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A moment of silence hung between them. Then, the door swung open.
“No!” Claire’s mother screamed into his face. “You need to leave. Now!”
“Mom, please,” Claire cried. “Just listen to us.”
Claire’s mother rounded on her then, her mouth moving quickly as a torrent of anger and vitriol poured out. Vince could barely understand what was happening—all he knew was that her mother was not happy.
He took a gamble and reached out, grabbing hold of Claire’s mother’s arm. She whirled around.
“Get off me,” she hollered, yanking her arm from his grasp.
“I’m not just some random man taking advantage of your daughter,” Vince said earnestly.
Claire’s mother tried to talk over him, but he refused to let her.
“I care very deeply about her,” he said gently. “If I could just have a moment of your time.”
“Mom, please,” Claire begged.
Vince could see the confusion in her mother’s eyes. She wanted to scream and shout so badly, but she was torn. She studied his face, then the rest of him.
“Fine,” she spat. “Five minutes.”
Without another word, she shoved her daughter onto the couch, making sure she stood between her and Vince as he carefully stepped inside.
This was it. Somehow, Vince had wrangled his way inside. All he had to do was be charming, nice, flattering but not too obvious. If he played this right, he knew he could get a pass from Claire’s mother. If not …
Vince shook his head, trying to shake the thoughts loose. He didn’t want to think about that possibility.
Inside, the house was clean and crisp. He couldn’t help but notice the architecture. It was pleasant, if a bit bland. Whoever had this house built clearly wanted to go for something modern and elegant and they had delivered. The walls were white, contrasting with the orange-brown wood floor. All of the furnishings were white or a shade of white. It all looked very clinical, like a show home.
Vince knew he shouldn’t judge though. The home Lorelei had designed was exactly the same. There was something about women and modern, sleek homes. Whenever Vince did a bit of freelancing, the women always wanted a home that looked like people had never stepped inside.
Vince stayed near the front door, waiting for Claire’s mother to say something.
She turned to her daughter. “Go to your room!” she bellowed.
The sheer volume of the shout made Vince cringe. Claire didn’t seem affected. She stood then stomped up the stairs, leaving Vince alone with her mother.
The woman gave Vince one last harsh look then floated into the kitchen, whispering to herself. Reluctantly, Vince followed, quiet as a mouse. She reached up into a cabinet and fetched a wine glass. From the fridge, she grabbed a bottle of red. She filled the glass to the brim, leaving the open bottle on the counter.
“Well,” she sighed, leaning her elbows on the counter, “you shouldn’t have fucked my daughter but I guess that doesn’t matter now.”
Vince’s eyes didn’t leave hers as he stood feeling like a kid in the principal’s office.
“My name’s Kate, by the way—not that you care.” She took several large gulps of her wine.
“Vince,” he replied.
“Tell me what you needed to say,” Kate said, “then get out of my house.”
Vince sighed. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d hoped. Still, he was going to try. He had to.
He sat on the other side of the island, trying to think of a way to start. Kate watched him with beady, dark-blue eyes.
“Look,” Vince’s voice quivered. He cleared his throat and continued, “I know this must be really tough for you. But, no matter what you think, we really care about your daughter.”
Kate scowled. “We?”
