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“He was my soulmate, sweetheart. My one true love: every time we were together, the stars sparkled in the sky, and the sun shone brighter in a way I could never explain. My heart felt lighter, and we would get hopelessly lost in each other. We were connected on a level that was practically supernatural.”
“I’ve never heard you talk like this before,” I said. Her tone genuinely touched me. The look of love that filled her eyes and the happiness that seemed to radiate off her while she talked about the man she loved was so sweet.
“And you never will again,” she sniffed, swiping a tear from her eye. “Trying to replace my love for him with many different husbands should be enough for you to understand that there will never be a man who calls to my soul the way he did. I find it interesting that you met a man in much the same way I met my Michael.”
“On a lie and embarrassment?”
“Precisely. The fact that you believe you can guard yourself against him says it all,” she laughed. “And being afraid of the man hurting you while talking about him with dreamy eyes? Well, that’s how it all begins. Just be careful because he can hurt you if you’re not.”
I didn’t know how to respond. I couldn’t see any comparison between Michael and John Aster, and I was beginning to wonder how many martinis Aunt Bev had before I got here.
“I think it’s time I go to bed,” she said, picking her heels off the floor and kissing my cheek. “It’s always a good idea to get ahead of jetlag, you know?”
“Okay, Aunt Bev,” I said. “Sleep well.”
“Sleep well, sweet girl. Don’t forget to lock up before you turn in.”
I watched her walk away, wondering if I should put any stock into what she said. I couldn’t imagine any scenario where I’d allow John Aster to play me, and I was determined now, more than ever, not to give him the chance.
Chapter Five
John
It was morning on the day of my flight home, and after spending all day yesterday with my dad and brothers, I decided to wake before sunrise to have an hour or so with my mom. She was an early riser, and since I hadn’t said more than three words to her since I’d gotten here two days ago, this was my only chance to touch base before returning home.
“Wow.” I was standing at the stove when I heard my mother’s voice behind me when she entered the kitchen. “French toast?”
“And bacon, eggs, and avocado, just in case you’re following one of those fad diets and want to eat healthy,” I said, acknowledging my mom’s pristine appearance at six in the morning.
She reached for a piece of bacon and delicately crunched it between her teeth. “When have you ever known me to follow anyone or any fad?” she questioned with a chuckle.
“Oh, I don’t know. Let me see,” I paused, trying to think of a time.
I came up blank.
“Precisely,” she answered with an arch of her perfectly shaped brow. “Though there are several people and trends that follow me, if they’re smart, of course.”
I eyed my mother and shook my head. “Careful with that ego, Mom,” I teased, plating the French toast and nodding toward the porch off the kitchen, lending perfect ocean views. “It’ll get bruised if you’re not careful.”
“Indeed. Well, this is all very lovely,” she said, taking a seat at the table I’d had the staff set up for this quaint little breakfast. “So, what are we celebrating? My precious grandchild’s christening, or have all my prayers been answered, and my prodigal son is returning home where he belongs?”
“Neither of those,” I said, sitting across from her and placing a napkin on my lap. “So, it looks like you’ll have to keep your prayer life going.”
I chuckled and sipped my espresso as she gave me a coy smile.
“I don’t mean to insult you, sweetheart,” she started while carefully slicing through a powdered sugar-covered strawberry, taking the tiniest bite a human could manage.
“I’m not insulted,” I said. “I’m proud of myself, and after being around a house filled with wealthy socialites for an entire day, I’m confident that my opinions are the wisest of all. That’s all that matters.”
“Now, I’m the one who feels insulted,” she playfully bantered.
“Nah,” I said before chewing and swallowing a bite of my delicious French toast. “You don’t get insulted. You get even.”
“It’s as if they created that saying just for me,” she laughed. “Tell me something,” she said, picking up her teacup and reclining in her chair, inhaling the aroma of her beloved lavender oolong tea before taking a sip. Evidently, the five bites she’d taken were enough to fill her up.
“Stop.” I stabbed my fork into the two triangle slices of French toast she abandoned on her plate, “How are you not devouring this delicious breakfast? I outdid myself this morning.”
“It is quite delicious,” she confirmed what I already knew. “Perhaps you could open a little bakery on Park Avenue next to our home in Manhattan. You could make your billions there and be closer to home.”
