Chapter thirteen
EVELYN
It took me a while to get Anna and Aurora to sleep.
They were buzzing with excitement about the "new house" and everything they'd seen. It was their first time in New York, and the sheer size and energy of the city had clearly made an impression.
Once they finally drifted off, I opened the small suitcase they’d brought, intending to organize their clothes in the closet.
But I was stunned to find it contained absolutely nothing they’d actually need—no clothes besides what they’d worn on the trip and the pajamas they now had on.
Instead, the suitcase was crammed with stuffed animals, chocolates, sweets, notebooks, and a box of crayons.
Furious, I stormed out of the room. I found Logan asleep on the rug, wrapped in a nest of blankets. I realized I was still clutching one of the stuffed toys; I hurled it at him, jolting him awake.
“What the hell?” he grumbled, bolting upright.
“I’m the one asking! What the hell is in the girls’ suitcase?”
“What’s in it?”
“You should ask what isn’t! Clothes! Did you not pack any clothes for them?”
“I didn’t pack it. I didn’t want to bring the huge one Eleanor left, so I gave them a smaller one and told them to pack it themselves.”
“You left two five-year-olds in charge of packing their own suitcase?”
“I knew how to pack a bag at that age.”
“You’re a millionaire with properties all over the country! Have you ever stopped to think that traveling might not be a routine part of their lives?”
He opened his mouth to retort, then paused, thinking. That pause was all the answer I needed.
It was obvious the thought had never crossed his mind.
“No, I didn’t,” he finally admitted. “But I told them to pack what they needed for two or three days.”
“And in their minds, the essentials were toys, candy, and crayons.”
“Okay, look, it’s not the end of the world. I’ll give you a credit card. You can take them out to buy new clothes. They’ll need a proper wardrobe anyway, since we’re here for two months, not three days.”
“Logan…” I paused, trying to rein in my irritation.
“What?”
“I’m going to be here for two months. They are your daughters. They’re five years old, and they have at least another thirteen years of living with you ahead of them.”
“I know, I know.”
Despite his words, the utterly lost look on his face made it perfectly clear he hadn’t fully processed any of it. He was so hyper-focused on his career that everything else in his life was just background noise.
Too irritated to continue, I left and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water to cool down. As I searched for a glass, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to remember when I’d taken it off silent mode. I’d kept it that way ever since I became gossip-fodder as Logan Turner’s alleged girlfriend and the mother of his secret twins. I must have switched it back on absentmindedly when we landed in New York.
I pulled out the phone, expecting another unknown number from a journalist. Instead, the screen showed a familiar contact.
It was from someone I really didn’t want to talk to. But I knew I couldn’t avoid her forever. I took a deep breath and answered.
“Hi, Mom…” I said, unable to keep the weariness out of my voice.
“Evelyn! My God, you finally answered me.”
“Missed you too, Mom. I’m fine, by the way. And you?” I asked, sarcasm dripping from every word.
“I am not fine, Evelyn, and you know it! Can you explain what on earth you’ve gotten yourself into? I’ve been avoiding the neighbors for days because they won’t stop asking me what happened to you and what’s this story about you having daughters!”
“You can stop avoiding them.”
“And how do I do that? What do I say when they ask if you’re the mother of Logan Turner’s children?”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just… don’t deny it.”
“For God’s sake, Evelyn. You are not those girls’ mother. Are you actually dating their father?”
I detected a slight shift in her tone with that last question. Of course she’d be thrilled if the answer was yes. Marriage was her ultimate life goal for me. A marriage to a millionaire would be the jackpot.
“No, Mom. I’m not. It’s just a business arrangement. But I need you to keep quiet about it.”
“An arrangement? What kind of arrangement, Evelyn? Honest women don’t make ‘arrangements’!”
“I thought you’d already accepted that I’m not exactly a ‘proper’ woman, Mom. At least, not in the way you’d hoped.”
“Oh, don’t start with that nonsense.”
I sighed, already exhausted by this familiar dance.
“Mom, please. Just promise me you won’t deny what people are saying. Can you just do that for me?”
"The way you talk, it's as if I were a terrible mother. I've always done everything for you, Evelyn. It's ungrateful of you not to acknowledge that. Fine. If that's what you want, I'll let people say whatever they want. Is that good enough for you?"
"That's perfect, Mom. I really appreciate it."
"But this won't work on everyone. Peter, for example, knows this whole story is a lie."
"What do you mean? You've been talking to Peter?"
"He's not like you, Evelyn. Even though he's not my son, he calls every week to check on your father and me."
"And you've been discussing me?"
"Of course we have! The poor man is still devastated by the way you ended things. He told me you even physically assaulted him. I did not raise you to behave that way, Evelyn. What is happening to you?"
"I told you I had my reasons for breaking up with him. I even told you he used my credit cards and left me in debt!"
"He explained all of that. He didn't leave you in debt, Evelyn. He intended to pay you back! In a couple, you're supposed to be together for richer or for poorer. That's how it works."
"He ran up debts in my name without my knowledge!"
"He was probably just too embarrassed to ask to use the cards, Evelyn. You know how men are. He's just going through a rough patch. He would have gotten back on his feet and paid everything back."
I couldn't believe she was defending him. If she couldn't even understand the one part of the story I had the courage to tell—the part that was easiest to prove—I would never dare try to make her understand the rest. The real, complicated truth.
The truth I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone was that I had been in an abusive relationship.
Not physically—Peter never hit me. But he was pathologically jealous, controlling, manipulative, and vicious with his words.
He constantly belittled me and made me feel worthless.
I only found out about the cheating after we broke up; while we were together, any suspicion I raised was twisted to make me look like a "paranoid freak.
" Our fights always ended with me apologizing, convinced I was the one who was wrong.
"I was unhappy with him, Mom," I summarized, the words feeling utterly inadequate.
"Well, Evelyn, do you think anyone is happy all the time?"
"I was never happy with him."
"A good woman stands by her man, no matter what. I know you weren't formally married, but if you lived together, you were married in the eyes of God. Maybe if you'd listened to me and had a child, things would have settled down."
I would never bring a child into the world to save a relationship. That was a special kind of stupid. But I knew there was no point in arguing.
"Anyway," she continued, "I won't deny it if anyone asks me about you being the mother of those girls.
Maybe being around children will spark your maternal instincts and you'll finally decide to give me grandchildren.
Peter loves you so much, he might even forgive you for this.
After all, it stands to reason that a gorgeous millionaire like Logan Turner wouldn't have any real involvement with someone like you.
You're a pretty girl, but you're not like those rich celebrities who—"
"Goodnight, Mom," I cut her off, ending the call.
When I looked up, I found Aurora standing in the kitchen doorway. She looked at me and signed a single word: "Thirsty."
I grabbed a glass and filled it with water. As I handed it to her, I asked, "Couldn't sleep?" I repeated the question with my hands.
She nodded. I asked if she'd had a nightmare, and she nodded again. I waited for her to finish drinking, took the glass, and set it in the sink. Before I could ask about the nightmare, Rory was quicker. She asked me why I was mad.
"I'm not mad. What made you think that?" She made the sign for "phone," and I understood. "Oh... I wasn't exactly mad. I think I was a little sad. The person who called is someone who's always arguing with me."
She signed again, asking if it was my mother. I wasn't surprised; she must have read my lips.
"Yes, it was my mother."
She told me, through her small, deliberate gestures, not to be sad. The request made me smile, but that smile faded when I saw the sorrow in her own eyes.
This felt like a chance to learn a little about her and her sister.
"And your mom, Rory?" I asked, my voice soft and my hands moving. "What is she like? Did you argue with her a lot?"
Aurora's response was swift. "She almost never argued. Only Grandma."
The grandmother. This wasn't the first time she'd been mentioned.
Before I could ask more, Aurora signed another sentence, one that shattered my heart.
"I miss Mommy."
I crouched down to her level, running a hand through her soft, light brown hair.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," I said, my voice and hands working in unison.
"I'm sure she misses you both terribly, too.
How about we get you back to bed? It's very late.
" She didn't look thrilled. "I can stay with you until you fall asleep. How does that sound?"
A bright, hopeful smile spread across her face, and she nodded. She wanted that very much.