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“Sunny and green and just lovely, really. You should visit sometime. You know, when you and Thorne don’t have to rush off to some awards show. Maybe we can get Mommy and Daddy’s permission. Sweet people,” she said in a way that made it unclear whether it was a dig or she was being genuine.
“You met them?”
Thorne squeezed my hand, and I tipped my head up, meeting his eyes. “I asked about the show, and they made it clear we needed a chaperone, so we met up with them just before coming to get you.”
Right. Hadn’t he said we needed a chaperone?
My cheeks flushed. Even though I was only seventeen, the idea of parental supervision to Thorne and his mother was probably laughable. He had a job making his own money since he was ten. He’d flown all over the world, attended Hollywood parties, owned a house and a car he paid for himself.
“Don’t worry, dear.” His mother reached out and patted my knee. “They were really friendly people, and I got a cannoli out of it. They’re my weakness, although Lord knows I don’t need the calories. But it was the best one I ever had.” She winked at me, and the tension drained from my spine. “And you,” she waved at me, “you’re tiny. How are you so tiny with parents that can bake like that? I’d be a boat.”
I croaked out a nervous laugh. “Fast metabolism, I guess.”
“Oh, you’re one of those.” She groaned. “Well, you’re certainly lovely.”
“Uh, thank you,” I said, uncertain how to handle this kind of praise.
“I only have one more question for you and then I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.” She smiled a closed-lip smile, her eyes narrowing on my face. “Are you dating my son for his money? Or is it the fame you’re after?”
THORNE
All the color drained from Scarlett’s face.
“Mom,” I warned.
Her blue eyes shifted innocently to mine. “What? It’s a valid question, is it not?”
I should’ve known she’d suspect as much. She’d always been overprotective in the ways that didn’t matter and not protective enough in all the ways that did.
“I am not using your son,” Scarlett ground out.
Whatever nerves I had sensed in her only a moment ago had vanished, replaced with anger. Though I shouldn’t be surprised—she wasn’t the type to allow someone to bulldoze her—I was glad to see the fight return to her. It was one of the things I liked about her.
“I have zero desire to be someone’s groupie and even less ambition to be some sort of Hollywood starlet, if that’s what you’re implying.” Scarlett tipped her chin, boldly standing her ground, reminding me of the very first moment in the bakery where she refused to cave to my demands. “My plans haven’t changed since I met your son, and I can assure you they won’t. I’m going to graduate high school, go to college, and work on a career for myself.”
Mom arched a brow, seemingly unfazed Scarlett took offense. “And what are these career aspirations of yours?”
I opened my mouth to call her off, then thought better of it. If Scarlett were to handle the paparazzi and any media coverage we might receive with any measure of success, she could handle my mother. Besides, this was only warming her up for the red carpet.
“I want my own clothing line, but I really want to design formalwear the most.”
“A fashion designer?” Mom practically laughed at the words.
Scarlett offered a tight nod.
“And you want me to think you’re not using him?” MomtskedwhileScarlett’s cheeks turned blood red.
“Oh, look, we’re here,” I interjected, pointing out the tinted window to the airport’s gate. The timing couldn’t have been better.
“Ah, fabulous,” Mom said as the limousine pulled straight onto the tarmac beside my private jet. “I have a bottle of champagne calling my name.” And the moment our driver opened the door, she stepped out, which was just like her. Ruffle feathers and drive a wedge, then bail.
“What the hell was that?” Scarlett waved toward her retreating form.
I shrugged. “She’s always afraid somebody’s going to use me. She means well.”
“She means well?” Scarlett asked.
Based on the wrinkle of her brow and the heat in her eyes, she was pissed. And I couldn’t say I blamed her.
