Page 27 of Almost Had You

“And him?” she nods at Mercer. “You are with him? The rumors are true?”

“Not all of them,” I say. “I planted one of them because Tannie was getting annoying.”

She sighs. “Thank you, God. I hopedthat onewasn’t true.” Mama pauses, eyes wilting in the corner. “I’d be happier about this pairing if it came with a different outcome. Your father would never approve, but I want you to know, I do.” So, the auction is my father’s brainchild. It was a toss-up on who was responsible. At least I know the truth.

I lower my voice. “He’s a good man, Mama. A real good one. He’s respectable. He values the same things we value—a true Southern gentleman. He wants me to be happy. The way I see it, I couldn’t ask for a better man.” She looks at him, skeptical. “You’re going to have to trust me,” I add.

It’s odd when I get the emotional version of my mama. Usually it’s the shark. I know how to handle that version quite well. This is tricky territory. I need to give her information, but not so much she can use it against me when she rallies. “He’ll take care of me. I need to start a life. I can’t organize festivals for the rest of my life. I won’t be happy. You can’t possibly want that for me.”

She brings up my charity, like a last resort weapon. I have a reply for that too and by the time we’re finished with our faux sweet tea she’s out of ideas and the poor woman reeks of desperation.

“Your daddy isn’t going to make this easy, sweetie,” Mama says, cupping my cheek. “I hope you have Plan B and C on deck.” She knows me well. I tell her not to worry and drift over to apologize to Mercer.

“Everything okay?” He asks, distracted by the grandeur of the foyer. I think about everything that’s happened this afternoon and my mental state.

I make the sign for so-so, and tell him how my mom took the news. “I really need that frozen sugar today. Want to go back to my house and shower and then get out of here? Think your mama wants to feed one more tonight? Would she mind?” Southern mothers never mind an extra, and I think I’m in good enough graces to be welcomed at the Ballentine’s even after his father’s candidate announcement.

He leans over to whisper, “You joining me in the shower?”

Goosebumps prickle my skin. Turning, I see my mom watching us like a hawk. “Let’s get out of here.”

“We’ll talk later, Mama,” I say. “Maybe you can soften Daddy up when he gets home.”

“I’ll be too busy having a heart attack, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Go have a seat and watch your shows,” I fire back. “I’m having dinner at Mercer’s house.” I’m waiting for some tongue in cheek remark, or subtle jab, but it doesn’t come. I broke her.

The walk to my house is brisk, and I lock the bolt lock when we’re both safely inside. I’m ready for more of his lips, but he’s too busy looking up at the vaulted ceilings and examining the artwork on my walls. “Wow,” he says. “I knew your parents had a mansion. I didn’t realize you lived in a mini version.”

“I’m a reflection of them, why wouldn’t I have a mini-mansion?” It’s meant as a joke, but Mercer winces.

“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

I’m careful with my words. It’s all I’ve ever known, but I can tell it’s making him uncomfortable. “It’s just a house, a place to live. Want that shower now?”

“Are you going to miss it?” Mercer drags a hand over a marble column, shaking his head.

I side-eye him. “Miss what? Being controlled? Being told how to breathe? Or living in the house my mom designed for me to live out the rest of my days in?” I distinctly remember when I was ten years old, my mother obsessing over the plans for this house. Not a common thing for a kid, I realize now. I told her to make the whole house pink and the walls made of fluffy cotton candy.

His reply is straight forward. “The money.”

My cell chimes a text from my handbag. It’s Tannie telling me she wants to come over tonight. I use my cell phone as a distraction from the awkward conversation. “I don’t know,” I reply. “Do I think Daddy will leverage my trust fund? Probably. Have I already put in safe holds in case he does? Absolutely. Leaving here means leaving this entire life behind. The flashy houses, cars, and easy friends because of my last name will be gone.” I fire off the text and meet his eye. “It’s not as if you grew up in the projects, now is it?”

He sways as he walks toward me, his gaze still taking in everything around him. “Not quite the same, but I get what you’re saying. It’s not going to be easy, Clover. Don’t get me wrong, I make a killing in the military. The more time I’m gone, the more money they throw at me. Gain a new skill, make more money, but this” —he waves an arm around him— “is a type of wealth most people don’t know exists. It’s going to be hard to walk away from this without looking back.”

“It’s not good to worry about things I can’t change. I’ll figure out how to live on a stylist’s salary. If it was easy, I wouldn’t want it.”

Mercer laughs. “Usually it’s the other way around, you know? People trying to attain what you’re walking away from.”

“I’m not a normal person, Mercer. Don’t compare me to others. Can I ask if you’re assumin’ I haven’t thought of that? That I might not have a clue how to live without this?” I wave an arm around and then point at him. “You’re going to help me.”

Mercer laughs, placing a palm against his stomach. “How am I supposed to help you? Before you ask me for lessons on balancing a checkbook, I’ll stop to remind you I’m headin’ back to London for six months. Goldie is going to have to give you the crash course on how to live without the silver spoon.” Mercer casts his eyes to the side. “I’m sorry, that was harsh.”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before.” I set my hands on my hips. “I’ve lived without you for a mess of time. What’s six months more?”

His face softens, and his neck flexes as he looks elsewhere. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Time never scares me.” Relaxing my arms by my sides, I weigh my decision.

---