Page 71 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

“It’s a fair question to ask, Roxanne. You carry the weight with your business. A man should provide.”

Freaking bitch. He provides just fine. He works, too. He doesn’t mooch.

Chase smiles gently, but I can see the strain in the set of his jaw. “Like any startup, it’s risky. But it’s mine. And it’ll be damn good. I don’t fail.” He looks at me.

He doesn’t. He commits and works his ass off to make it work.

Look at our marriage.

I say, “It’s going to be great. I have absolute faith in Chase.”

She hums noncommittally, then, she turns her attention to me. “And how’s the… fallout?”

Huh?

My brain short-circuits. “Sorry? What? What fallout?”

“After the wedding incident. And the—” she gestures vaguely at the ceiling, “—viral situation. Are you seeing someone?”

I blink. “I’m literally married.” I raise my brows so high they almost touch the ceiling. “To him.” I point.

She sighs like I’m slow. “I’m very aware of that, Roxanne. I meant a therapist. You don’t always handle things… maturely… or deal with them in the best way.”

Ah. I’m crazy and she doesn’t want to see me on the news as well as viral clips online.

I glance at Chase, who watches me quietly.

“No, I’m not. But I’m… working on it,” I admit. “Chase is very supportive. As is Mari Lynn. I’m good. I’ve been busy rebuilding.”

She nods and pauses before saying. “Good.” Her eyes lock on me.” Because pretending you’re fine isn’t the same as being fine.”

For a second—just a fleeting one—I swear I see concern beneath her critical mask.

Chase squeezes my thigh. “She’s stronger than she knows.”

My mother watches him for a long moment before saying, “She is.” Her tone softens. “She deserves someone who sees that. I’m glad she has you.”

Uh, who are you and what have you done with my mother?

I blink, stupefied. “Is this… support?”

She smiles faintly and touches my knee. “Don’t get used to it.”

She leaves an hour later, and the casserole is ominously chilling in the fridge. I curl into Chase’s lap on the couch.

“She makes me feel like I’m fifteen again,” I grumble. “Like I’m still the girl who didn’t get into med school but was glad because I didn’t want to go to med school. Like I’m still the girl who dyed her blonde hair black just to piss her off.”

He strokes my still black hair. “You’re not that girl.”

“I know. But she… brings it out.”

“She brings out the parts of you that you haven’t forgiven yet.”

Glancing up, I narrow my eyes. “Stop psychoanalyzing me, Chase West.”

“I’m just saying.” He chuckles.

“You’re annoyingly good at it.”

---