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She wasn’t nervous or stiff. She walked into the room composed and looked directly at me with green-hazel eyes that reminded me too much of her son’s. There was no pity in the way she looked at me and no judgment either. She was studying me the same way I was studying her.

“Bonjour, Azaria.”

“Bonjour.”

Her attention went to my sketchbook. “You draw.”

“I do a lot of things.”

A small smile appeared before she walked over and sat in the chair across from me. She made herself comfortable like we were two women meeting for coffee instead of sitting inside the room where her future daughter-in-law was detoxing.

“You look like someone who has been through too much too young.”

“That’s why you came?”

“I came because I wanted to see you for myself. I also understand forced situations.”

I sat straighter.

“I know what it feels like to be pushed into something you didn’t choose,” she continued.

I watched her carefully. Nothing about her body language felt fake.

“You think I’m going to sit here and smile through this?”

“No. I think it’s a good thing that you won’t.”

I wasn’t expecting that answer.

“I’m not here to judge your addiction either.”

“How generous.”

“I’m serious. I understand why people run from their families or marriages. Sometimes destroying yourself feels easier than letting somebody else do it.”

That hit harder than I wanted it to.

“I feel like I got thrown into a shark tank.”

“You weren’t thrown to sharks.”

I scoffed. “That’s exactly what this feels like.”

Her voice became firmer.

“No. Sharks attack because they’re hungry. My son doesn’t devour broken women. He rebuilds them.”

I studied her because part of me wanted to laugh in her face. The other part remembered Vegas and the way Ares looked at me back then, as if he had already figured me out.

I knew Ares had always liked me. Years ago, he was willing to risk his friendship with Zay for me, but fucking rich men and leaving them before they could think they had me used to be a sport. I never took Ares seriously enough to wonder what would’ve happened if I stayed.

Now I was sitting in his house, promised to him by both of our families.

Sometimes I wondered if he had always known I would end up belonging to him.

“You telling me all this out of kindness?”

“I’m telling you because I raised him, and I know him better than any woman.”