Page 66 of The Billionaire and His Forever

Everything suddenly becomes crystal clear.

I was so quick to blame this all on Abbie, the nineteen-year-old girl who would do anything to help her family. Abbie, who abandoned her dad’s despicable extortion plot for love. Abbie, who brought my family together. Abbie, who was relentlessly attacked by the public, by Natasha, by everyone, and who still stood by my side until the very end.

Who was being used here? It’s so obvious now, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.

I can only pray it’s not too late to make amends.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Abbie

If there’sone good thing that has come out of any of this, it’s that my mother finally reached out to me.

I spent the whole summer thinking she was on my dad’s side—not that she had any idea about the real reason he sent me to work for Graham, of course, but that she was equally disappointed by my behavior, embarrassed by my highly publicized affair and disgusted by all the trashy headlines, maybe even believed I was capable of attempted murder.

Or else that she just didn’t care at all.

But when the news hit all the major media outlets this morning about Natasha recanting her statements, the first person who called me was my mom.

“My poor baby,” she kept saying, her Georgia accent thickening as it did when she got worked up. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. That horrible, horrible woman.”

I was cautious at first, convinced her sympathy was just a ploy orchestrated by my father. A way for him to manipulate me again, take me emotionally hostage. To get me to do something else for him. But at one point Mom’s voice dropped low and I could tell by the echo that she’d locked herself in the bathroom. That’s when she’d started spilling her secrets.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she told me, her voice catching. “I’ve been dying to call you all summer; I had such a hard time with you being away at college this year, but your father…”

“What?” I prodded, after she trailed off.

“Well, it’s just that…he told me I had to give you space. He said you’re an adult now, and I’d be smothering you, that you felt too guilty to tell me so yourself. So I did, I gave you space. Let you live your life, like he said. But now I wish I hadn’t.”

The shock of this latest betrayal hits me like an ice-cold wave. “Mom, Dad lied. I never said that. I never wanted that,” I swore. “I missed you, too. I guess I thought, ever since I moved out for college, you wantedyourown space. And then when I never heard from you this summer, I just figured…you had to be ashamed of me.”

She started crying, and I had to wipe my own tears away as she went on apologizing.

“No, baby. Even when the gossip rags were saying all those things about you, I knew they couldn’t be true. Not my Abbie. I shouldn’t have listened to your father. God bless it, I should have just called. I should have calledevery day, I should have driven up to see you. I just thought you’d feel put out. And then when we weren’t invited to the wedding, it just seemed to corroborate everything your dad had been telling me all along.”

“No,” I told her. “It was Dad I didn’t want at the wedding. I was afraid of what he’d say.”

My heart just about cracked in half as we talked for over an hour, catching each other up on our lives. I told her about the fall classes I’m excited to take at Cornell, and she dreamed up a spring break trip to Tahiti for us to go on. The strange thing, though, was how little she mentioned my dad. How, when I asked about their trip to the Bahamas, all she said was that it had been “fine.” How her voice got all clipped and cold whenever he came up.

“Won’t you come home for dinner tonight?” she asked before getting off the phone. “I’ll make all your favorites. Shrimp and grits and fried green tomatoes—I can make a hummingbird cake for dessert, too, or peach cobbler and ice cream. Or what about—”

“Wait, Mom,” I’d interrupted. “I don’t know about all that. Didn’t Dad tell you that we’re not talking? He and I…had a falling out a few weeks ago. I don’t think he’d want me there.”

A “falling out” was putting it mildly. My father had cost me my marriage, my new family, my life. My hopes, my dreams. My relationships with both Graham and Jude. What he had done, intentionally and spitefully, was unforgivable. I didn’t ever want to see him again.

There was a pause on the line. Finally, Mom said, “Whatever happened is between you two, but please don’t punish me for what he did. I don’t want him keeping my child from me. Not anymore, and not ever again. Please come, Abbie. I haven’t seen your face in so long, and you’ll be back at school soon—”

I’d tried to resist, tried to suggest meeting at a restaurant, but she was adamant that we shouldn’t let him be the final say on who would or would not be welcome in our family home. And she wanted so badly to cook for me. So in the end, she won. I couldn’t say no to my mom.

Which is how I ended up here now, knocking on the door of my parents’ house, my heart in my throat.

Amanda offered to come with me tonight for moral support, to act as a buffer between me and my dad, but I couldn’t ask her to sit through the awkward silences and ugliness that I’m sure I’ll have to face. Because honestly, I’m not expecting this dinner to result in some kind of magical reconciliation. Or to be anything other than a complete shitshow. Which is why, when my BFF dropped me off, I told her to be on standby in case I need a ride home early.

The door swings open, and before I can say hello, my mother is stepping onto the porch to wrap me in her arms. I blink back tears as she rocks me back and forth, the familiar scent of her gardenia perfume enveloping me.

“Dinner’s just about ready. I hope you’re hungry, baby girl. I was so nervous I got started cooking too early, and now, well. It’s already time to pull the cheddar biscuits out of the oven.”

“Smells great,” I tell her, though I feel uneasy as I step into the house.

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