New York Billionaires Series

He groans and leans forward, forehead against my shoulder. “Audrey,” he mutters.

I move my hand away and smile into his hair. Whatever this is, whatever we’re doing, isn’t just a one-time thing, then. It’s a bad idea for all sorts of reasons, but none of them come close to how happy I feel in this moment.

“Until next time,” I say.

Carter nods, but his hand slides up to graze the underside of my breast. It’s brief, and he groans, and then he locks his hands safely around my waist. “Next time,” he says, and his voice is a promise.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” I ask.

Mom shakes her head. She’s leaning against the kitchen counter, vivid against the yellow cabinets. I remember her painting them over a decade ago, singing to the radio, during one of my father’s many absences.

“No, no, I’m perfectly all right,” she says.

I cross my arms. “The new construction down the street will go on for years,” I say. “But you’re absolutely sure?”

She laughs, the wrinkles by her eyes fanning out. She’s always been quick to smile. “I can handle a bit of construction noise.”

“Sure. But at least look at the brochure I sent you. Please.”

They’re opening a state-of-the-art apartment building right next to mine in the Village, and she’d have access to a pool and a gym.

“I looked at it,” Mom says. “It looks like a lovely place, although they need more greenery.”

“You could add that,” I say. “Be in charge of the condo plants.”

She gives me an appeasing smile. “That would be nice, sweetie.”

“You just won’t leave this place, will you?”

“It’s my home,” she says. “It’s where I raised you. Do you really want me to sell your childhood home?”

“You know I do. I can’t believe you don’t.” The apartment is hers, yes, but it had been bought by my father. The man we both washed our hands of years ago.

“It’s filled with good memories, too, Carter,” she says. “You grew up inside these walls. Besides, it’s close to work. I can walk to the school and I can make sure the students behave when I see them in the grocery store.”

I sigh. “Fine. I’ll drop the subject.”

“Thank you. Although you won’t like the subject I have to bring up,” she says. She reaches up and rearranges her auburn hair. It’s pinned up in a braid, silver hinting at the temples.

I sink down onto the kitchen chair. “You’re moving to an apartment in a worse neighborhood.”

She smiles at my bad joke. “I’d never. No, sweetie, I got a call from your father yesterday.”

The world goes still. “He called you out of the blue?”

Anger rises through me like a tidal wave. How dare he, after everything. To open old wounds and force himself-

“He apologized,” Mom says. “Profusely, actually.”

“You can’t believe him.”

She shrugs. “I’m not ready to believe him. But I’m not ready to not believe him, either. He has nothing to gain from asking for our forgiveness.”

“He always has something to gain,” I say. “He hasn’t done a selfless thing in his life.”

“He gave this apartment to me with no strings attached.”

“Yes, when he knew he was going to prison, and they were seizing all his assets,” I say through gritted teeth. The past couple of years I’ve spent considerable amounts in lawyer fees to make sure Mom was completely and thoroughly protected from any of his illegal dealings.

And oddly enough, because their marriage was never actually legal, she’s off the hook. Another one of his lies that worked out in the end.

“I’m not making excuses for him,” she says and sinks down on the chair opposite me. Her eyes are imploring. “I’m thinking of you.”

“Of me? Mom, he-”

“I know what he did,” she says. “He hurt both of us. I know you like to focus on me. But he lied to you too.”

I look at the mustard-yellow cupboards and the seashell knobs. Another feature she’d installed, right after we got back from our trip to Florida. It was the one proper vacation we ever went on with him. “I’m aware,” I say.

“He’s out of prison and mentioned that he wants to see you, but doesn’t know if you’d want to.”

“I absolutely don’t want to,” I say. “He has no space in my life.”

Her hand lands on mine. “That’s your right, sweetheart. You never have to see him again for as long as he lives. But, and don’t get angry, I wonder if maybe you have things you want to say too. Things you want to ask. Everything happened so fast there at the end, when all his… lies unravelled. If you met him, it would be on your terms. You could tell him anything you wanted.”

“You mean I could yell at him for a solid hour and then leave.”

She chuckles. “Yes. You’re very forceful when you yell, you know. You were always the most intimidating soccer player.”

“In little league,” I say, but her idea sinks in. “I get what you’re saying, but nothing good can come of it. I’m not going to meet him.”NôvelD(ram)a.ôrg owns this content.

Mom lifts her hand from mine. “Okay. That’s your right, sweetie. I just wanted to relay the offer to you.”

“I don’t want him calling you all the time either.”

She folds a kitchen towel, hiding her face from view, but I can hear the smile in her voice. It’s infuriating that she’s so calm about this. “Calling once in ten years isn’t exactly harassment. I have no love lost for your father, except for the fact that he gave me you.”

I rub a hand over my neck. Mom is too good at this, too kind. I can’t see it the way she does. She has an easier time forgiving the slights he committed against her than I do. Having a real wife, other children, a white-picket fence and house in suburbia… living a double life.

I’d driven past his other house once.

I’ve never told her about it, and I never will.

But I’d been twenty-three, and furious, and sitting in a rented car outside a house that looked like it belonged in a commercial for house insurance. A dog had barked from somewhere inside the house and a teenage girl had appeared in the window. Younger than me. A half-sister?

I’d floored the gas so fast I left tire marks on the street.

“There’s no way I could trust him or anything he says,” I finally say. “Especially not now, when I’m…”