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Ivy
Carryingtwocoffees,I pushed open the door with my elbow and entered the shop my mother had set up while pregnant with me. Although my grandmother was rich, my fiercely independent mother was driven to make her own money. Possessing a flair for fashion, she’d made a success of the boutique.
Mad Love Couture had caught the eye of rich young things looking to stand out in a crowd by wearing the latest European fashion. After an influencer raved about Mad Love only stocking garments made by fairly paid seamstresses, the shop took off.
My mom had a conscience when it came to the environment and social equity, and for that reason alone, I admired her like any good soul. But when it came to relationships, she’d missed out on the monogamy gene. Age hadn’t restrained her appetite for adventure either. The older she got, the younger the men became.
But Mitchell White was only twenty-eight.
I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised, given my parents’ history.
Although my mom and dad loved partying, a visit to a Californian ashram, followed by an epiphanous peyote session, made my mother see what mattered. Or so she relayed. When I asked her to elaborate, she responded with a hug, explaining that having birthed me and running a successful business were her finest and proudest achievements.
My father, sadly, had continued on a hedonistic path until he dropped. When he died from a heart attack at forty, the doctor speculated too much cocaine as the primary cause.
That was one of the many reasons I stayed away from everything but alcohol, including those shriveled mushrooms in the fridge that my mom took during the solstice. According to her, hallucinogenics helped with her moods.
I found my mother lounging on the pink gilt-framed velvet sofa, studying a fashion catalog. She had a great eye when it came to clothes, which was strange, because she rarely wore designer. Most of the time, she preferred white, floaty outfits.
“Hey,” I said.
She looked up. “Darling, there you are. Where were you yesterday? I started to worry when you didn’t return my texts. And you didn’t come home.”
“I stayed with Chase.” I sighed, rolling my eyes, annoyed at how easily I’d given in to him.
I could only blame it on that kiss outside Absinthe. I was human, after all. He’d also threatened to eat my pussy until I lost my voice screaming his name, which didn’t happen. He’d devoured me to within an inch of sanity, but screeching wasn’t my style. I’d just nearly swallowed my tongue instead.
“I’m glad you’ve forgiven him, blossom.”
My mother’s sweet little names always made me smile. At least she hadn’t named me after a piece of fruit. Botanicals were her limit.
“You look so much healthier,” she added.
I peered into the mirror. “Do I?”
“Your cheeks are rosy. I can see Chase makes you happy. You’ve just got to be careful not to invest your heart.”
I ran my hands through my tangled mane. “I know.”
“Men like Chase are hard to pin down.”
“And you would know?” I raised a brow.
“I’m no longer expecting a happily-ever-after, darling. I tried that with your father.”
“I can still have that dream, can’t I?”
She smiled sweetly. “Of course you can. Just like Santa and the tooth fairy. I allowed you to enjoy those fantasies, didn’t I?”
“Yep, until I was two.” Sighing heavily, I passed her a cup of coffee, then sat down on the gilt rococo armchair that had arrived with the chandelier. The shop had recently been painted a rich red with gold trimmings, giving it that Parisian touch.
“Has something happened?” She zeroed in on my face. “You know you can always talk to me.”
I removed the plastic lid and sipped my coffee. “I dropped in here yesterday at lunchtime.” I paused, hoping she would catch on without me having to elaborate.
She rose and came toward me. In her white tiered skirt, she gave the impression of floating.
Even in the morning sun, her radiant face looked flawless. She was still a very beautiful woman.
