Page 64 of Paths

My gun’s on my ankle but I have another in my bag. My eyes dart to Maya, and she’s shaking her head smiling, not at all concerned. “But, Charlie, it’s me.”

“Ma’am.” He nods and apologizes. “I’m sorry, but your mother was adamant. Every vehicle.”

“Really?” she acts shocked. “She couldn’t have meant me. Don’t worry, you won’t hear a thing about it. I’ll speak to my father at once.”

Charlie seems to be warring with himself over dealing with Mrs. Augustine. From the sounds of it, I don’t blame him.

“I guess,” he reaches for a remote hooked on his belt and the heavy gates open in front of us.

“Give that baby a squeeze for me,” Maya calls as I’m closing my window. It’s not until we’re through the gates that she says, “See? She’s a bitch.”

I look over at her. “You think she did that to fuck with us?”

She sighs. “I think she did that to fuck with you, to throw her power around. Fucking with me is just a bonus.”

I shake my head and reach over to squeeze her hand. “Child’s play, baby. Don’t worry about it.”

She says nothing but sighs again as she looks out her window.

The property is large, and we wind around a few times before the house comes into view—if you can call it a house. It’s fucking huge. I pull up the drive that circles the front with a turn off to the many garages on the side.

When I put it in park, I hear from my side, “I’m sorry for all the bullshit that’s about to happen.”

When I look to her, she appears as excited as one would be to step into an ice bath.

I grin. “I’m not worried. I told you I’m good with women. I can handle it.”

I turn to get out and meet her on her side, locking the car on the way up to the house. Grabbing her hand to hold it tight, we move up the wide massive steps toward the double doors.

“You’re really slumming it at the vineyard, huh?”

I hear a laugh burst from her, and when I look down, she’s shaking her head. “Shut up.”

We barely hit the top step when one of the heavy doors opens for us. A middle-aged woman dressed in black pants and a white shirt greets us with a warm smile, but speaks to Maya specifically. “Welcome home, Miss Augustine.”

I might’ve been surprised, thinking she exaggerated about her mom if I hadn’t done my research and know this is definitely not Maya’s mother.

“It’s good to see you, Marilyn,” Maya says.

We step through the front door, and the only thing in sight is a Christmas tree, standing in the middle of the spacious opening. I’m not sure where someone would get a tree this big, or even how they’d get it through the door.

I barely get the chance to take in the house Maya grew up in, not at all seeing the object of my obsession fitting into this environment, when I hear footsteps echoing through the vast space. Heels, more specifically. The quick cadence of a woman who’s walking with attitude. I stand casually, and brush the back of Maya’s hand with my thumb when I feel her tense.

Just like the Christmas present from hell, she appears from around the side of the perfectly-decorated tree.

I recognize her from the pictures included in Maya’s background, but instead of a smiling, pleasant woman from a posed portrait taken at a charity event, she’s scowling. Dressed in white pants, it’s clear to see she’s not only taken care of, but also takes care of herself. Her black sweater strategically hangs off one shoulder, leaving it bare to show off her jewels. The woman is dripping in diamonds. It’s just after lunch, for fuck’s sake.

Vanessa Augustine barely gives me a glance before she takes in her daughter from head to toe while shaking her head. Putting a hand to her hip while hitching her heeled foot, she takes the universal bitch stance when she says to Maya, “Well, Joseph said you were bringing a man. I didn’t believe it, but here you are.” She tosses out her hand that’s not perched on her hip, and adds, “I can’t believe you traveled like that.”

I look down at Maya, not understanding what Vanessa means, because Maya’s hot. It was all I could do not to put her back to the couch on the plane and relax her again. Not that my hand would’ve fit down her jeans—they’re that tight.

Maya sounds nothing but exasperated when she replies, “It’s lovely to see you, too, Mother.”

“Don’t Mother me,” she snips. “You’ve been gone for months and think you can just waltz in here with no ramifications. Do you know what you’ve put us through?”

“Mother—” Maya tries again, but she’s interrupted.

“It’s embarrassing.” Vanessa leans forward to enunciate her words, as if anyone would think she’s shitting us. “I have had to make excuses, telling our friends you were traveling, staying at the Villa in Turin, trying to find yourself. Nancy’s been worried sick because of what you’ve put Weston through. I hope you plan to get yourself together soon.” Her eyes shoot to me for a second, before looking back to Maya. “And come home for good. Alone.”

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