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Micheline ignored him, walking over to stand at the side of the bed and peering down at Fiona. “Honey, my son and I need to have a private, personal conversation. Would you mind going back to your own room?”
Mindful of the role she had to play, Fiona nodded. “Of course.” She wrapped the sheet around herself, got out of bed, grabbed her clothes and hurried to the bathroom to dress.
When she emerged a few seconds later, she flashed a shy smile at Micheline and hurried for the door.
Before she could exit, Jake grabbed her arm. “Wait.”
She shot him a look, hoping it conveyed a don’t ruin this for me statement. Evidently it did, for he let her go.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Micheline purred as Fiona slipped out the door.
Outside in the hall, Fiona paused to catch her breath. Part of her wanted to rush back in and stand with Jake. But if she wanted to continue to play the obedient little cult member, she couldn’t. Whatever Micheline wanted, Jake would have to deal with it alone.
* * *
Bracing himself once the door closed behind Fiona, Jake turned back to face Micheline. He thought about making it easy on her and telling her he already knew, but why should he? Plus, she’d want to know where and when he’d found out, and how. Which would hurt Fiona and her mission.
Crossing his arms, he eyed the woman who’d raised him and said nothing.
“You don’t have to look so angry,” Micheline chided. “This is our chance to make up for lost time.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.” She reached out, clearly meaning to either hug him or squeeze his shoulder.
Neatly, he stepped away. If she touched him, he wasn’t sure he could manage to conceal his revulsion.
Tilting her head, she considered him. “Why’d you leave all those years ago?” she asked quietly.
One of her tricks had always been to counter a question with another question instead of an answer, so he employed that now. “Did you even look for me? I was seventeen years old, out there on my own. Do you have any idea what kind of horrible things can happen to a boy that young?”
“Did they?” she asked. “I mean, did terrible things happen to you?”
Question after a question. He realized they could keep this up until the morning. “What do you want, Micheline?” he asked tiredly. “First you call me up and tell me you’re dying, then you seem dedicated to avoiding me. Now all of a sudden, you’ve got something important to say. Why don’t you just spit it out?”
Another woman might have decried the hardness in his voice or tearfully demanded to know what she’d done to deserve his apathy. Not Micheline. Either she already knew or she simply did not care. Jake would bet on the later. Or maybe even both.
“Fine,” she sighed, her tone more annoyed than apologetic. “You’re not really my son.”
“What?” He snapped his head up, summoning back his first reaction when he’d learned the news. Shock and disbelief.
“It’s true. We’re not blood related. I switched you with another infant at the hospital when you were a day old.”
Pretending shock seemed anticlimactic. Instead, he settled on rage. “Why?” he asked. “Why would you do such a thing?” Maybe now she’d give him some answers.
“I should have just given my baby up for adoption,” she mused, still avoiding his question. “There was this other infant who wasn’t doing so well. You.”
Confused, he eyed her. “So you traded your healthy child? That doesn’t even make sense.” But then, knowing her, he realized it did. “You thought I was going to die, didn’t you?” Horror filled him—fury, too.
Micheline, being Micheline, merely shrugged. She didn’t even have the grace to try and appear ashamed. “To my surprise, you didn’t. You thrived. The other baby started out sickly, but he did, too. My baby. I was able to keep tabs on him, because he became part of the most prominent family in Mustang Valley. My birth son is a Colton now. While you...” She let her gaze travel over him. “Clearly never felt any connection to me at all.”
No remorse. No apologies. If anything, she seemed to be gloating. Horrible, awful woman.
When he’d been a child, he’d wondered what was wrong with him that his own mother couldn’t seem to love him. As he’d grown and come to realize what kind of person Micheline actually was, he’d reckoned her lack of maternal instincts were a blessing in disguise. Despite that, he still carried scars from his younger years. This was one of the reasons he’d continually shied away from relationships: his fear of allowing any woman to hurt him the way his mother had.
“Do you even have cancer?” he asked abruptly. “Or was that sob story a ruse to get me to come home and see you?”
She narrowed her eyes. “How could you think such a thing?”
