Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Although she was joking about the dungeon thing—at least I was pretty sure she was joking—I knew she was dead serious about tonight. Knew that she truly wanted my honest answer and that she would not be offended if I told her I just wanted to be with my daughter. I didn’t feel obligated to go along with her for the sake of politeness or to avoid potential conflict. That’s not how it worked in our little circle. And though it had taken me a long time to get there, I was just now comfortable being wholly honest.
A part of me selfishly did want tonight with Violet. But I also wasn’t ready to answer the questions I knew she wasn’t going to let go of. A gaggle of women and bikers would serve as a nice buffer.
Beyond that, I was eager for Violet to see the life I had quickly created here. To feel the love in it. The authenticity. I knew it would help her understand everything and how I’d changed so quickly.
“As long as you’re okay with it, honey?” I asked Violet. “We can just stay in, you and me, if a lot of new people sounds like too much?”
Violet shook her head without hesitating. “No. I really would love to meet everyone in Mom’s life.”
“Awesome!” Macy exclaimed.
“I would love a shower, though.” Violet looked around the house. “And I need to get my bags inside. Is there somewhere for me?” Her voice was petered out at the end, sounding more vulnerable and unsure.
“Honey, of course there is somewhere for you,” I said reassuringly, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “No matter what happens, there is always somewhere for you.”
Violet smiled sadly. It was much too mature a smile for someone that young. It was melancholy I was responsible for. And she didn’t even know the full truth.
“As for the bags, don’t you touch them. The men can do the heavy lifting when they arrive. Now I am a feminist,” Macy clarified, “but I just don’t believe we should be carrying anything that a man can carry for us.” She winked at Violet.
“Sweetie, why don’t you use my shower?” I offered. “It’s got all the toiletries you like, and you can wear anything out of my closet you want.”
Violet arched a brow, eyes tracking up and down my body. “Normally I would not take you up on that offer, but seeing this new look, I am very interested to see what is in that closet,” she teased.
I rolled my eyes.
“Love her already,” Macy giggled. “I knew I would.” She leaned down to gather the bags from the sofa. “I’m going to start the margs, you show Violet her room,” she ordered, turning and walking toward the kitchen.
I did just that, first showing Violet where she’d be sleeping and then taking her into my bedroom.
No, our bedroom.
I couldn’t possibly forget about Swiss and him living here, but I didn’t grasp how jarring it might be for Violet to go into a whole new bedroom with the things of a man who was not her father scattered around the room.
Okay, the things were not exactly scattered. I might’ve changed in a lot of ways, but my penchant for neatness remained.
But Swiss’s cologne was mingled with my perfume on the dresser, and some of the rings he wore were sitting in a small bowl, again mixed up with some of my jewelry.
A pair of his jeans were draped over one of the armchairs, the book he was reading was on ‘his’ side of the bed—closest to the door, as any man’s side should’ve been, I’d learned.
At our old home, Preston and I had separate dressers. Closets. Our things never touched, never mingled with a familiarity, a casualness like this. A way that suggested I put my earrings on while Swiss brushed my body with his as he sprayed his aftershave. It communicated a closeness that Preston and I’d never had.
I watched Violet take all of this in, her expression unreadable.
“He’s a biker, this man?” Violet surmised.
“He is.” I was surprised she was able to come to that conclusion.
“I can’t imagine how confused you are right now,” I said gently.
She stared at me in a penetrative way that was utterly foreign, a way my daughter had never looked at me before. Like she was seeing me as something else than just her mother. Like she was realizing I was also a human being. A separate person with needs, with dreams.
“I’m not,” she shrugged. “Seriously,” she added, seeing my raised brow. Violet looked around the room once more. “I’ve never heard you happy, Mom,” she whispered, emotion leeching into her tone.
Tears instantaneously filled my eyes.
“I didn’t realize it until right now,” she continued, voice full of tears of her own. “Until I saw a house that you belong in, fit into more than you ever did ours. You always moved like a…” she scrunched up her nose, deep in thought. “A guest,” she said finally. “Like nothing was yours. Like you were afraid to spill, to break something. I didn’t see it before because—”