Page 61 of Dirty Boss

When we pulled away, our faces close, Vaughn stroked the back of my neck with his free hand and asked, “What about you?”

“What about me?” I asked, leaning back on the blue cushions.

“You’ve told me about your exes, but how…” He frowned, searching for the right words. “How did your family end up turning their backs on you? Even after everything, I still look after my mom. I make sure my ex has enough, because I want Charlotte to have a present mother who isn’t constantly worried about money. I couldn’t imagine…”

“Leaving them out in the cold?” I let out a bitter snort. “You’re not like them, Vaughn. My parents don’t think that way.”I leaned into his side, my eyes tracing the arch of the fireplace, the line of the mantel. “I’ll tell you a story,” I said.

Vaughn hummed, his hand back on my shoulder, his thigh pressed into the side of mine. I was warm and safe and comfortable, and I wanted to share.

“When I was seven years old, I was learning about the life cycle of plants.” Pain darted through my chest at the memory, even all these years later. Taking a sip to hide it, I glanced at Vaughn. “I wasreallyinto it. Something about planting a seed in a little cup, watching it sprout, moving it to the planters outside, watering it, running outside every day to see if there had been any changes… It just captivated my little kid brain.”

Vaughn smiled. “You like seeing progress. Like with me. I’m a project to you.”

I clicked my tongue. “You’re a lot more than a project, Vaughn,” I blurted, then caught myself.

Vaughn’s eyes softened, but he let me off the hook and didn’t ask me to elaborate. Instead, he said, “So seven-year-old Alba had a little veggie patch.”

“I had anamazingveggie patch. I planted green beans and tomatoes. There were zucchinis, and even though I hated zucchini, I vowed that I’d eat them just because I grew them. They were growing like crazy. I was so excited.” I played with the stem of my wine glass and fell silent. Vaughn took a sip of his, waiting. Then I took a deep breath and continued. “I went over to Long Island to visit my grandparents for a couple of weeks at the start of the summer. By the time I came back, the first crop should’ve been ready to pick. I couldn’t stop talking about it. I was obsessed.”

“What happened?”

I glanced at Vaughn and half expected him to be laughing at me. I was talking about a little kid’s veggie patch, after all. Notexactly the deep and lasting trauma that some people endure. Not financial infidelity and the breakdown of a marriage.

But he wasn’t laughing. He was listening and waiting for me to finish, his eyes solemn, his fingers stroking my shoulder.

I smiled sadly. “When I came back, I ran out of the car and through the house, out the back door…and it was gone.”

A frown tugged Vaughn’s brows. “What was gone?”

“The garden. My mother had had it removed and replaced with a patio, decorated with furniture and lights and flowers for their upcoming wedding anniversary party.” My voice tightened, and I cleared my throat to try to hide it. I could still feel the confusion followed by the disbelief of that moment. The devastation at seeing all my hard work gone… It had broken my little heart. “She told me growing vegetables wasn’t for people like us. We hired people to do that work for us. If I wanted, I could have a rose garden and she’d have our gardener tend it for me.”

Anger flashed across Vaughn’s face. “So your crop?—”

“Gone.” I pinched a smile. “Replaced with pavers, cocktail tables, and outdoor lights.”

“What the fuck?” he demanded, leaning forward to put his glass on the table. “They just destroyed it? Without even telling you?”

There was something so unbelievably validating about Vaughn’s outrage. Something healing about it.

Yes, I’d been little, and it was only a few vegetables. But it had hurt me deeply, and it was a pattern that would repeat itself throughout my life. My agency had been taken from me. I was stripped of any aspect of my personality that was undesirable, and when I rebelled…

Well, I was shown that my wants and needs didn’t matter. Eventually, I was thrown out of the family altogether.

“Your parents are evil,” Vaughn said, his jaw tense. “I can’t imagine… Charlotte… God, I can’t imagine doing that to her. The way her face lights up when she’s excited about something…” He shook his head, his eyes focused on the middle distance. Then he shifted to look at me. “You are so strong, Alba. To have endured that kind of childhood and turned into the woman you are… Wow.”

His praise was uncomfortable. I shifted, putting my glass down next to his as I shrugged a shoulder. “I can’t complain. I had wealth and privilege and comfort. I had friends, opportunities. Not that I made anything of them,” I said bitterly.

“And how much do those things matter, in the end?” Vaughn asked. “How much did that wealth help you?” He shook his head. “It goes to show how strong you are that you turned out so good after an upbringing like that.”

I blinked at him. He’d said it like my upbringing was bad. And yes, it was devoid of the kind of love and closeness that I needed. I’d always felt like a pawn on a chessboard, moved around for someone else’s benefit. But I’d had everything I needed. All the food and shelter and clothes and luxuries…

Vaughn pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me, and I realized that things would never feel as good as this—all the designer clothing in the world would never warm me up the way his arms did when they held me.

I was allowed to mourn the things I’d never had. The support, the love, the agency. I’d never been allowed to be myself. I’d never had the opportunity to make my own way in life—not until I left all the privilege behind.

“Hey,” Vaughn said, wiping a tear away from my cheek. “None of that.”

I rubbed the heels of my hands over my cheeks, laughing at myself. “I’m crying over a few zucchinis I wouldn’t have even enjoyed eating.”