There had been a minute in Serena’s living room where I’d nearly taken her into my arms. She’d started to cry, and even after what she’d done, it tore me up inside. How had I gone from wanting her to feel like shit for what she’d done to hoping she could forgive herself and move on? Maybe because I believed her. In her shoes, I might have made some of the same choices. Was she selfish? A little bit. But I also believed she genuinely worried about Andrew. And with good reason, as it turned out.
After breakfast that morning, Bri took Andrew to play and I had it out with my mother, but she didn’t budge on her position. Was it simply because Serena wasn’t the right social status that she hated her? Or that I hadn’t been with the woman she picked? Or maybe my mother was just a bitch.
Aside from having fun with Andrew, I noticed that my father perked up some as well. My father tried to teach Andrew chess, and later Andrew taught him Go Fish. Why couldn’t my mother be like a normal grandparent?
Over the next week, I called Andrew every night through Serena’s phone. After I said goodnight to him, Serena and I would talk. The first couple of nights, it was a short conversation, usually around Andrew. But then one night we somehow got off-topic, where I was telling her about my challenges in running the business. When we hung up, I realized we’d been on the phone for nearly two hours. The next few nights were the same, until Andrew came to stay with me on Saturday.
On that night, she called to say goodnight to him, and then she and I talked again for an hour. By Wednesday the following week, I found myself looking forward to our chats, and going so far as wanting to see her. She was everything that I’d remembered from five years ago and even when I first got back. Funny. Smart. Sweet. Down to earth. Sexy.
Last night, I woke in the middle of night with a raging hardon dreaming about her. My dick was so hard, I had to grab a tissue and jerk him off. What was I thinking when I made the leap into bliss? Serena’s sweet mouth sucking me off.
It didn’t make sense that I was still drawn to her. She lied. She kept my son from me. While my mother played a part in the beginning and did take some of the blame off Serena, I couldn’t get past all the time we’d spent together over the last weeks and she never said a word about Andrew. Could I forgive that? How could I trust her?
St. Patrick’s Day was the following week, and we were in the final plans of the Roarke’s party, including serving Irish Stew. It was listed on the menu as Mrs. Moore’s Authentic Irish Mutton Stew. I asked my assistant to be sure to extend invitations to Mr. and Mrs. Moore, my treat.
Nikita and her team, which included Serena, were at the Roarke this afternoon, going over logistics, checking that all the liquor and food was ordered, and finalizing the menu.
I was talking with the chef when I noticed my mother walking across the dining area.
“Why is she here?” I asked.
“She likes to check the menu for St. Patrick’s Day,” Chef said.
“She’s not going to like the stew.” I shook my head, as it worked overtime to try and figure out how to intercept her.
The chef gave me a sheepish smile. “We have a decoy menu for her, if you like.”
I quirked a brow.
Chef shrugged. “We like your menu. We want to serve it, but we’ve been working with Mrs. Roarke on St. Patrick's for years.”
“Show her the decoy. I’ll handle any issues on the night if it becomes a thing.”
The chef nodded.
“I should see what other trouble she’s making.” I strode through the restaurant, but didn’t see her there or in the lounge. I headed to the banquet and meeting rooms. A few were in use.
When I heard my mother’s terse voice, I stopped outside the door.
“I will expose you,” my mother hissed.
“Mrs. Roarke, I don’t know what you t
hink you have on me.”
Jesus, my mother had cornered Serena.
“I tell you what, I’ve got a check in your name for five million. You take it and your bastard child and make a new start somewhere else.”
What the fuck? My blood boiled that my mother would call Andrew a bastard child.
“I didn’t take your money the last two times you offered it, why would I do it now?”
I had to hand it to Serena, she was playing it cool.
“Ten million.”
“I can’t be bought, Mrs. Roarke.”