She is in the jamb of the French doors, her blue eyes assessing, her pursed smile not entirely unfriendly but not pleased either.Unreadable… like it’s a fucking Butcher trait.
“Hello,” I say softly, hearing my voice smaller than usual as the matriarch of Clay’s family moves around to stand in front of me. I try not to think about what Luca said. About his infidelity. About loving another woman— “Yes. That’s me.” I internally roll my eyes at myself.Clever girl, Fawn.“It’s nice to officially meet you, Mrs Butcher.”
I go to stand, but she raises her hand.
“Please, don’t get up on my account. You look far too comfortable.”
Okey dokey… I lean back. And yet something about the way she said ‘too’ feels as though it stifled further articulation… Like, “you look fartoocomfortable in my son’s house.” Maybe I’m reaching…
She considers me for a moment, somehow stripping me bare. Under her gaze, the thought and sensation of the crystal plug force blood to my cheeks.
Fuck. Don’t shuffle, Fawn.
I’m becoming increasingly uncomfortable…
Thank you very much.
“So”—I clear my throat— “you’re visiting—"
“You’re very striking, Fawn,” she cuts in. “With those eyes.” She looks down at the kitten; her lips pinch and then twitch. Then she returns her gaze to me. “And you’re the daughter of Dustin. Not just anyone… are you?”
“Yes. I’m his daughter.”
“And yes, I’m staying in the far wing. You shan’t see me. And don’t worry, I cannot hear anything over this side of the building, so you and my son have absolute privacy to engage in whatever it is that makes him happy. Youdomake him happy, don’t you?”
I have no words, my mouth flapping in shock. She knows about me—aboutus. She did see him fondling me in the kitchen the only other time we met...
God, what must she think of me? Maybe, Clay’s marriage is a known ruse within his family. Yet with that knowledge, she has managed to say nothing offensive, yet somehow delivered discomfort to my very marrow.
“I hope so.”
Gah.
Smooth.
She smiles, but it’s flat. “That’s very good, Fawn.”
My breathing picks up pace. It is as though she just awarded me a gold star for giving her son orgasms… This is getting awkward.
Glancing at the kitten, I use her distracting little meows to contemplate what to say. I want to ask Clay’s mum to sit with me, so I can understand her better. Maybe learn about Clay as a child. Maybe laugh at a story or two, pull out the baby book, all the silly, sweet things I’ve seen mums do on the television.Onlyon the television.
Because mums in real life don’t always do those things. The media gives people unrealistic expectations…
I’d like a mum, too, though; I’d like a relationship with her. Maybe I can pull her stone-like façade down. Maybe she’ll let me call her mum one day. Maybe she’s just guarded because the life she’s lived has been cruel,maybe…
Mine too!
I can relate to that.
Hopefulness fills my chest. “Would you like to—”
I halt my tongue on her retreating back. She’s already walking away from me, passing through the French doors, and closing them on her shadow. Done with me.
“Cool,” I mutter to the breeze. “Next time then.”
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
fawn