Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
LUKE
Clara doesn’t have faith that I know what I’m doing, and probably for good reason, because all the ideas the publicist offered, I rejected. The only one I would accept was one where it’s me and Clara, together. There are no other women. There is no pretending that she’s dirty or wrong. I did that shit long enough.
Now that it’s out, I don’t care anymore.
She’s my woman.
Plain and goddamn simple.
Running my fingers through her hair, I wait for her body to fully relax until I slip from her bed. I don’t want to leave her, but I need to handle a few more things before I stay the night with her.
When I walk out into the living room, I wince at the sight of both Barbara and Sarah sitting at the little dining room table with their gazes focused on me. There is no walking out of here without an inquisition.
“I’m only leaving because I have to handle some shit,” I state.
They narrow their gazes on me. Obviously, they know what happened. They are Clara’s best friends, and I know they are concerned for her well-being. I don’t blame them, but they certainly don’t love her the way I do, so I don’t want to hear any bullshit.
“Are you going to fix this?” Barbara calls out before I can make it to the front door.
“There’s nothing to fix because nothing we’ve done is wrong,” I say.
That’s when their lips curve up into a simultaneous smile.
“We’ll see you later,” Sarah says.
I give them a two-fingered wave and make my way out of the apartment. The first thing I do is dig my phone out of my pocket. There is still one more person I need to talk this over with. But I wanted to make sure I had as many ducks in a row as I could first.
This is as good of a time as any.
“Lucus Aiden Sullivan,” my mother snaps into the phone as my greeting.
I open my mouth to respond to her, but she doesn’t let me say anything. Instead, she continues talking. Clearly, my mother is pissed, and I should really be taking this seriously, but my mom is never mad. I’ve never even heard her raise her voice.
“I love her, Mom.”
Silence.
“You what?” she asks in a whisper. “Please tell me you’re lying.”
“I’m not,” I state. “Clara and I are in love. She’s it for me.”
Silence.
Again.
I hear her inhale a deep breath, then hold it for a moment before she lets it out slowly. “I’m not having this discussion with you, not about your love life. But I want you to be careful.”
“Careful?” I ask.
She snorts. “I don’t know Clara at all, but I do know her mother and your father.”
I let out a moan. “Mom, this isn’t about them. This is about me and Clara.”
She takes another deep breath. I sink down in the front seat of my car and start the engine, then wrap my fingers around the steering wheel and squeeze. My mom and I usually don’t have any issues, and I’m surprised she’s this upset about the situation.
“Are you upset because it’s Clara, or is it something else?”
“She’s your stepsister,” my mom hisses. “It looks bad.”
It’s my turn to sigh heavily. I’m sick of hearing that word. If I never hear it again, it will be too soon.
“I don’t care how it looks. There is nothing wrong with our relationship. Nothing. And there is nothing wrong with Clara. You’ll see, and you’ll like her.”
Without another word, I end the call. I have never been angry at my mother before, and I’ve certainly never hung up on her. My mother has always had my utmost respect, but she’s never pissed me off this much before. She may know Clara’s mom and my dad, but she doesn’t know Clara.
Shifting my car into Drive , I head toward my next destination. I am going to make this work. Clara is my woman, and I’m done pussyfooting around. I’m done pretending she doesn’t exist.
I’m done hiding her.
She is mine, and I’m going to shout it from the rooftops—or podcasts. Whatever the case may be.