“Oh, yes, your silly ideations of becoming a part of my family.”
“Winston needs me.”
“Winston needs no one,” she spits out, words like acid.
“That’s not true. He needs his family. He needs people who have his back.”
“And that’s you?”
“Yes.”
She glares at me, waiting for me to elaborate or explain more. I don’t. That’s all there is to say. He needs me. Because I’m me and I get him in a way no one else does. Because I can make him lower his guard and be normal from time to time. Because I humanize him. I entertain him but I also give him an opportunity to be himself free of judgment or reparation.
“My dad told me recently that he and my mother gave up money for love. Not everything in this world has a monetary value. Some things are better when you don’t throw a black plastic credit card at them.”
“My AMEX is made of metal but that’s beside the point.”
“You loved your husband?”
“Of course,” she sneers. “What kind of odd question is that?”
“So many people in your, uh, social circle don’t always marry for love.”
“I loved Lane dearly.”
“If he were poor, would you still have loved him? If you were forced to give up the Italian leather handbags and personal drivers and metal credit cards with unlimited money attached to them? Would you still have chosen Lane?”
She doesn’t answer the question but I see the glimmer of love in her eyes. The flash of grief. She would have married him if he were poor. So she’s not the frigid ice queen she pretends to be. “That’s beside the point. Love doesn’t last.”
Or maybe she is a frigid ice queen. Something happened in her marriage. I don’t know what, but it made her this way. Jaded. “That’s sad,” I say, not disputing her words. It happened to her, but that doesn’t mean it will happen to me.
“You don’t love my son,” she says finally, “and he certainly can’t love you. I won’t allow it.”
“Why? Because of what Meredith did? No one is good enough for him or is it just me?”
“You’ve barely been in his life and look at all the drama you’ve caused.” She waves me off in dismissal. “He deserves better.”
“He deserves someone who cares about him. Someone who makes him happy. Someone who will fight him when he’s being an asshole. I’m going to take care of him whether you like it or not.”
“You?” She arches a beautiful, sculpted brow. “You have the means to take care of my son?”
“I’ll figure it out,” I tell her, shrugging my shoulders.
“That’s a childish view.”
“At least it’s not a cynical one. Winston takes care of everyone around him. He needs me to take care of him every once in a while.”
“Your tone is bordering on offensive and threatening. Constantines don’t take threats lightly.”
“He’s spent his entire life being rock-solid and impenetrable. The one time he softened, Meredith bit him in the ass.” I say her name a lot worse than I say Layla or how Perry says Tate. “He deserves to have tender moments and let his guard down.”
“And look how that’s turned out for him with you,” she sneers.
“Do you know what his favorite ice cream is?”
Her glare is chilly but I don’t let it bother me. “He doesn’t eat ice cream.”
“Cherry Garcia.” I give her a bitchy smile. “Did you also know when he’s still and not thinking about the weight of his empire, he toys with my hair in such a sweet, absent way that makes my heart ache?” My eyes water, just thinking about him. I’m tired of this distance between us. I miss him. “Lane wasn’t hard all of the time, was he? I bet behind closed doors and with his children, he was loving and tender.”
She turns her head, staring out at the marina. I admire her profile. Even with the sun shining in, highlighting her every detail, she’s young and vibrant and beautiful. I’m sure Lane was smitten with her. People don’t have that many kids and not enjoy each other immensely.
“I can make him happy,” I say softly. “Once he realizes that, nothing will stop us. Not even you.”
Her eyes cut over to me and she peels back my every layer as though seeing parts of me I don’t even know exist. I hold my chin high and meet her stare. My dad wouldn’t fight for me, but I’ll fight for Win. Even if that means going against his scary mother and his stubborn ego.
“Let’s order, darling. Time is getting away from us.”
* * *
Caroline conveniently takes a call just as we pull up in front of my apartment building. It’s such a Winston thing to do. Avoid an awkward goodbye by feigning being busy. But, because I’m me, I interrupt her conversation to thank her and give her a hug. She’s stiff and doesn’t return the hug. No surprise there. The driver opens the door for me and I exit. Once he retrieves my bag from the trunk, he opens the front door for me to usher me inside. I linger as I watch him return to the car.