The cruel irony of all of this is that I still love him. I’m not sure I’ll ever stop.
He’s still asleep when I pull on a pair of his sleep pants and a long-sleeved shirt, smooth my hair, and close his bedroom door gently behind me.
I need to find something to eat. The fact that I stayed over and slept with him might be awkward, but food is a necessity if I want to avoid throwing up. It’s not how I prefer to start the day.
It’s early, but I’m prepared to find Finn’s brother in the kitchen. I’m even prepared to find his father with one or two of his nurses.
I’m not prepared to find his mother.
Geneva Hughes sits in the breakfast nook, morning sun slanting onto the book in front of her. She looks glamorous in a silk robe as she cradles a cup in her hands. Steam rises over the rim.
Hemingway told me she was here, almost in passing. He hadn’t wanted to involve her in the jail situation. My pulse speeds up anyway. She’s a Hughes now, but she was a Roosevelt. Just like her sister, Caroline, is a Constantine now. I know some of the deepest, darkest secrets of this woman’s sister.
Their genetics have clearly contributed to the iconic Constantine look. It’s Caroline and Geneva who have white-blonde hair. They have the same aquiline nose, which I’ve seen on several of Caroline’s children. Geneva looks up from her book, and I discover she has the same icy blue eyes as Caroline.
There’s something different about her expression. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.
A lack of loathing, perhaps.
“Good morning.” She gives me a gentle smile. “You’re Eva.”
My manners kick into gear, and I cross the room and offer her my hand. “And you’re Finn’s mother. Mrs. Hughes. Geneva. It’s a pleasure to meet you again.”
Her hand is soft and cool, like her laugh. “No need for white lies before eight a.m. I know our families are cordial, but Caroline hasn’t made it easy. Would you like some coffee? Tea?”
“Tea, please. But I meant it.” Geneva’s already gliding across the space. She opens a cupboard and pulls out the accouterments for a cup of loose-leaf tea. “I’m glad to meet another member of Finn’s family.”
She arches an eyebrow at me, her hands moving over the infuser. A kettle of hot water waits on the stove. “My sister’s family.”
“We can’t help who we’re born to. I understand it’s pretty much the luck of the draw.”
Her mouth quirks. “I can see why he likes you.”
We take places across from one another in the breakfast nook. It feels outside the realm of possibility that I’d sit down and have tea with Caroline Constantine’s sister, but then again, her daughters were at Haley’s baby shower.
Which makes me think of my own potential baby shower. My mother and Geneva Hughes making small talk. Me, graciously accepting gifts for the next phase of life, which may or may not actually include Finn.
I sip my tea. The light flavor settles my stomach. “I’m fond of him, too.”
“I’d hope so, given that you slept over.” Before I can muster a response, Geneva waves a hand. “I don’t mind if he brings his lovers to the house. If you want to have meaningless sex, that’s fine. Just don’t be serious about him.”
It’s far too late for that. I’m not sure what Finn’s mother knows. She probably knows about the engagement, since all of Bishop’s Landing does. Her comment tells me she doesn’t have any idea about the baby.
In the silence, she studies my face. “Ah. It’s clear Finn’s told you about his situation.”
“Yes. He shared that with me.”
“He’s a good man.”
I wrap both hands around the teacup. The warmth reminds me of the shower last night. Finn’s face buried in my neck. I can’t do it, Eva. I’m so scared.
“He is.” That’s the truth. All I can say, really.
“He’s a good man now. He won’t always be that way. I hope he was clear about the timeline.”
“I’ve met the older Mr. Hughes. I have some idea of what Finn thinks is coming.”
“I mean this kindly, Eva. He doesn’t have the first clue of what it’s like to watch your husband disappear before your eyes. Worse, actually. He becomes a stranger. A stranger who you’ve had sex with. A stranger who you’ve had children with. A stranger who doesn’t even recognize you.”
I don’t want to know. I want to cling to hope.
Doing that would make me a coward.
“Then tell me what it’s like.”
“It’s bloody and violent and heartbreaking. You end up changing the man’s diapers. You find him wandering outside, lost, in soiled clothes. A man who would never raise a hand to you slaps you across the face. He forgets he ever loved you. He forgets he knew you at all.”
I make a sound of pained sympathy.
“These things start early for the Hughes men.” Polite concern edges her voice. It reminds me of her sister until I meet her eyes and find sadness there.
“I think you’re trying to warn me away, Mrs. Hughes.”
“I’m not trying to warn you. I’m telling you that you should cut and run.”
The directness of her gaze is as sharp as her words. The blunt impact sends a shock through my chest. We’re talking about her son. “You’re suggesting that I leave him?”
“Yes. You don’t need the money. The best thing you can do for yourself and for the baby is to separate yourself from this situation as soon as possible. Have legal documents drawn up that give you full custody and control of your child. You’ll need ironclad protection, and you can get it if you start early enough. Go, Eva. And don’t look back.”
A numb sensation spreads over my face. This isn’t the conversation I expected to have at the Hughes’s breakfast nook with hot tea warming my hands. Some motherly prodding, maybe. A little light disapproval that I slept here last night.
Nope. She’s telling me to wholesale abandon her son.
“To spare myself from seeing him…decline?”
“Not to spare yourself. To save yourself. The Hughes legacy isn’t the money or the company or the social status. It’s this secret. And if you don’t leave, it’ll kill you.”
“You’re still here, aren’t you, Mom?” Finn’s voice, casual and charming, stops my heart.
His mother’s eyes slide over to him. Judging by her reddened cheeks, she didn’t know he was there. I’m bruised for both of them. For the mother who feels she has to protect other people from her son, and for the son who heard the naked truth from his mother.
Finn straightens up, sticks his hands in his pockets, and crosses the kitchen. He woke up and came to find me. He’s all sweatpants and T-shirt and bedhead, and I’ve still never seen anyone as breathtaking.
Or anyone as determined.
He slides in next to me, the heat of his body meeting mine. I’d feel like I was in his bed again, protected by the sheets, except my face is on fire and my morning sickness is back in full force.
“Eva.”
I tear my eyes from the tea cooling in the cup and meet his.
There’s no self-conscious tilt to his mouth or embarrassed glance at his mother. Finn looks at me like I’m the only person in the world he could possibly speak to. There’s a knot in my throat. What did he think about that suggestion? Did the idea of it hurt him? I don’t want that, but I hate even more the idea that he might have liked the idea. That it would be a relief to him if I did that.