Page 125 of Bossy Wicked Prince
“It’s not like the papers found out on their own! You ratted me out.”
“You don’t get to be angry with me for the consequences of your own behavior,” she says coolly. “You’re the one who got involved with that girl. I warned both of you that it was a bad idea.”
I clench my fist hard, driving my nails into my palm. I don’t know what else to do with my anger. Because Mom is never going to apologize for selling those stories. To her, Cat isn’t even a person. She’s just a nuisance to get rid of.
But I’m her fucking son. She has to see how she hurt me, too. It feels like there’s a giant hole in my chest, sucking in all the light and hope. The one person I should be able to trust implicitly—my own goddamnmother—she sold out the details of my personal life. All over Toronto, people are talking about how I’m a controlling, abusive jerk who abuses my power. Doesn’t she care?
Doesn’t she feel even a little bit guilty for betraying me?
Judging by her cool, icy gaze, she doesn’t.
I stare into those gray eyes, the same color as my own. It feels like diving into the freezing ocean. Fuck, is that how people feel when I look at them?
I don’t know how I can have any kind of relationship with her after this. If that’s true, I want to get it all out on the table.
”You knew about them. About Dad’s family.” Mom lets out a long sigh.
“Must we discuss thisnow? It’s late, and I have a tennis lesson in the morning.”
“How long?” I demand. “How long have you known?”
“Your father wasn’t very good at keeping secrets, darling. What does it matter? They’re not part of our lives. You made sure of that.”
“You knew I was paying off Dad’s secret family, and you neversaidanything?”
She shrugs. “I didn’t see the need for us to talk about it. Between the two of us, we took care of it. I handled the press, and you handled those greedy little vultures. The problem was handled. What more is there to discuss?”
I laugh. It’s all I can do. How could she have been so clueless? Did it never even occur to her to ask me how I felt about the whole thing? No, of course not. Eleanor Walsh wouldn’t worry about whether her teenaged son was haunted by his father’s secret shadow family. It would never occur to her that I might feelpain.Not as long as I acted how she wanted.
No, it’s all about appearances for her.
As long as Dad looked like the perfect father, with the perfect marriage and the perfect son, that’s all that mattered.
We can ignore the rot underneath. Forget about honesty, communication, or trust. As long as our clothes were ironed and our wallets were full, we could still pretend our lives were perfect.
“That’s all in the past now,” she says crisply. “It’s time to move forward, into the next stage for UPS. Now that the whole mess with your assistant is behind us, you can focus on rebuilding the company’s reputation.”
It feels like a punch in the stomach, a fresh reminder that Cat’s done with me. It physically hurts to think that she won’t be in my future. In Mom’s twisted world, we can just sweep aside our heartbreaks like they’re trash.
Mom stands, adjusting the tie on her silk robe so it still accentuates her waist. “I really must go to bed, Nathaniel. We can get lunch next week before the board meeting. We haven’t caught up on business for a few weeks. I’ll call Susie and get something on the books.”
She brushes a kiss against my cheek in a pantomime of affection. No acknowledgment of the shock I know is written all over my face. No apologies. Not even a fucking hug.
I don’t know why I’m even surprised.
Once she’s upstairs, I go out to my car. I get in the driver’s seat, but I don’t turn it on. I just sit there, staring at our never-ending driveway.
For the first time, I really let myself think about the shadow family. Because they weren’t ghosts—they were people.Arepeople. A woman who loved my father for all his flaws. Children who drew him pictures, who grieved him, who were never fucking acknowledged by him.
Maybe I should have offered them more than money. Fuck, I havesiblings.I don’t even know them. I never even read the files my PI put together. Do they want any kind of relationship with me? I wouldn’t blame me if they resented me—I’m the villain in their story. The golden son, the one who stepped into their father’s shoes, ruler of his fucking kingdom, while they were written off with a fucking check.
You don’t know that. Maybe they would want to know you.
That’s Cat’s voice in my head. It’s a lifeline, dragging me out of my hopelessness. Fuck, I can imagine what it would feel like if she was sitting next to me. She’d slide her hand in mine and lean her head against my shoulder, whispering reassuring words.
When I assume the worst, she’d encourage me to hope for the best.
She’d understand how much it hurt that Mom lied to me. Cat, who’s always open and honest. Who accepts my flaws, mygrumpiness and bossiness, while pushing me to be better—to acknowledge how much I have, and give it to others.
