Chapter 48

“You said you wanted to see her, so we’re going.” He hands me my suitcase to pack, but I put it back down on the bed moodily.

“I’ve changed my mind.” I pout, trying to avoid his gaze as I sit on the edge of the bed and pull at my hair. I’m emotional again, and I’ve no idea why. This was my decision, and yet, now that he’s making good on my decision, I’ve changed my mind.

“Look, Emma, I know things with her are messy, but I don’t want you waking up one day and regretting this. Go, talk. Just do it,” he picks up my case and flips it open, pulling my fingers out of my hair as he passes me on his way to the closet. He pulls out some of my casual clothes and begins tossing them toward the suitcase.

What is this obsession he has with packing for me?

“Why do you care if I see her or not?” I snap, irritated by his pushiness.

We’ve had a week of lazing around and lots of bedtime play, and suddenly, he wants to vacate the apartment and take me to Chicago.

“Because I love you,” he replies, “And I want what’s best for you. I happen to think this is going to help. You need to talk to her.” He walks over with a pile of clothes and dumps them onto my lap, so I’ve no choice but to take them. He leans down, tugs on my chin to pull my lip free of my teeth, and replaces them with a chaste kiss, ruffling my hair as though I’m a child.

“You’re a bossy asshole.” I pout, glaring at him as he grins.

He stops and looks down at me in a very manly manner, his shoulders relaxed and his hands slipping to his back pockets. “Baby, you haven’t seen the full extent of my bossy asshole-ness; I don’t think you should tempt fate.” Our eyes meet and lock with simmering, stubborn fire on fire.

“Fine!” I finally break, not in the mood for a head-to-head when I feel so fragile. “But I’m not staying in that house.” I glance away from him.

“I’ve already booked us into a hotel nearby, bambina. Close enough to walk to your mom’s if that’s what you want. Look, we don’t need to stay for the whole weekend. Just go and see her once,” he bends to kiss me, his green eyes distracting, and I surrender, letting his mouth capture me and push me back onto the bed slowly. He slides over me, his heavy torso pinning me to the bed. “Just don’t fight with me over this; can we just get ready and go and argue on the plane?” He kisses me again slowly and teasingly before getting back up, satisfied that he’s silenced me for now.

“You need to stop using your ‘sexpertize’ to get your own way!” I pout up at him from the bed, my body still tingling from his touch.

“With you, it’s my only weapon; you’re infuriatingly stubborn and strong-minded, baby. I’ve never known a woman like you.” He grins at me before padding off barefoot across the plush carpet of our room to the closet, drags his case out, and starts filling it with clothes.

“Well, you better hope I don’t get as good as you.” I smile wickedly. “Or else you will have zero chance of bending my will.” I lift my chin defiantly, watching as he straightens and turns.

“Baby, your ‘sexpertise’ is already beyond my capabilities. You’ve no idea how crazy you make me,” he winks and leans down to scoop shoes from the bottom shelves, his sexy ass tight and alluring as he bends over in tight blue jeans. My body reacts, and I press my knees together.

Okay, my horny levels over the last few days have certainly peaked. Even for us, I have been insatiable. What’s up with that?

I watch him for a moment, biting my lower lip and squirming on the bed. The downside to a super-hot boyfriend, I guess, is the inability to think about anything other than sex, even when I’m in mid-conversation and mid-argument about a trip home.

“Jake?” I purr seductively, my eyes almost attached to his ass now. He stands up and glances over, his face breaking into a wide smile, his eyes instantly changing to dark.

“I guess the plane could wait an extra half hour.” He strides over to me. “The upside to owning it, I guess.” Sliding onto the bed, he catches my mouth with his in an effortless sweeping motion, his hand coming up under my dress to find me already willing.

***

Chicago is cold when we get out of the car. I scan around the familiar street and close my eyes, taking a steadying breath. Jake’s hand comes over my shoulder, giving me the extra strength I need.

“You okay, bambina?” he asks, bringing his face to my ear and kissing me lightly.

“Yes,” I smile up at him, inner peace washing over me at his touch, and I lead the way to my mother’s apartment. The street is dull and gray, matching my mood. We enter the building and make our way up the concrete stairs. The place stinks of urine, and the corners of the stairs are littered with condom wrappers, dried leaves, papers, and broken needles. I pick my steps carefully, angry that this place seems to fall into more disrepair the longer it stands.

Jake puts his hand on my ass, holding me from behind to guide me. I smile at his choice of grabbing place, already knowing, without looking back, that he’s grinning. It lightens my mood, and as we finally round the corner into the hall leading to my mother’s door, I take a deep heavy breath. His hand slides up my back to rest on my shoulder.

“It’s going to be fine,” he whispers, “I’m right here.” He leans past me and knocks on my mother’s door confidently. We barely have to wait as she yanks the door open, the waft of baked cakes and perfume hitting us in the face with an almost alarming force.

She’s certainly gone all out!

She’s tried a little too hard for this visit. Her long gypsy-style dress in rainbow colors is on over silver sandals, and, for once, her hair is down, gleaming in all its tawniness, and brushed into long, loose, shining waves. I can see why men flock to my mother; she’s still beautiful with her delicate face and calm blue eyes. She smiles, leading us in with a flow of idle chatter.

“Seeing her minus bruises, I can see the resemblance,” Jake whispers in my ear, and I frown up at him.

I’ve never seen the resemblance with my mother apart from the color of my hair, maybe the same pouted lips and eye color. But my mother is beautiful, whereas I’m just average.

“My mother got the looks, but I inherited all the brains,” I whisper back as my mother swans off to fill the coffee pot while still gushing and chattering animatedly about our arrival.

“Bambina,” he whispers back, “You got the beauty too. More than your mother did.” He leans down and quickly kisses me on the mouth before moving off to accept the serving dishes she’s holding out to us. I can’t help but smile at his back, a warm feeling washing over me because I know he isn’t one to make empty compliments. Jake really does think I’m beautiful.

“Take them to the table.” She grins, nodding toward the living room at the dinette set in the small room. Jake carries the cooked chicken and salad bowl over, already set up with other dishes and plates. Coming out of the tiny kitchen, she walks up to me and lightly kisses me on the cheek.

I stiffen automatically because we don’t do this kind of touchy-feely stuff! Feeling awkward, I reach out and pat her on the shoulder before swiftly moving toward Jake and sliding into the nearest chair, draping my jacket behind me.

“My beautiful daughter is home,” she gushes toward me before choosing the seat facing me and sitting down. Jake sits beside me after putting his leather jacket on the back of his chair. He seems to occupy this space a little too much; it’s always been a small table in a small room, and he looks massive in it. We bang elbows as we both reach for a plate in the center of the table and laugh.

“Ouch,” I say, rubbing my arm. He pulls it up automatically and kisses me where we connected before handing me a plate.

“Sorry, Bambina.” He winks at me, and I catch my mother watching us closely with an oddly serious look. She looks away when our eyes connect and continues dishing out food for us.

Strange.

“I’m really glad you’re here. Both of you.” She smiles without looking up. I hand Jake the salad bowl after dishing my own and watch her. I feel like there is so much to say, yet I don’t have the words at all.

Where would I start? Twenty-six years of pent-up emotions and accusations, yet here we are, acting like my coming home for a weekend with my boyfriend is normal. Not that she’s even asked if that is what he is now instead of my boss. Maybe that’s what that look was all about. Perhaps it’s obvious.

Jake digs into his food. He’s normally a master at idle chit-chat and dominating a conversation. Instead of being his normally chatty self, he’s being quiet, leaving me to take the next step, and for once, I would rather ultra-sociable Carrero would just step in.

“I’m not sure how long we’ll be staying,” I mutter to break the silence.

Maybe it’s best to say it now and not let her think the whole weekend would be “catching up.”

I take a forkful of my chicken and watch the frown develop on her face. I try to ignore it.

“Well, even being here for a quick visit is enough for me,” she says. “I do miss you, Emma.” She finally looks up at me and smiles warmly. I grimace back, but I know it doesn’t reach my eyes. We’re doing what we always do: playing nice and polite in front of other people and pretending there’re no issues.

Being back here, in this apartment, in this town, already I can feel myself closing up, with old Emma mannerisms pushing in, the wall coming up between us, the controlled mask of indifference resurfacing—the one that Jake spent months peeling away. I don’t want to go back to being that person, to who she was, back to being that empty, cold, and feelingless shell of myself, the person who let no one in and never experienced real emotion. That girl is gone.

I was stupid to think I could come here and do the whole heart-to-heart thing with her. Being faced with her acting as though life is so fricking normal reminds me that she will never see my side. She will never take any blame for how I turned out, and why would she? Here I am with my billionaire boyfriend doting over me, dressed in expensive clothes, and living the high life in New York—to her, she’s a success as a mother.

I’m jolted out of my head by Jake’s warm hand on my back, and I glance at him; he’s studying my expression and frowning lightly. I realize I’ve been silently staring at my empty fork, probably with a blank expression, as I mulled things over. My mother is chatting about nothing of importance, unaware that neither of us is listening. Jake strokes my back gently, relaxing his hand when I continue eating, and returns to his food, a silent little message between us that he knows I’m not okay being here. He smiles softly at me, and a small look in his eye tells me he loves me. I inhale slowly and pull it back down with the calmness he gives me, that peaceful place where I spend most of my time.

“So, Mom, how are things at the homeless shelter nowadays?” I interject to try and connect with her, to try and make things less awkward for Jake.

Calling her “Mom”? Since when?

“Good, really good. I managed to get some funding help, and with the city’s volunteers and grant, I have the place ticking over well. We managed to convince some food stores in Chicago to donate the food with expired sell-by dates instead of sending them to the trash.” She grins, obviously proud of herself. She turns her smile on Jake impressively. “And the donation from the Carrero Corporation went toward fixing up the building and redecorating the shared sleeping rooms. Thank you so much for that, Jake.” He smiles back, but I blink.

What? When the hell did Jake donate anything to my mother’s charity?

I glance at him, questioning with my eyes, and he shrugs. I’m irritated by this little new piece of information, something else he swooped in and solved with a checkbook, something else he didn’t tell me about.

I glare down at my plate and push my food around; I’ve no idea why I feel so touchy lately. My emotions have been up and down for the last few days. I’ve no reason to be mad about this. Really, it’s nothing; Jake’s company donates to charities annually as part of a tax relief move. Of course, he would contribute to hers. She’s my mother, and he loves me. He probably didn’t even write the check himself, just forwarded her details to Finance to be added to our list of preferred causes. I know because it used to be my job to do it. I sigh heavily and try to force more food into my mouth, although I have zero appetite. Being here is just making me irrational.

“I’m glad it helped.” He smiles, his eyes on me, but I ignore him.

Finally, fed up with how I’m feeling, I get up, saying, “I’ll make the coffee,” and walk off toward the kitchen without looking at either of them.