Page 100 of Miles Apart
At least she tried to hug me.
My mother stands in front of the open pocket doors, focused on the glittering light scattered across ocean waves coming to life. Wisps of her auburn hair stretch from her controlled bun to touch the breeze. Her posture eases as she softens the delicate muscles in her back to release the perfection she upholds. She’s out of place here in my home, which she’s criticized on more than one occasion for being too casual. Her stilettos have only crossed my threshold twice in a decade, but she never misses an opportunity to remind me of my shortcomings.
As if she catches herself, the rod in her back reanimates. She turns her eyes to me. “My approach with you has not been helpful. I’d like to make it up.”
“Okay.” If she’s expecting another response, I’ve got nothing.
A smile sets in place, one that doesn’t reach her eyes. Smiling isn’t normal behavior for my mother. This one looks forced, like she’s straining the muscles in her cheekbones and thin lips to accommodate the effort. Her eyes flicker to the T-shirt I’m wearing—one of Miles’s. It touches above my thighs and clashes with the version of a daughter I no longer strive to reach. I still love my outfits and will never trade heels for flats, but I’m discovering that I have layers, and wearing my man’s shirt while he’s away is one of them.
“Let’s have dinner tonight,” she says in a voice too soft to be her own. “We’ll make up for the years lost.”
“I’d like that.” The breath I take solidifies in my throat as years of emotion swim to the surface. I’ve wanted a better relationship with my mother—practically prayed for it. I don’t know what sparked her change in heart, but coming all this way to see me during my father’s campaign means more than she’ll ever know.
A chill shifts through me at my mother’s half smile. “Very well. Hera at seven. I’ll send a car.”
Her smile remains etched in her ivory features as she lets herself out and leaves me wondering what I signed up for.
The black town car pulls up to an industrial building that looks like an all-glass skeleton. A man in a black suit and matching hat opens my door and extends his hand. “Good evening, Ms. Douglass.”
He leads me through a lobby of fountains and marble to a glass elevator, where he presses the button for the eighteenth floor. The car slides up to a quiet melody of classical music and opens its doors to an empty restaurant.
“Your party awaits,” he says at my struggle to hide my confusion. “Enjoy” is all I get before he’s back in the elevator.
My black heels take cautious steps over dark marble. Every table and chair is empty. So is the bar. I turn toward the ceiling-high windows that reveal the LA skyline and gasp. There, in front of four tables pushed together, is my mother…and Carter.
Her lips curl into the same smile she had in my house. She makes her way to me, her eyes never leaving mine. Her target. “So happy you could make it.” She kisses me on my cheeks.
“What is all of this?” I lift my eyes to the candles scattered amid rose petals on the table and freeze at Carter’s lean form filling out a tux. His mouth is set firm, his bronzed skin magnifying blue-green eyes that pierce the distance between us.He scans my patchwork lace bandage dress with an approving grin.
“I told you we’d make up for the years lost.” Something flickers in my mother’s eyes when she repeats the words she said hours ago in my home. Words I thought conveyed a willingness to repair our damaged relationship. Not an ambush. She motions to Carter, who approaches on command. “I’ve failed you, Emma. I should’ve intervened earlier.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve had more than enough time to waste on men who aren’t a good fit for you or this family. Carter is worthy of us. He’ll take care of you, and he won’t run off like that thug. How could you think so little of yourself to not want more—notbemore?”
A wave of nausea hits me as Carter’s hand closes over mine. The touch is far from loving, and it tightens under his grip. “I told you I’d show you, Emma,” he says through clenched teeth. “I want to marry you.”
“You want permanent admission into this family,” I spit back and snatch my hand away.
Clarity chooses that moment to touch the shoulder of my younger self, the one who desperately waited all these years for her family to love her without conditions. I’ve shielded her so much, I never set her free.
Stop holding onto things that no longer serve you. If that includes your family, you have people who care about you.
Miles’s words coax me to loosen my grip on a hope that’s hurt too much to carry. It’s time to let go.
My “No” echoes through the empty restaurant. “And I really fucking hate red roses.”
“Emma!” My mother’s curt voice steadies for a lash. “This is your last chance to be happy. To have a family.”
“I have one, Mother! I have people in my life who love me no matter what. In case it wasn’t clear to you, I’ve always been enough, with or without a man. I’m the happiest I’ve been in years because I’m finally letting go of things that never meant me any good. If you want Carter so bad, you marry him.”
“Isn’t it customary to ask permission from the father before proposing? John, did he hit you up first?” The warmth of Miles’s chuckle sends a shiver down my spine.
He’s here.
I leave my mother and her jaw on the floor to rush to him. Miles gathers me into his arms, buries his face in my neck, and exhales. “Kitten,” he whispers.
“I missed you.” I pull him tighter. He kisses his way into my mouth, demanding a moan I freely give. Miles breaks us apart and plants a kiss on my forehead before stepping back so I can greet my father. I’m shocked to see him here.
