Page 55 of The Art of Taking Second Chances

The familiar pain of a cold clamp around my heart made me squirm in my seat.

“That’s what I thought. You want to use Aarti to get ahead, to get something you think I deserve while depriving yourself of the happiness you want. Then what? You’ll cast her aside? How long will that take, and will Tara keep waiting for you? Aarti deserves better.”

The truth hit me like a lightning bolt. Dad had used Mom and her money to get ahead, and Mom deserved better. I had spent my days trying to become the man that my father wasn’t, but that’s exactly who I’d molded myself into. I was my father!

“You’re clutching my hand too hard,” Mom cried, and I dropped it. She brought it to my cheek. “Don’t hold on to the wrong things, beta. I saw how Tara looked at you last night, and I’ve never seen you this happy with Aarti. I choose happiness for you.”

“I choose happiness too. For me and for you.”

“I made my choice, Sameer. If I wanted the world, I wouldn’t have married your father. I would’ve married the man your grandfather chose for me. He was a royal descendant, and he promised me the world.”

“Do you regret not marrying him?” I surprised myself with this question, but Mom didn’t flinch.

With a steady gaze, she answered, “I didn’t know that man, so I can’t say with certainty I would’ve been any happier with him.”

“Do you regret Dad?” I found the courage to ask.

This time, she allowed herself to exhale. “No,” she said quietly. “I’ve raised two strong, wonderful kids with him. And despite everything, he’s always respected me, my person, and my intellect. He’s always trusted me, and that’s something you should know.”

I gaped at her, trying to bring myself to accept her logic. But it was her marriage, her life, and she had the right to decide how she felt about him.

Her bright smile shattered my daze. “What I’m saying is, you can hate him all you want, but you don’t have to hate him for me. I can do that myself.”

Of course he respected her, she was brilliant, smart, and witty.

I placed a kiss on her hand. She crossed her arms delicately and said, “Now, tell me about Tara.”

I held nothing back. Well, except for how hard we fucked. “She saved me from who I was before. She saved my friendship with Amar. If it wasn’t for her, I would’ve drowned after what happened in India. She’s my anchor to this world and myself. I want her, Ma. I need her in my life.”

“Talk to her, beta, and resolve it. I hate seeing Aarti’s happy face when she’s with you.”

I nodded and dragged my hand over my head. “I wish I hadn’t agreed to go along with Dad in this sham of a relationship.”

Her stern glare shut me up. “There’s a lot I dislike about your father, but you can’t blame him for this. He didn’t force you. He didn’t knowingly push you away from Tara and toward Aarti. This was your choice, your doing. Don’t blame others for your own bad decisions like he does.”

I lowered my gaze to the table. She was right. She was always freaking right. This one was on me.

“What do you think of Tara?” I asked quietly.

That brought out Mom’s bright smile, like the sun peeking from behind a dark cloud. “She’s smart, successful, and lovely. And she knows how to keep you humble,” Mom said with a soft chuckle. “She makes you happy. What more can I ask for? I especially liked how she stuck it to your father,” she whispered.

“Oh yeah, she’s got a smart mouth, that one.”

“Morning.”

I zipped around with a start when I heard Tara’s voice behind me.

“Good morning,” I said, but threw Mom a nervous look.

How much had she heard? Judging by the bright smile on her dewy face, not much. In the light of the morning and the conversation I had just had with my mother, I felt a renewed kinship with her. I felt closer, but that could’ve been because she was wearing one of my pajama sets, swimming in them like a cute vixen. My insides turned warm at the thought of her full breasts brushing against my clothes.

“Coffee?” I asked.

“Yes, please.”

“Come, sit.” Mom pulled a chair next to her. “I hope you slept well.”

“Yes, I slept soundly. Thank you for everything.” I’d never seen her this shy and restrained. “Thank you,” she said to me when I handed her a freshly brewed cup.

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