Page 140 of Cashmere Ruin

Mothers who sneak around sleeping with their exes?I rub my temples and sigh. I really wish Dominic would find a different topic for their pillow talk. Last time we met, he didn’t even speak to me. I almost thought he was a puppet. Like inWeekend at Bernie’s.Or maybe just the twins in a trench coat.

“Thank you,” I concede, because there’s really no polite way to send this one back to the messenger. Estranged or not, I’m not going to step down into the mud and start accusing my mother of things I have no proof of. Whatever she does with her life is her business, not mine. Same goes for the man who calls himself my father.

Maybe they just work better without you in the way.

I slap that thought away—No.I promised Dr. Knox I wouldn’t do this, let myself fall down a negative spiral every time my parents came knocking. More than that, I promised Matvey.

Never again.

And it’s a promise I intend to keep.

“Look, do you want to hold her or?—”

“I heard there was quite the prize, too. For the contest, I mean.”

“Yeah,” I say cautiously. “Full ride at the Mallard.”

“You’ve always wanted to go there.”

“I’m surprised you know that.”

“How many times are you going to make me say it?” she laughs, high-pitched and way too nervous to be spontaneous. “Mothers always know.”

“Right. Well, now, I’m going.”

“Yes, but…” She hesitates. “You don’t actually needallof it, do you?”

I steady myself. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—you’re rich now, aren’t you?” She looks around herself as if she’s staring at proof of it. “Or at least, your husband is?”

“Partner,” I correct. The word leaves a bitter taste on my tongue, but I don’t have the time to think about that now. “And yeah, he is. But that’s his money.”

“But you’re together, silly!” she giggles awkwardly. “What’s yours is his; what’s his is yours—isn’t that how it works?”

I narrow my eyes. “Mom, what’s going on?”

“Nothing!” she nearly shouts. “I’m just worried here, shortcake. Surely if he truly loves you, then he won’t mind sharing? That way, you can keep some of the prize money aside. For a rainy day, or…”

“Is this about Tom?”

Suddenly, it’s like the air freezes around us. Eleanor’s face turns white, her lips pressed in a tight, angry line. “What are you insinuating?”

“He’s been gambling again, hasn’t he?” I press. “That’s why you’re here. You need money.”

“That’s…!” She goes red as a pepper. “That’s preposterous. I came here to see you.”

“You came here to scrounge,” I bite back, cold as ice. “You didn’t even care about the baby. You just wanted a quick payday.”

Every time.Every single, goddamn time. Of all the ways to make it clear she doesn’t care about me, this has to be the crudest. She didn’t even bother to play the long game—she just went straight to bat. Like I’m not even worth the effort.

Worse, it’s like she thought I’d actuallydo it—sacrifice my hard-won scholarship on the altar of Tom’s vices. And for what? Five minutes of conversation with my mother? The pretense of caring?

Does she think I’m thatstarved for affection?

You used to be,the voice inside my head reminds me.There was a time you’d have given her the world for a crumb of attention. Don’t you remember?

I do. And I’m not gonna go back there.

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