Page 158

“Money isn’t everything,” he said.

“The only people who say that are the ones who have enough of it.”

“You’d have enough,” he said. “Even without everything else, you’d have enough.”

“Maybe,” I said, then squeezed my eyes shut. “Probably. But he still deserves better.”

He shook his head. “No, he doesn’t. You do.”

With that, he took his exit. I stared blankly at his vacant seat for several moments.

Did I deserve better? Better than the way I was treating myself, like my feelings and wants didn’t matter? Better than being called a whore? Better than being judged for the amount of money I did or didn’t have? Better than assumptions that I’d seek material gain over love? Better than throwing away my own happiness, and that of the man I loved?

We could be happy together, couldn’t we? If he really wanted me… we could be happy.

With that thought lingering in my head, I turned the engine over and headed home.

Fifty-Three

I pulled myself together the following morning, though I was still wan and exhausted. How strange that heartbreak could do this, that it could make me sick and weak and tired, like a flu virus. Cam was the worst illness I’d ever suffered. And that included the acute, suppurative appendicitis that landed me in this mess to begin with. At least the appendix was surgically excised. How was I supposed to remove my heart?

With a small thanks and zero smile, I allowed the Shepherds’ driver to whisk me toward their estate, hoping for a quick visit with no interruptions from the male members of Nessa’s family. As usual, she greeted me at the door with her arms open. Her smile was so genuine and her hug so tight that I wanted to cry again. Did she know what had happened? Had her son or husband bothered to tell her?

“I’m so glad you could make it, dear,” she said.

Didn’t really give me a choice, but okay.

“I’m happy to be here.”

I wasn’t, but what else could I say?

Nessa gave my arm a squeeze. “This way.”

She brought me to an entirely new area of the house—one I’d only glimpsed on my trip to the garage. It was a traditional sitting room, with cozy white sofas and chairs draped with fuzzy gray lap blankets. The windows let in great panels of sunlight, warming the space. The wall I faced boasted a series of floating shelves with artwork and family photos. Christmas lights piped the shelves like icing, making the festive décor glitter. The place was bursting with welcoming cheer.

Still, I stopped short.

Because sitting on one luxurious white armchair, legs crossed, dark hair falling in shiny waves over her shoulders, was my mother.

“Mama?”

“Hey, baby.” She patted the cushion of the sofa adjacent to her.

I looked at Nessa, hoping for some clarification, but she only smiled. “Have a seat, dear.”

“Is this an intervention?” I asked as I obeyed.

Nessa and my mother exchanged glances while the former reached toward a drink tray on the coffee table I hadn’t noticed. “Would you like a Bloody Mary, dear?”

“A…Bloody Mary?”

She smiled. “I believe this conversation might require a bit of fortification.”

Mama raised a sassy hand. “I’ll have one.”

Bloody Marys had never been my favorite—tomato, vodka, and celery? Bleh—but I nodded anyway. While Nessa worked, I turned to my mother. “What are you doing here?”

“Turns out there’s more to this story than we thought.”