| couldn’t—I wouldn’t even take two steps from her in the grocery store for fear that Richard would pop up out of nowhere and snatch her from the cart!” “That’s ridiculous,” I said. “You were her mother. You had rights. This was just Will messing with your mind. You have to see that!” She whipped her head from side to side. “My rights meant nothing. You don’t know what Richard did—what he must have done—to get Will away from me. Will would never have picked that—that woman over me, not if he’d had a choice. Richard did something—blackmailed him in some way. He—” “You think he blackmailed his own son into marrying someone else and having a child with her? Mom, I’m sorry, but you’re just being paranoid.” “No, I’m not. It’s what happened, Sylvie. It’s how he was. Richard took Will away from me, and if he found out the truth, he would have taken Persephone, too. Will would never lie to me about something like that.” She took a deep, ragged breath, the air hissing in her throat. “So that’s why we kept it a secret. We weren’t just protecting Will. We were protecting Persephone.” “Maybe you were. Because Will had you all twisted up about everything. But Will wasn’t protecting her. Protecting her would imply that he actually cared about her, but obviously he didn’t. He never even tried to have a relationship with her.” “Goddamn it, you’re not listening. He didn’t have |
low, rumbling grunt that swiftly crescendoed into a growl. The flush in my face was immediate, and I raised my glass to my lips again, trying to cover the pink I felt burning in my cheeks. “Oh thank God,” Ben said. “I’m so hungry, too.” He put a hand against the dresser to steady himself as he stood. “I think I have a frozen pizza in the kitchen. You interested?” I looked back at the clock on Ben’s nightstand. It had been hours since I’d wolfed down half a sandwich before heading off to Tommy’s. And it might have been the alcohol radiating through my veins, or even just the hunger I was suddenly aware of like a gaping hole in my gut, but as I stood up from the bed, I didn’t think of Persephone or bruises. I thought only of dough and sauce and cheese—how that seemed like all I needed in that moment—and I found myself nodding, my mouth actually watering in response. “Sure,” I said. “Pizza sounds good.” We didn’t speak much as we ate. Sitting at the white marble counter of Ben’s breakfast bar, we inhaled slice after slice of mediocre—yet wholly delicious—pizza, taking breaks only to drink long, thirsty gulps of the beers we’d opened while waiting for the oven to preheat. “Okay,” Ben said after a while, a single slice remaining on the pan between us. “I think I’m ready to come up for air.” He wiped his hands |
