My phone rings—a call from Mom. I’ve put her off long enough. She deserves an answer.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, my voice warm. Even though I’m about to tell her something I’m too embarrassed about—Hello, yeah, um, I don’t quite remember getting married—I don’t want her to think I’m upset with her or don’t appreciate her. She’s the one constant person in my life—my rock, my best friend, my everything. She sacrificed everything for me, including her dream of becoming a nurse. Even though she never brings it up, I can never forget it. Or appreciate her enough.
“Evie, hon, what’s going on?” she asks, the words tight and hurried. “Suzy told me you got married!”
“Well, uh, yeah. About that—”
“Apparently it’s all over the news. Not that I really believe her, because she’s such a nosy woman, but I just had to make sure. She said there were pictures, but you know how people can doctor those nowadays.”
“Right.” I wince. Mom hates it when her next-door neighbor is right. And I feel the same way, because Suzy was one of the most vocal gossips when the situation with Chadwick went south. “Well, it’s sort of complicated.” I swallow a huge ball of knotted nerves stuck in my throat. “My boss and I are, uh, married.”
A loud gasp hits me harder than a punch. “But you never said! Never even hinted. It’s such a big decision.”
There’s so much confusion and hurt in her tone. This must be how Catholics feel when they confess.
“It was, well, very sudden. And maybe a little too impulsive.”
“I understand he’s a billionaire. The nephew of Barron Sterling.”
I clear my throat, embarrassed at hearing the concern in her voice. “He is. Grand-nephew.”
“Oh my goodness. Evie, hon.”
A lot of people might sound thrilled, even greedy, at learning their child married into a family like the Sterlings. Not Mom, though. She’s just anxious for me.
“People like that aren’t like us. And from what you’ve told me, he’s nothing like you. You’re too independent, too sensible for him. He’s going to want somebody he can boss around so he can feel better about himself.”
“Mom,” I say, slightly uncomfortable with how she’s denigrating Nate. He’s really not an asshole…although, given his background, he probably should be.
She isn’t finished. “A full-grown man who can’t even pick out his own clothes? Who ever heard of such a thing? And can’t make his own breakfast?”
“Well, he’s an important man. His time is better off spent managing all the nonprofit hospitals and stuff his family funds.” There. That should elevate her opinion of Nate.
“You mean his family gave him a job.”
That sounds so full of judgment that I don’t know what to say for a moment. But then I gather myself. “He gave me a job when there was nothing much on my résumé. He pays me better than most people with my kind of experience and education, and he’s always treated me fairly.”
Yes, especially the topless parade every morning.
“Well, I just don’t want to see you hurt because of some slick city suit,” she says. “You deserve better.”
“Mom, try to be open-minded.” But even as I say it, a bit of guilt pierces me. She had to help me the last time when things went bad. “I know the whole thing with Chad turned out badly, but I’m not as naïve as I used to be. I promise, I’ll be careful. I’m not making the same mistake again.”
Chapter Twenty
Nate
No more bachelorhood.
I think about that as I step into my home and toss myself on a long couch, strategically positioned to face the waterfall. Which means my eyes land on the statue from Barron. From this angle, the statue couple is back to good old missionary. Not creative, but classic. You can see the woman’s face as you drive into her, get to appreciate the moment when the orgasm breaks over her.
Wonder what Evie looks like when she comes. Flushed cheeks? Maybe a bit of sweat? But wait: does she sweat…or does she glow? And is she a screamer or a whimperer?
My cock says, Let’s find out!
My brain says, Stop having fantasies that aren’t going anywhere soon. It’s going to hurt your dick more than it hurts anybody else.
It’s unfair. I’m married to the woman I’ve been lusting after for months, but here I am sitting alone in my Malibu mansion. Actually, the hell with “unfair.” It’s like some Greek tragedy revenge of the gods. What have I done that was so wrong?