AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She lifted an eyebrow at me. “French manicure.”
“Alright. But while we’re on it, kind of, we are not French.”
She looked scandalized. “Of course we are!”
“No, we’re not. Grandma and Granddad were, but we are not. We areCanadienne. Well, you are. I suppose I’mAméricainenow, more than anything.”
She made a horrified sound to go with the look. “Jolie Aurélie Vola. You are half French, young lady, and half English-Scottish-German-whatever. And yes, you are both American and Canadian. But don’t think for one second that you don’t belong here anymore. With me.” Her gray eyes glittered with sudden tears. She grabbed my hand on the arm of my chair and squeezed. “Sweetheart, I know we all talk a lot about Jacob’s sons…”
“So?” I retrieved my hand to take up my coffee for a nervous sip, and tried to arrange my voice into an even tone. “What do they have to do with anything?”
“Well, Jolie, they’re all very… accomplished…”
“Oh, Margot,” I groaned. “And this day was going so well.”
Mom settled back in her chair. “What has gotten into you?” she asked softly, without looking at me. It was one of those questions mothers asked without really wanting the truth for an answer.
Shane’s gotten into me.
And it was really ruining my mood.
I reminded myself that it wasn’t her fault that I made very bad choices and had abysmal luck when it came to men. I needed to stop bickering with her. Over fucking nail polish.
Obviously, last night’s attempt at “hot girl you get to have once and then she’s gonna walk away and never think of you again, hahaha to you” completely backfired, because I was thinking about him. Right now. And I had been all morning.
And somehow I just couldn’t resist poking at it.
“Hey, Mom… what’s with the Lamborghini in the driveway?” It was still there this morning, as it had been all weekend, parked under my bedroom window like a creepy souvenir of one of the worst nights of my life. And she hadn’t said a word about it.
Maybe it belonged to the mystery brunette who liked getting spanked on it, and she hadn’t returned to pick it up because she didn’t need it. Maybe her husband had three more at home. Maybe her and Shane stole it on some fuck-fueled joyride crime spree.
Either that or it was Jacob’s, though it seemed unlikely that Mom would fail to mention that her husband-to-be had a sudden midlife crisis of “just had to buy a bright yellow Lamborghini” proportions.
“Oh, that’s Shane’s,” Mom said breezily, as if that explained everything.
“And who the hell paid for it?”
“Really, Jolie,” she said, sounding disinterested to the point of boredom. “Talking about money is so…trèsgauche.”
“And that’s why no one talks about what he does for a living?”
“I know what he does for a living.”
Well, that makes one of us.
She added quickly, “Shane’s business is none of my business. He’s a grown man.”
“Too bad you don’t take that approach with other grownups…”
She looked at me, surprised. “Jolie. Jealousy does not become you.”
“I’m not jealous of Shane.”
“Darling. I know you don’t like him—”
“I never said that.”
She pursed her lips again.
