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“Nice. That really makes me want to be with you again. You sound like such a catch.”
“You know what I mean. It wasn’t like that. I didn’t care who your mother was or how much money you had. Speaking of that, your mother is crazy rich; why would you want such a small house?”
“I love this house. It’s exactly what I needed and wanted; you even thought so. Or at least you did before you knew who my mother was. Gee, I can’t understand why I wouldn't want to tell everyone who she is,” I muttered and crossed my arms.
Zach rubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry. That was rude and inappropriate of me. I’m just still in a bit of shock here. Your mother is really Samantha Maxwell? Shit. You look nothing like her.”
“Thank you.”
“She’s not my type. Wow, that sounded even worse. Can I start over?”
“You mean like when we first met? I think we are past that.” I glared at him.
“This is a lot for me to take in. I still can’t believe you’re her daughter. I never would have guessed. You’re nothing like her. Sorry, still saying shit wrong.”
“No, that I will take as a compliment. I’m not close with my mother because she’s a selfish bitch and only cares about herself. I like your father, and I’m sorry he’s going to be dragged through the mud when they divorce.”
“Wait! They’re getting a divorce? I hadn’t heard that.”
“It’s not common knowledge, but the writing’s on the wall. I know my mother; I know her patterns. She’s moving on and probably already looking for her next conquest.”
“Is she cheating on my father?” Zach roared.
“She wouldn’t do that. She’s too smart. But she’s moving on. How bad it gets is anyone's guess. Her last divorce took about two years to complete. If I were you, I would tell your dad to just give her whatever she wants. It’ll be easier for him in the long run. But the best thing you and I can do for your father is to not start something together. There’s going to be enough heat and news with them without us adding to it.”
“Heat? Pun intended?” he teased.
“This isn’t a laughing matter.”
“That’s on them. That’s their issue. Their lives. Not ours.”
“You were how old when your father divorced your mother?”
“Young, like eight or something.”
“Figures. You’ve never actually been a part of a Hollywood divorce and certainly not one with my mother. She has made an art form out of looking like the victim and manipulating anything and everything to make her look good. If she can use this, if she can make you or your father look bad by us being together, she will. I don’t want that to happen to you, your father, or your business.”
“So what? This is it? We can’t see each other anymore because your mother is a selfish bitch? Your words, not mine.”
“Zach, even if we could work out, we’re from different worlds. You only worked with me as a favor for your father. You sell multi-million-dollar mansions, not three-bedroom cottages in the suburbs. There are rumors you might have your own reality show. How would it look if you were found to be dating your stepsister?”
He didn’t answer me, and I could tell he was seeing my point. He didn’t like it, and I didn’t either, but we couldn’t be together. Not only because of our parents but because of who he could and should become.
“This sucks,” he conceded.
I laughed. “Yes. Yes, it does. I’m sorry. I thought you knew about me. About who I was. Otherwise, I never would have gotten involved with you.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. I don’t regret what we did, I never will, and I don’t want you to either. I understand what you’re saying about your mother, about our parents' divorce. I don’t like it. I don’t think it’s right, but I get it. But that doesn’t mean I wish we’d never happened. It was incredible. A bit unusual, and I wish we had a bed or something else to make it a bit less awkward. It doesn’t take away how wonderful it was to be with you. Or how I will wish that we can do it again.”
“Zach.” I sighed.
“I get that we can’t. Right now. There are other outside factors that don’t make it possible. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t wish and hope that circumstances will change and things will be different. That’s assuming you would be open to that.”
“You would want to continue this? You would still want to see me after everything you just learned?”
“I don’t care who your mother is. I don’t care about your past. None of that matters. What I care about is you. Who you are. The type of person you are and how I can get to know you better. In many ways.”
His eyes roamed over my body as he said the last part, leaving little doubt in my mind exactly what he was talking about or what he wanted. I smiled and nodded slightly.
