Dammit. I’m an idiot. Why am I just now considering this?
“Ma, I need you to do something for me. Someone I need you to call right away.”
Chapter 37
BRISTOL
WHAT DOES ONE pack for a trip like this? Will it really matter? The whole world will end up seeing my ass on Parker’s upper deck off the Amalfi Coast.
I hold the pantsuit I bought at Fashion Week last year up to my chest. I’m not sure that Alexander McQueen’s fall line is fitting for what amounts to rape and ignominy.
“Needs must when the devil drives,” I mutter, tossing the grandma period panties that cover my whole butt into the pile. I’m not wasting my good lingerie on Parker’s sorry ass. As long as my things are on the bed and not in the overnight bag, it’s easier to pretend this isn’t happening. That I’m not going anywhere.
The doorbell startles me since Parker isn’t due for another hour and a half. I’ve been relishing every minute I have before he comes to get me. I peer through the small window of my cottage door.
“Mother.” I stand there staring at her. She’s been to my home exactly once since I moved into the cottage last year. After our fight the other night, I wasn’t expecting her to darken my door anytime soon. “Is someone dead or giving birth?”
She walks past me, not waiting for an invitation.
“Don’t be vulgar, Bristol.”
Mother’s eyes trace over the warm simplicity of my living room. I can’t imagine where she would find fault in the understated elegance, but then she never ceases to astound with her innovative ways to find fault.
“I didn’t realize death or birth were vulgar. My apologies.” I gesture for her to sit, but I remain standing. “What can I do for you? I thought we said all we had to say the last time we saw each other. I don’t have much time to spare.”
“Packing for your trip, are you?” Mother’s eyes heap disdain on my head. “Speaking of vulgar.”
My breath hovers in my throat, drawn but not released. How does she know? I mean, soon everyone will know, but I was clinging to my last days of dignity.
“Trip?” I choose to play dumb, but I’ve never been good at pretending to be anything but intelligent.
“Oh, God, Bristol.” Mother sets her Celine bag on the couch beside her. “From what I understand, we don’t have much time, so dispense with the games. What time will Parker arrive?”
I blink at her, disoriented like I’m an actor in the wrong play. I flounder for my line and wonder who thi
s character is in front of me.
“Mother, what are you talking about?” I perch on the edge of the love seat across from her.
“Marlon’s mother called me and told me everything, so let’s figure out how to save you.”
“Ms. James?” It could be no worse than Grip’s mother knowing this about me. Knowing that her son’s girlfriend, whom she already dislikes, will be bartering her body for all the world to see. “She knows . . . she called . . . what’s going on?”
“Bristol, do keep up.” Impatience wrinkles my mother’s smooth brow. “Marlon asked his mother to call me about your predicament. Wisely, I might add. How could you even consider such nonsense? I raised you better than that.”
With everything else I’ve had to endure the last twenty-four hours, my mother’s selective memory is more than I can withstand right now.
“Actually nannies were primarily responsible for my upbringing, if you’ll recall, since you were managing Rhyson all over the world and couldn’t be bothered to actually parent.”
The temperature in the room drops so drastically, my words crystallize in the air as soon as they leave my mouth.
“Maybe I should have been more involved if you think this is acceptable behavior.” Mother tsks and studies her wedding rings. “Debasing yourself this way for a man.”
Laughter stirs in my belly and spills over, shaking my shoulders. I throw my head back and howl with it. I may be hysterical, but she is absolutely blind if she can say that to me with a straight face.
“The joke?” Mother asks with quiet dignity. “Please share it.” “You accused me of debasing myself for a man.”
My laughter does a slow leak until it’s all spent, leaving me hollow and insulted. “At least I know the man I debase myself for is worth every minute of it. I’d debase myself for Grip every day if I had to. And the man you’ve been debasing yourself for the last thirty-odd years? Is he worth it?”