of electricity, whenever I talk to him and I’m not sure I even want to fight it anymore. It feels good. The kind of good I haven’t felt in a long time and like an addict, one little taste has me craving more. But thinking about it and acting on it are two different things. I’ve been avoiding this exact situation for so long I don’t even know how to act.