Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
VALERIE
YAWNING, I STRETCH both arms over my head, lengthening my legs and spreading my toes wide as I attempt to force myself to fully wake up. I’m wickedly comfortable, and I hate to give it up.
I'm also not necessarily thrilled to take on this day.
Not because I don't think I'll enjoy spending it with Fynn’s mother—I’m pretty sure of the opposite actually—but because I'm not so confident she’ll enjoy spending it with me. I know she says she doesn't mind having Fynn and me here, but this morning it's not Fynn and me. Fynn left for work early this morning, needing to deal with some developments that have come out of everyone in Sweet Side discovering he's married, so I'm the only one here.
And even though I spent the better part of yesterday evening with Fynn and his mother, I'm still not entirely comfortable with my place here. Especially considering I accidentally passed out on the couch ten minutes into watching a movie. I guess attacking your husband’s vengeful ex can take a lot out of a girl.
But feeling awkward around Fynn’s mother isn't the only thing to come out of my accidental early night. Crashing at barely eight o’clock also meant I didn't get to spend any quality time with Fynn. Or hear him tell me what a great job I did standing up to Jessica while he fucked me senseless.
It would seem that after years of very little physical interaction with the opposite sex, now that I've broken the seal on my vagina, I want Fynn filling it at every opportunity. And I'm not even a little sorry about it.
But I will be sorry if Fynn’s mother thinks I'm rude, so I drop my legs over the edge of the bed and force myself upright, raking one hand through my hair as I head for the bathroom. It takes me about fifteen minutes to make myself presentable, and then I’m quietly stepping out into the hall, uncertain where my first stop should be.
Should I go find his mother? See how her morning is going and if there's anything she needs?
Or is it acceptable to get a cup of the coffee I smell brewing to take the edge off first?
Considering I collapsed under a pile of her dogs last night, she probably wouldn't judge me too harshly for needing a little added caffeine, so I creep into the kitchen, stopping short when I see it is already occupied.
Nicholas smiles at me, his creased face full of warmth and kindness. "Good morning, Miss Valerie." He stacks a cup of coffee onto a beautiful, floral embossed tray. "I’m just about to bring Helena her breakfast. Would you care to eat with her this morning?"
My stomach growls because violence must also work up an appetite. "I can make myself something. I don't want to put you out—"
Nicholas holds one hand up. "It's not putting me out at all." He uses the same hand to motion toward the sitting room where Fynn’s mother spends most of her day. "Helena is outside on the terrace. I'm sure she would love to have company while I finish up."
"There's a terrace?" I sound impressed because I am. I didn't grow up poor—my father’s good enough at what he does to earn a substantial income—but this penthouse is next level.
Next , next level.
And I’m desperate to see the terrace. I still hesitate, even though spending time with Fynn’s mother is the whole reason I’m up. It just feels wrong for me to sit around while someone else waits on me, so I motion to the tray Nicholas is now loading with a second cup of coffee. "Can I take that with me? Save you a trip?"
He gives me a wide smile as he lifts the tray, holding it out between us. "I would appreciate that. Thank you."
I take the tray, feeling warm and fuzzy inside because of how kind he’s being to me. "You're welcome. I'm happy to help any way I can."
I'm not used to gratitude. I lived for so long with people who demanded what they wanted from me and expected nothing less. It would never have occurred to my father—or my mother—to be grateful to me for anything. They found no pride in the fact that I graduated at the top of my class. Could have cared less when I managed to complete a double major in four years. Gave zero shits that I never missed curfew, never snuck out, and never talked back.
So Nicholas's appreciation and thanks feeds that withered little bit of me that was and is so desperate for validation. I know I shouldn't care what anyone thinks. I know I should only live for myself. That's just not who I am. And for the first time in my life, I'm okay with that.
Taking the tray, I carefully balance the cups and spoons as I move in the direction Nicholas gestured, passing through the sitting room on my way to the floor-to-ceiling windows that, upon closer inspection, aren’t windows at all. They’re doors.
Shifting the tray to one hand, I twist the levered handle and carefully make my way outside. The railed space directly on the other side of the windows is narrow, likely to avoid obscuring the view, but as I turn to my left, it opens up into a spacious expanse of tropical greenery that has my jaw-dropping.
The sound of the ocean carries up on the breeze as I make my way to the pergola in the center of the area. Vines blooming with bright pink flowers wind along the pillars and planks, giving it a secret garden sort of feel that has me extra excited I agreed to enjoy breakfast with Helena.
I find her inside the structure, seated in a wicker chair lined with plush cushions, gazing out over the ocean. She turns to me as I approach, offering a soft smile. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
I settle the tray onto the table at her side. "It's gorgeous." I straighten, looking out over the same ocean she's back to watching. "I've had breakfast in worse places."
She lets out a single, loud laugh, her head tipping back. "As have I." Turning, Helena collects one of the cups, dropping in a square of sugar and a little cream before stirring it all together. "London is beautiful in its own way. I love all the history there, but I wanted to spend the rest of my life somewhere with sun and sand and water."
I settle into the seat across the table from her, taking the other cup, skipping both the cream and sugar. "I'll take your word for it. I've never been to London."
Helena waves one hand. "Fynn will take you there soon enough." Her eyes come my way. "Maybe now that he has you, he won't spend so much time worrying over me, and he can go back to his life."
It's not difficult to tell Fynn’s mother isn't healthy. Her body is thin and a little frail, and her skin is slightly pale. Fynn hasn't explained to me what's going on, and I haven't felt like I have the right to ask, so I just nod, even though I sincerely doubt what she's suggesting will happen. I don't technically know Fynn well, but he’s not the kind of man who would move across the ocean from his sick mother, leaving her behind to deal with it on her own .
Heck, I barely know her, and I wouldn't want to do that.
"I'm the reason he stayed even when Jessica started spreading the rumors about him." Helena continues gazing over the water. "I told him to leave many times, but he refused."
"That's because he's selfless." It's an easy observation to make. Especially given our circumstances. At this point Fynn knows I'm getting way more out of this deal than he is. He would probably be fine if he walked away now. Jessica’s admitted the truth, and the tides are turning for him. But he’s still adamant he'll hold up his end of the bargain. Even though it's dangerous and more than a hassle.
His mother smiles, her expression taking on a wistful edge. "He's always been like that. Ever since he was a little boy he's enjoyed helping people. Lifting them up. Cheering on his friends and making sure he was the first one in line to congratulate them over any successes they had."
I know everything she's saying is benign, but my thoughts immediately take a turn and are filled with all the hushed and heated words Fynn has growled into my ear. The way he showers me with compliments and praise, even when he's unhappy with me.
"I know I am biased, but my son is a good person." The softness in her expression disappears, replaced by the hard lines of a scowl. "That's why it destroyed me to know so many people were saying such horrible things about him. "
I don't know what makes me say it, but a confession jumps right out of my mouth. "I think I broke Jessica's nose yesterday." I press my lips together, sealing them shut, cheeks heating with embarrassment. I shouldn't have told her that. I want Fynn’s mother to think I’m just as good of a person as he is. That I'm also kind and smart and—
Helena straightens, her head snapping my way. "You're kidding."
I have no choice but to shake my head, confirming the seriousness of my statement. Admitting her son is married to a woman whose family history of violence did not skip a generation.
To my surprise, Helena offers me a bright smile, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "Darling girl. You are a gift."
My eyes suddenly start to burn, and I blink, trying to clear the discomfort. It's not until I try to talk, that I realize the irritation comes from tears. Tears brought on by the same emotion that makes my voice a little wobbly when I say, "Thank you."
Having Fynn shower me with compliments and affirmations is one thing, but getting them from his mother hits differently. Right in a spot that never expected to experience something like this. I'd given up on ever knowing what it was like to have a mother or father who loved you the way they should. Figured it simply wasn't in the cards for me, and I tried to be okay with it. Tried to find my peace with that lack.
But maybe I can have it. Just for a little while.
I gently squeeze her hand back, returning her smile. "I'm not sure Jessica feels the same way. I'm pretty sure she hates my guts."
Fynn’s mother slides her hand from mine offering a dismissive wave. "Who cares what that one thinks. She’s only out for herself. It was clear from the beginning her interest in my son was self-serving." Her eyes come my way. "Of course, as a mother I couldn't come out and tell him that. He's an adult and needs to be allowed to live his own life." Her lips hint at a smile. "Even when he's wrong."
Now I love his mother even more. Her willingness to step back and let Fynn make his own choices shoots her right to the top of my list of favorite people. She'll have to share that position with her son, but I don't think she'll mind. "She did admit that the reason she spread those rumors was because she was mad he wouldn't marry her."
Helena shakes her head, rolling her eyes toward the vine covered beams above us. "That's not surprising. Anyone who knows Fynn knows he's not a man who has affairs. He’s loyal to a fault."
A pit forms in my stomach, because that loyalty is likely the reason I'm sitting here now. Instead of being back in my little room in Crystal's apartment, fresh out of an annulled marriage, trying to figure out how to keep myself from ending up dead.
I know the ‘ending up dead’ part should be what bothers me most about that scenario, but it’s not. What has that pit turning into a gut-wrenching twist is the part where I’d be without Fynn .
And now I'm thinking I'd probably also be missing his mother.
Nicholas comes out carrying two trays. He sets one in front of Helena, before sliding the other in front of me. My stomach growls in spite of its current upset when my gaze lands on the beauty before me. "Holy crap." I don't think I've ever seen a more appealing plate. "This looks amazing."
Set before me is a gorgeous, likely insanely expensive, piece of floral painted china. The scalloped-edged plate is topped with the fluffiest looking omelet I have ever seen. Bits of chive flake the puffy yellow cloud, and some sort of soft, white cheese oozes from the fold. Next to it is a scattering of crispy potato chunks and two thick links of sausage.
But that isn't all. After aligning the plates, he gives each of us a green glass bowl filled with brightly colored, juicy-looking, fresh fruit. I’m pretty sure nothing could top this breakfast.
And then he hands me a Mimosa.
"Nicholas has spoiled me." Helena reaches out to rest one hand on his arm, a look of adoration and appreciation glowing across her face as she stares up at him. "I rarely go out to eat anymore because nowhere comes close to offering the kind of meals he creates."
There it is again. An honest to goodness, heartfelt compliment. Offered up easily and happily. It makes me feel wonderful when they're aimed at me, but I’m starting to learn that I enjoy seeing them given to others equally.
And it makes me want to start dishing out as much of my own gratitude as I can. "I can see why." I meet Nicholas’ gaze, hoping he can see my sincerity. "Thank you so much for this. I know I kind of jumped in here at the last minute and I appreciate you making me breakfast so very much."
His gaze on me is nearly as warming as the rays of sun peeking through the pergola. "I am more than happy to cook for you anytime you want, Ms. Valerie." He gives me a wink. "You ladies enjoy your breakfast."
Then he slips away, leaving me to attempt to look somewhat civilized as I start shoving in mouthfuls of my beautiful breakfast. I can't stop the moan that slides out when I get my first hit of the omelet. "Holy crap on a cracker this is amazing."
Fynn's mother looks pleased at how much I'm enjoying myself. "Isn't it?" She takes a small bite, chewing through it before leaning a little closer, her eyes on me when she says, "I've been thinking..."
I stop chewing because I'm not sure if I like the sound of that. What if she's thinking Fynn and I got married way too fast and now she’s suspicious of the reasons behind it. What if she's thinking I'm not good enough for him? That would be a wild coincidence since I've been sort of thinking the same thing.
"You were such a help going through my vision boards for this new line I'm working on, and I wondered if maybe you would be interested in helping me organize a launch party."
I swallow, relieved and surprised. "I would love that."
I’m not exaggerating. I worked so hard on my degree. Genuinely loved every minute of it. Business and marketing speaks to me on a soul level. Marketing especially. It's all about showing people how wonderful a product is and why they should be eager and excited to have it. I’ve spent my entire life trying to do the same with myself. With products, there was a chance it would actually happen.
Helena holds up a hand. "I don't want you to feel pressured. You can tell me it's not something you're interested in. I won't be offended."
"I would love to help you." I sit up a little straighter, wanting her to understand how grateful I am that she's offering me this. "I haven't really had much of an opportunity to use my degree since I moved to Sweet Side, and I would love to get back into it."
Back in Minneapolis, I worked for a decently sized company, helping train their sales staff, incorporating marketing strategies into their skill set. It was wildly effective, and sales went up exponentially, earning me more than a few bonuses and promotions. During the five years I worked there, I was able to tuck away the bulk of my earnings, ultimately planning to start my own marketing firm.
And then my father told me he found the perfect man for me. Initially, I believed it was just a set-up of sorts, but everything moved so quickly, and before I knew it I was engaged with a wedding date set less than a month out. I was trapped and if I dared even insinuate to my father that I wasn't so sure about what was happening, he layered on the guilt. Using my own worst qualities against me. Dangling the hope of making him happy and proud right in front of me, knowing full well the payout would never come.
But maybe the payout has come. Maybe the path to it was just a little more south seeking and laced with Red Bull and Snickers bars than I initially thought.
Helena lifts her brows at me, expression serious. "Only if you're sure."
"I’m positive." I nearly rock in my seat with excitement as we go back to eating our breakfast, spitballing ideas about the event and the launch as the breeze blows.
We've just narrowed down ideas for a venue, when my burner cell phone starts to ring. There’s no number displayed, only the word UNAVAILABLE in capital letters. I frown at the screen. "That's strange."
It's a relatively new number though since I got the phone on my cross country journey, so it could be someone calling for the previous owner. Or it could be Fynn. Maybe his work phone number doesn't show up.
Or maybe something’s wrong.
That thought has me swiping the screen and pressing it to my ear, answering it as my heart starts to race, fear for the husband I’m growing more and more attached to making my delectable breakfast roll like lead in my stomach. "Hello?"
"Hello, daughter."
I have to swallow to keep everything I just ate from coming right back up. The skin on my face prickles, growing cold despite the warmth of the air. "How did you get this number? "
"Don't ask stupid questions." My father's voice is just as cold as it's always been, but now it's also filled with disgust. At least he's not trying to manipulate me. I guess there's that. "But I suppose I shouldn't expect anything less, considering how stupid you've been acting."
I'm trying to breathe. Trying not to throw up. Doing whatever it takes to stay upright. All of those things are taking just about all my brain power, so when I open my mouth to respond, the only thing that comes out is a squeaky sort of noise that no one would consider even close to being a word. I swallow, working my tongue through my dry mouth before opening it to try again, but I'm just pulling in the air to speak when my phone is yanked away.
I turn to find Helena pressing it to her ear, a calm, almost bored look on her face. "Who am I speaking to?" One brow slowly lifts, but she doesn't look my way. "That was a lot of words when one would have sufficed." She lifts her free hand, looking over her nails as if she's having the most tedious conversation in the world. "I'm not sure who informed you it was acceptable to speak to a woman that way, but I can assure you they were mistaken." Her chin lifts, the sound of her voice strong and commanding as she continues. "I will be more than happy to convey our conversation to my son. I’m sure he will be more than eager to return your call and discuss your treatment of his lovely wife." She pulls the phone away from her ear and disconnects the call, setting my cell on the table between us before turning to me. Her smile comes back full force, as if nothing just happened. "Now, where were we?"