Page 25 of The Gargoyle and the Songbird

But I’m already shaking my head, cutting her off with an upraised hand. “It’s fine, Mar. We’ll talk about it later.”

I don’t have the bandwidth to deal with her guilty-apology routine right now, not with the mushroom cloud of my mother’s presence still exploding through my brain.

Turning back to Deandra, I force a bright, brittle smile on my face, determined to get through this interaction with my dignity intact.

“It’s great to see you, Mom. I had no idea you’d be coming. But we have to run, I’m afraid. Mariah and I need to go set up for the rehearsal dinner.”

Deandra isn’t even listening to me, of course, her avid gaze already flicking over my shoulder to land on Graeme’s imposing form.

Her smile turns coy, an avaricious interest filling her eyes that makes my blood run cold.

“No worries, my love,” she purrs, dismissing me with an airy wave. “I’ll see you later. But first, aren’t you going to introduce me to your strapping friend, here?”

Subtly, I angle myself to block her predatory line of sight, as if I can shield Graeme from the full force of her covetous appraisal.

“This is Graeme Grigori. My bodyguard.” I bite out the words. “He’s here to make sure everything runs smoothly. Graeme, this is my mother. Deandra Lark.”

Graeme inclines his head, the picture of professionalism. But after days of spending every moment together, I can see how his expression ever-so-slightly betrays his wariness, a muscle ticking in his carved-from-granite jaw.

“A pleasure, Ms. Lark.”

“Oh, the pleasure’s all mine,” Deandra practically moans, her thirsty gaze raking over Graeme’s massive frame. “And call me Deandra. You must come find me later,Graeme. I’d love to hear all about how you’re… protecting my daughter.”

Ignoring me completely, she takes one brazen step closer, reaching out as if she’s going to lay her perfectly manicured claws on his brawny bicep.

And that. Is. It.

I swoop between them, seizing my mother’s hand in a death grip, matching her stare head-on with a knowing one of my own.

“Lovely seeing you, mother. We’ll catch up at the wedding. Gotta run!”

I drop her hand, and without giving her a chance to respond, whip around. Then I glom onto Mariah with my free hand and tug her down the street at a breakneck clip, not stopping until we’ve put a full block between us and Hurricane Deandra.

Graeme, bless him, keeps pace easily, his bulk carving an imposing path through the milling pedestrians.

I don’t want to add any more stress to Mariah’s plate right now, but I can’t hold back the accusing words that tumble out of my mouth.

“I can’t believe you invited my mother without telling me, Mariah!”

Mariah’s guilty expression deepens. She looks stricken, her eyes pleading, and I know I’m already halfway toward forgiving her.

But still! Mariah knows what my relationship with my mother is like, everything that went down during my parent’s turbulent divorce. It’s a huge part of how we became so close, why Mariah’s mom Lori feels almost like a second mother to me.

There were more than a few nights that I ended up crashing at the inn with Mariah and her family, unwilling to head back into the fray at my own house.

“I should have told you, Ec, I’m so sorry, I really am! I didn’tmeanto invite her, you have to believe me. I just…”

Mariah lets out a frustrated sigh, and I squeeze her hand, reassuring.

Her voice loses a little of its quiver as she continues. “I ran into her last month and she’d heard about the wedding and was clearly angling for an invite. She was so passive aggressive and I was just so surprised to see her back in Elderberry Falls, since she never really comes here, I wasn’t thinking and I just blurted out that we’d be happy to have her. I meant to tell you, really, it’s just been so busy and?—”

I cut her off. “I know. And I know just how manipulative my mom can be. Don’t worry about it, Mar.”

Graeme clears his throat, and we turn to find him frowning in confusion and concern.

“Is there anything more I should be aware of here? I’m sorry to have to ask about personal matters but, it doesn’t seem like you and your mother are on the best of terms. Do I need to keep an eye on her this weekend?”

I force a laugh, humorless and strained. “Oh, no. My mother isn’t a danger—not to me at any rate. But you should watch out. You’re exactly her type.”

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