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“Don’t, please,” she whispered, her voice wobbly, as if afraid to get burned if she stayed any longer in this room.
“I’m sorry. That was out of place.” Upset with himself, he ushered her out of his bedroom.
Back in the living room, she glanced around. “I like your mix of contemporary furniture and antiques.” Shoulders square, back straight, she smiled, once more in control.
“I bought the furniture but the old pieces came from my parents’. When Dad decided to live on his yacht, he rented the big house, and told us to choose whatever we wanted to keep. Some of the antique pieces are mine, others are Royce’s. Now, let’s bring the meat and more drinks downstairs.”
“Thank you for showing me your condo, and for going out of your way to restore my good mood as you said.”
“Brenda, I understand your concern for your daughter. Please don’t resent me. As surgeons, we’re not allowed to operate on close relatives. As a psychologist, maybe you should let another professional analyze your daughter.”
She held his gaze without answering.
“Have I lost your friendship with my misplaced advice?”
“No Matt. It shows that you care, but the situation is too complicated, and Mia is so vulnerable.”
Were these the words of a mother eager to protect her daughter, or was Mia plodding through muddy water?
