Chapter 42 #2
I froze mid-step. My pulse pounded in my ears as I turned, locking eyes with Alexa.
“Excuse me?” My voice was low, dangerous.
Alexa smirked, her eyes flicking toward my mother before settling back on me.
“Oh, come on. She looks just like you. She’s already been to the bar and put in an order.
I can smell desperation a mile away. Guess she’s on the prowl to get fucked—maybe she thinks if she spreads her legs like her daughter, she’ll land herself a husband, too. ”
The words barely left her mouth before I lunged.
I didn’t think. I moved. My hands gripped the bar as I hoisted myself up, ready to launch over and shut her smug little mouth myself.
But then Nick was there. Strong arms wrapped around my waist, yanking me back just as I was about to swing. My body was still tense, my blood boiling.
“Let me go,” I seethed, still thrashing against his hold. “I’ve been dying to shut the little b—”
Nick clamped his hand over my mouth and leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “She’s not worth it, Melanie. Let it go. We don’t need to cause a scene.”
I was still panting, my body vibrating with rage, but his grip on me was firm, grounding. Slowly, he pulled his hand away, and I swallowed hard, forcing myself to breathe.
Then he leaned down to whisper in my ear, “Besides, it’s my cum dripping out of your cunt, not hers.
He was right. She wasn’t worth it. I turned back to Alexa, stepping closer—just close enough for her to hear as I whispered, “You are right about one thing. I did just get fucked. But lucky for me, we were already married before he ever made me cum.”
Her smirk faltered. Her eyes widened.
I let a slow, wicked smile spread across my face before stepping back, leaving her stunned and speechless.
Nick sighed, rubbing his temple. “Please go check on your tables.”
I smirked. “Already ahead of you, soldier. By the way, my mom’s here. Mind grabbing some water for table 47?”
Nick’s expression darkened. “Is she…?” He didn’t have to finish the sentence. I already knew what he was asking.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I hope not.”
I took another deep breath, steeling myself as I finally approached her table.
She looked me over, her lips pursing in something between disdain and amusement.
“Well, look at you. The waitress. Wow. It’s almost surreal, seeing you as the servant instead of the one being served.”
I clenched my jaw. “I don’t mind working for my money, Mom. At least I don’t have to rely on a fucking monster.”
Her expression darkened. “Watch your mouth, young lady.”
There it was. The sharp snap in her tone. The telltale bite of irritation. I knew then—she wasn’t sober.
She scoffed, shaking her head. “I don’t want fucking water.”
I exhaled through my nose. “I don’t think you should drink. You’re driving.”
She stared at me then. Long and hard. Like she was sizing me up. Like she hated me. The warmth I’d felt from her, just days ago, was gone.
Finally, she relented. “Fine. Water.” But then she leaned forward, a slow smirk curling her lips. “I figured your special husband would be kind enough to bring me a drink on the house. After all, the manager is my son-in-law, right?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “Fine. One drink. But only if you eat something.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Surprise me.”
Thirty minutes later, I placed a plate of Vitello Osso Buco in front of her, one of her favorites. She barely looked at it. Just stirred her drink with her straw, staring into the glass as if it held all the answers to her miserable life.
I waited, but when she didn’t acknowledge me, I sighed. “Well, enjoy. I need to g—”
“The famous pasta,” she suddenly muttered, finally looking up. Her eyes were glassy now, unfocused. “Isn’t that what your man is known for? The pasta?”
“Yes, we make it fresh every day.
She laughed. Loudly. A deep, hysterical laugh that made my stomach sink.
I clenched my fists. Please don’t do this here. Not tonight.
She waved a hand at me, still laughing so hard that tears spilled from her eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s just—” More laughter. “You—this place—” She gasped for air, gripping the edge of the table.
I swallowed, my nails biting into my palms. “What, Mother? What’s so funny?”
She wiped her eyes, shaking her head. “The sign says fine dining.” Another breathless chuckle.
“Before, this place would’ve been a fucking McDonald’s to us.
I mean, the most expensive plate here is, what?
Forty-five dollars? That used to be the cost of our appetizers.
And you—” She lifted the plate before dropping it back onto the table with a loud clatter, drawing the attention of nearby diners.
Bile burned up my throat. “Mom, either be grateful and eat it, or I’m taking you home. Now.”
She scoffed, crossing her arms. “Grateful. That’s rich, coming from you. I gave you a great life, got us off the streets, and now you’re telling me I have to let it all go because my husband wanted to fuck you?”
The words hit like a bullet to the chest.
Pain. Sharp, unrelenting pain.
Nick was suddenly beside me, his hand warm on my back. “Is there a problem?” His voice was calm, but his eyes burned with quiet fury.
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
Finally, I managed to whisper, “I need to take my mom home.”
He nodded. “I’ll cover for you.”
I barely muttered a thanks before telling my mother to wait in the car.
As I closed out, Robert stopped me. “Hey, you okay?”
I forced a small laugh. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… could use a drink.”
He smiled knowingly. “Rough night?”
“You could say that.”
“Well,” he said, slipping me a wad of cash, “here’s a little something for your trouble.”
I blinked. “Oh, no, that’s okay. That was my mom, actually.”
His face fell slightly. “Ah. I see.”
I shrugged, shoving the money back toward him. “She’s just going through a lot right now.”
He nodded slowly. Thoughtfully. Like he understood something I didn’t.
“So,” he said, his voice softer now, “is your mom the only one who visits?”
I hesitated. “Yeah. First time living away from home, so…”
His brow lifted. “Never mentioned your dad before. You don’t like the guy?”
I swallowed, glancing down at my hands. “I don’t really remember my biological dad. He walked out when I was three. My stepdad… he provided, but I wouldn’t call him a father.”
Robert nodded again, his gaze unreadable, like he was piecing something together.
Like he knew something I didn’t.
“Alright, kid, let me share a little wisdom from an old man. If you marry for the outer fairytale—the glitz, the glam, the picture-perfect moments—you’ll feel empty sooner or later.
That kind of love fades, slipping through your fingers like sand.
But if you marry someone who gives you the inner fairytale—someone who loves you the way they love to breathe, as if you are the air they need to survive—then you’ve got something real.
Something that lasts. And if that’s the love you’ve found, trust me, you’re doing just fine.
” A radiant smile spread across my face as a surge of warmth flooded my chest, wrapping around me like a cherished embrace.
“Thank you, Rob. I think I have.”