Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
My mother brightened in a way I hadn’t seen in a very long time, like the mere possibility of grandkids was enough to light her up like a goddamn Christmas tree. “Tell me about her. What does she do? Do you have a picture of her?”
I chuckled. “Mom, chill. I just said it wasn’t serious—”
“Yet.” She held up her finger to me in typical mom fashion. “This is the first woman you’ve mentioned since you left the house. By that fact alone, I know she means a great deal to you. Do you have a picture? I want to see her.”
“I don’t have any.”
“None?” she asked incredulously.
I’d taken some photos of her, but she was asleep at the time, wearing my shirt or nothing at all, photos I took in private. “None that I’m at liberty to share.” My mother and I didn’t talk about my personal life often, but she knew I was a young man living a bachelor life, and she never pried, probably for her own sanity.
She sidestepped my answer. “Is she beautiful?”
I smiled before I scoffed. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Blond or brunette? Redhead?”
“She’s a brunette. Long brown hair. Green eyes. She’s on the shorter side, a little over five feet tall. But what she lacks in height, she makes up in sass.”
“Ooh, I love her already,” she said. “Does she work? Is she a model?”
“I gave her a job as an assistant at the investment firm.”
“What did she do before that?”
“Well…” I knew my mother wouldn’t like this part. “She was married, so she didn’t work.”
“She was married.” She said it with abject disapproval. “How old is she?”
“I’ve never asked. Almost thirty, if I had to guess.”
“So, she’s already been divorced, and she’s not even thirty?”
“Mom, I love you, but you better park that judgment bus.”
“I just don’t understand how a woman so young—”
“Her husband cheated. So, she left his ass, even when she had nothing, because she’s got a spine—and I like that.”
“But a man doesn’t cheat without a reason.”
“Mom.” My mother was brainwashed by her generation. Still living in a time when everything was the woman’s fault, never the man’s. A woman’s place was in the house, making a home and raising children, not working as a bartender or an assistant at an investment company. I could lie to make my mother like Fleur more, but I didn’t give a damn whether my mother liked her or not. I was proud of my woman, that she left her cheating husband because she deserved more, that she would rather do the hard thing than the easy thing. She wouldn’t look the other way because she wanted to remain a rich woman. When she said she didn’t care about money, she fucking meant it. “He was the problem, not her. And I’m glad he threw her away because I got her.”
My mother silenced her other questions and drank her coffee, her previous excitement crushed by the fact that Fleur had already been married.
She was still married, but I didn’t tell her that.
“If you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.” It was a diplomatic, insincere statement, but she tried her best to make amends.
“Thank you.”
“I’ve actually been seeing someone myself,” she said. “I was introduced to him by a friend.”
“Yeah?” I asked. “Tell me about him.”
“He’s a widower, like me. He’s rich, handsome, elegant, interesting. We’ve gone out to dinner a couple times.”
“What’s his name?”
“Pierre.”
“Is he a good guy?”
“Seems so,” she said. “He has a spectacular art collection. And he’s quite the chess player.”
“Is it serious?”
“Not yet.” She smiled. “But it’s headed in that direction.”
“Then I should meet him. Just in case he thinks he can take advantage of you.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m too old to be taken advantage of, dear.”
“You’re a very wealthy woman, Mom.”
“As is he.”
“Even so, just want him to know there’s a pit bull in your corner. All you have to do is take off the leash.”
She gave a slight shake of her head like the suggestion was ridiculous, but she had a warmth to her eyes like it meant a lot to her that I cared. That I cared enough to bloody my knuckles if it came to it.
I disagreed with her on a lot of things, but she was still my mother, the first woman in my life and, up until recently, the only woman in my life. “Let me know when we can get together.”
“Will you bring your special lady?”
I hadn’t planned on introducing her to my mother, especially when things were still fairly new, but I wasn’t opposed to the idea. “Her name is Fleur, and I’ll think about it.”
When I woke up, it was six in the evening, and there was a text from Fleur.
I miss you.
It was nice to read first thing, to know your girl was finally wrapped around your finger right where you wanted her. Yeah? How much? I was still half asleep, so I fired off my replies without thinking.