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“Ian, you know I love you, but it’s not nice to fuck with me like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re obviously testing me. After what happened with Ava, you told me that if I ever tried to interfere with your love life again, you’d devote your considerable fortune to changing your identity and moving to another country. Obviously, this is a test. I’m not going to fail it.”
“This isn’t a test. I’ve met someone and—”
“If you have met someone, fantastic. I look forward to receiving the wedding invitation. Until then, I’m not falling for it.”
“I’m serious, Mom. I’m not testing you.”
“Do you remember what you said to me before you threatened to move to another country and change your identity?”
Staring out at the view of the lake, I scrub my hand down my face. “No.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘No grown man in his thirties wants advice about his sex life from his mother.’ End quote.”
“Seriously, Mom? For five years, all you could talk about was how you didn’t want me to be alone. How you wanted me to find someone who could love me. Someone who would give you grandchildren. And now you’re shutting me down?”
“You were very clear about setting boundaries. Yes, I want you to find someone who loves you. I want you to find someone who will give me grandchildren. But I also wanna see those grandchildren when you have them. So I’m staying out of it.”
And then she hangs up on me.
If Martin heard the conversation, he would be laughing his ass off right now. Of course, if Martin was around to hear the conversation, I wouldn’t have had it with my mother. I’d have just gotten advice from him.
Clearly, I need more friends.
A matter I’m still contemplating, when Mr. Sniggles walks into the kitchen, sits down in front of me, and meows plaintively.
“Do you have any advice?” I ask the cat.
He meows again, then he gives head butts to my shins before walking over to his food bowl. Okay, so he’s hungry. I pour a little dry kibble into the bowl and then dump out a can of food on top.
“She left quickly,” I tell the cat. “But we know she’s coming back, right? It’s not like she would abandon you. Me? Maybe. You? Definitely not. And she’s just up the hill in the cottage. I know where she is. So there’s no point in panicking, right? I just have to wait for her to come back.”
So that’s what I do. I pour myself a cup of coffee, open my laptop on the bar, and I wait.
I eat a biscuit. I stare sightlessly at the latest grant proposal. After ten minutes, I give up trying to concentrate on it. I open a new browser window and pull up everything I can find about Savannah, her father, her brother, Blake, and Embarcado.
On my iPad, I make notes on what I could do to rectify the situation. Whatever I do, I’m going to get Martin’s input. Which leaves me with more questions than answers for the moment.
Why didn’t I look into any of this earlier?
I’m still on the first page of search results when I hear tires on the gravel driveway. I pull up the security camera just in time to see a white SUV park in front of my house. Ava climbs out.
She’s in high heels and one of those skin-tight dresses that leaves most of her legs bare. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, her eyes covered in huge sunglasses, and her pursed lips painted scarlet. It’s Sunday morning before noon and she looks dressed for a night on the town.
She pushes the doorbell impatiently.
Martin was right. I should’ve had a gate installed on the road.
She doesn’t give me the chance to greet her when I open the door, but sweeps past me into the foyer, saying dramatically, “Please don’t send me away. Just hear me out.”
I’m enveloped by the scent of a ten thousand dollar an ounce perfume. Yeah, I know that’s how much it cost, because she had me foot the bill when she hired a private perfumer to craft a signature sent for her.
For ten thousand dollars an ounce, you would think he could’ve come up with something I actually liked.
“Ava,” I say, by way of greeting. I glance out the door in time to see the driver pulling away. “I hope you didn’t tell your driver to leave.”
