Page 47 of Gilt

“I’m so sorry.” Mrs. West opens her purse and pulls out a handkerchief, dabbing at her nose. She forces a smile onto her face. “We haven’t been introduced. I’m Evelyn West.”

I open my mouth to give her my name, but Jameson jumps in. “This is my girlfriend, Mom. Emma Southerly.”

I can almost swear I feel the tarmac vibrate as the bombshells hit. It takes a concerted effort to stay on my feet. Girlfriend?

“Southerly?” His mother repeats in surprise, but she instantly regains her composure. “It’s lovely to meet you. I’m so glad you’ve been able to be here with my Jameson. I just couldn’t leave my father in his condition.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Jameson promises her. He loops his free arm through hers and guides us both back toward the BMW. “I have everything under control here.”

She tenses when he says this. But if she has an opinion on the situation, she keeps it to herself. Jameson opens the front passenger door and drops my hand to help me in, but I shake my head. “I’m fine back here.” I get into the back seat before he can protest.

“That’s very sweet of you,” Mrs. West says.

On the way to Mt. Charleston, she peppers us with questions. How did we meet? How long have we known each other? Jameson manages to skillfully answer them all without giving anything away. Now doesn’t seem like the best time to mention exactly what party we met at or that our relationship was founded on an alibi. When we arrive at the mountain chalet, he carries her bag inside, and she takes my arm as we head into the house.

“I’ll admit I was slightly surprised when I heard your last name.” She chooses her words carefully, but I can hear the edge of them. “Does your father know you’re seeing my son?”

I consider lying, but then I shake my head. “No.”

“Word to the wise, tell him sooner rather than later. Parents hate finding out they’re being lied to.” Her tone is gentle, and I see now where Jameson gets his softer side as well as his looks.

Her eyes are the same silvery blue as her son’s, and her aristocratic features are the feminine equivalent of his brutal beauty. She removes her hat, and I see that her hair is light like her daughter’s, nearly white at the temples.

“I believe you know my mother,” I say, looking for a subject of conversation while we wait for Jameson to return.

“How is Vivian?” she asks.

“Remarried and living in Palm Springs.”

Evelyn frowns at this revelation. “Do you see her often?”

“I stay with her during the summer. We split holidays. It’s all very scheduled.”

“A daughter’s time with her mother should never be scheduled.” She perks up as Jameson enters the room. “Speaking of, where is my daughter?”

“Probably with her boyfriend,” Jameson informs her. “She’s been shacking up with him all week.”

“Are you two fighting?” she guesses, not at all perturbed by his implications.

“Considering Monroe thinks I did it, you could say that.” A chill creeps into his words, and I feel the urge to go to him and reassure him, but I force myself to stay still.

“Your sister is confused. This was traumatic for her, and she doesn’t know what to believe.”

“She seems pretty eager to believe the Belle Mère Police Department.” His broad shoulders go rigid with pent-up tension and shadows seem to fall over his face, making it impossible to read how he’s feeling.

“I’ll speak with her.”

“Let me know how that goes,” he says coldly.

“I’m afraid my daughter and I have a typical relationship. I have to remind myself she’s a teenager,” Evelyn says to me conversationally before redirecting her words to her son. “And we’re all under a lot of stress, so we need to remember to be kind to one another.”

He inclines his head. “Of course.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I had the staff stock the kitchen. The maid should arrive tomorrow, so until then–”

“I do not need a maid,” she interrupts him. “I’m perfectly capable of picking up my own laundry and cooking my own meals.”

“I simply want to reduce your stress level,” he suggests gently.

She looks at me with an eyebrow raised. “I think my son just mothered me.”