Page 8 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
“I’m home.” I swallow. “Mom.”
Her chin lifts half an inch higher and she slowly shakes her head. “You don’t get to mom me.”
If my hopes were lit candles, her cool words just doused all but a couple.
She continues, “I heard you met Ivy.”
“Yes.”
Mother looks away for a moment, then swings her gaze back. “She reminds me of Katherine…my baby…the daughter you stole from me.” Her voice is thick with unshed tears and old wounds. “Are you going to do the same with her?”
“No!” Is this some kind of test to see if I’m worthy of her forgiveness? “I’ll keep her safe. I swear.”
“I trusted you back then, but you betrayed me. I’m not giving you another chance.”
“Mother—”
“I wanted to take her to New Orleans, but I can’t. She doesn’t want to leave town, and your father’s reputation is important. We don’t want anybody to see our…dirty linen.” Her bitter words dig into me like daggers.
The pain is staggering, so much more than I ever imagined.
“You stay away from her. I can’t lose her, too.”
I see it now: Ivy is what’s been holding her together. She’ll never recover if anything happens to Ivy.
And I realize Mother is looking at me like a monster who lures children away from their homes and devours them. My heart is so heavy I can barely move. The hollowness in my gut spreads until I feel like a husk—joyless, grotesque and pathetic.
“I’m tired,” Mother says finally, her voice thin. “If you don’t have anything else to say, you can go.” Placing her forehead in one palm, she waves me away with her free hand.
So I leave, my legs like lead. Mindlessly, I go down the winding staircase and out of the house, away from all the painful memories and unhealed wounds.
I breathe roughly, bent over with my hands on my knees. The heat and humidity out here, as afternoon edges into evening, feel so much better than the cool, sterile air inside. Once I regain a modicum of control, I lean against one of the columns at the edge of the veranda and look out over the grounds.
I didn’t get to make any of my speeches. I didn’t get to tell her how much I miss her, how hard I’ve worked to make her proud. While my best friend was plowing through all the eligible women in Europe, I stayed the course, making sure I became as accomplished as possible—to be the kind of man people could admire.
A car engine’s roar interrupts my dark thoughts. I glare as an obnoxious roadster emerges from the live oaks and pulls up in front of the house. The driver is a young girl—probably still in high school—although she’s dressed like she’s looking to pick up a john for the evening. If she bends ten degrees forward, her tits are going to spill out of that ridiculous top, and the silly girl isn’t even wearing a bra. It’s a pathetic attempt to gain male attention.
I start to turn away, but the house door opens and Ivy rushes out. Her eyes on the girl in the car, she doesn’t notice me.
Ivy’s hair is twisted up into a messy bun, and she’s wearing a black and white dress that fits like a glove and emphasizes the high, lush curves of her breasts.
Where the hell is she going dressed like that?
Before I can say anything, Ivy hops into the car, and it takes off.
Damn it.
I glare at the roadster, feeling conflicted. I really shouldn’t give a shit. Mother specifically told me to stay away from Ivy. The girl in the car didn’t get that warning.
But it’s a better than even bet that she doesn’t plan on taking Ivy somewhere safe and wholesome. Nobody dresses like that for a study date.
I can’t lose her, too.
My jaw tightens. Mother wants me to keep my distance, but…
I go to the garage. My family keeps the car keys neatly organized over the light switches. I grab the closest fob and climb inside a silver Mercedes.
By the time I catch up to the roadster, my temper’s simmering. I know I’m being a hypocrite. Normally I don’t give a damn what a girl is wearing. So why do I care if the dress Ivy’s wearing shows off her breasts a bit too well, or if other guys are going to ogle and drool over them?
