Torn Apart (Torn and Bound Duet 1)

“Reginald,” she says. “He’s the butler.”

What the hell… her family has a butler? I knew they were more than well-off when I arrived and the neighborhood was locked down like Fort Knox. Then, I pulled up to the house, which is more like a mansion, and found another gate. Like, who needs two gates? And a butler? You would never know when you hang out with Mia that she’s loaded, or at least her parents are. She’s sweet and laidback and dresses like a book nerd-slash-gamer… and fuck, I’m totally judging her. Drew comes from a wealthy family and never acted like he was better than me. So, why would I expect Mia to?

She sighs. “My mom is going to totally flip when she finds out you’re here.” Instead of sounding upset, she almost sounds… excited. “Guess we better go down and have breakfast with them.” There’s an evil glint in her eye, and I would be upset that it’s clear she’s about to use me to fuck with her parents, but that’s why I came here. To make her feel better. To be her support.

“Ready when you are,” I tell her, placing a soft kiss against her neck. “Bring on the ’rents.”

“Ha-ha.” She laughs. “Famous last words…”

After she finishes getting ready, looking more like those Kardashian chicks on that reality show than the Mia I’ve come to know, we head downstairs. I’m confused as to why she’s so dressed up—wearing fancy clothes and tall heels and a face full of makeup—until we walk into the dining room, where a man and a woman are seated at the table… together. Except they aren’t really together since the table seats twelve people and they’re both located on opposite ends.

At our arrival, they both look up from their phones. Their eyes landing on Mia and me. I glance at, who I assume, is her father first. He’s older, his full head of gray hair making him look to be in his fifties, maybe even sixties. His eyes are the same color as Mia’s, soft and warm and welcoming, and he’s dressed in what looks to be an expensive suit.

My eyes skate over to the other end of the table, where I know without a doubt Mia’s mom is sitting. Same color hair, same nose, same lips. They almost look more like sisters than mother-daughter. Either she was really young when she had Mia, ages extremely well, or she pays a lot of money to keep her youth. She’s sporting diamonds in her ears and around her neck. I can’t see her pants, but her top is see-through black silk. I glance down at myself, in my jeans and T-shirt and Reeboks, and feel out of place. Now, Mia dressed the way she is makes sense.

“Mom, Dad,” Mia says, “this is my friend, Brayden.” She gestures to her parents. “Brayden, this is my mom, Claire Voss-Lexington.” The name sounds familiar, and then it hits me. She’s a famous actress. And not just any actress, one who has won a helluva lot of awards if I’m not wrong. My mom forced me to watch a bunch of her movies, and she’s also been in several action flicks. No wonder they live in this huge damn house. She’s practically Hollywood royalty.

“Nice to meet you,” I choke out, trying not to sound like a crazy fan or something. Mom would die if she knew I was here with the Claire Voss-Lexington.

Claire simply nods, scrutinizing me with narrowed eyes.

“This is my dad, Harold Lexington.”

Unlike Mia’s mom, Harold smiles. “Nice to meet you. Are you from Michigan?”

“Yes, sir. I decided to surprise Mia and flew over to check out where she’s from.”

Mia gestures for us to sit next to each other, and I try to ignore how odd it is to have everyone so spread out. At my house, we all sit together so we can be close and talk.

A woman dressed in a black and white outfit sets a plate in front of me and offers me coffee. I nod and then thank her.

“Help yourself,” Mia says, grabbing a plain bagel from a basket that contains an assortment of breads.

“Mia,” her mom says, her tone chiding. “Maybe you should focus more on the fruit. The bagel will cause bloating and I can’t have someone alter your dress again before tonight.”

Mia nods once and sets the bagel down, grabbing the bowl of fruit.

My gaze darts between Mia and her mom in shock. Who the hell does this woman think she is, telling her own daughter to watch her weight?

“What is your major?” Claire asks, addressing me.

“Business, ma’am,” I say to be polite. “But I play hockey. My goal is to get drafted into the NHL.”

Claire skims her gaze down my bicep in an appreciative way. “Oh, so I bet you work out a lot. Keep fit.”