Page 77 of Ruthless God

She strides inside, amazed at the decor of the farmhouse, and I shut the door behind her.

“You had the farmhouse built exactly how you like it.”

“Actually, Snow had it built for me as a wedding gift.”

“That was thoughtful of him.” A smile stretches across her face. “I’m here to spend the night with you. Snow informed me he didn’t want you to spend the night by yourself.” She crinkles her nose. “Where is he, by the way?”

“Bachelor party with his friends.”

I show her to the dining room to set the pizza on the table. Grabbing a slice, I gobble it up as I show her to the guest room so she can get settled, then I head back to the living room and grab my phone from the coffee table to shoot Snow a text message.

Me: Why did you send my mother over?

Snow: To keep you occupied. You keep googling ‘what type of secret my fiancé is hiding’.

Me: Stalker. One day I’m going to find out what app you are using to spy on me. Are you still not going to tell me what’s going on?

Snow: NO. You will never find the app.

Me: Insert middle finger emoji. Maybe I should put a spying app on YOUR phone.

I tuck my feet under my butt as I scroll mindlessly through IG.

My mother strides in, wearing a silk gown and a pair of house slippers. She flops down on the couch next to me and it’s so awkward that I don’t know what to say or do. Some days, I wish I were close to her like I was when I was a little girl. Our relationship has been distant and we’ve become detached, especially after the car accident.

I look at Jameson’s story to see strippers are giving him a lap dance, while Keanu and Snow are by the bar, downing shots.

I send Snow a message.

Me: How come I wasn’t allowed to have male strippers at my party, but you can have strippers at yours?

Snow: I didn’t hire them, Keanu did.

Me: That’s not fair. I wanted men shaking their dicks in my face.

Snow: If that would have happened, I would have sliced their dicks off and shoved it down their throats.

Me: Jealous much?

Snow: Very. You already know how far my jealousy takes me.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” my mother asks.

I nod, snatching the remote from the coffee table, and I put it on her favorite.The Notebook.

I never know what to say to her, we never spent time with each other, other than going to lunch dates, and she has never been in my personal life unless it’s involved my marriage to Snow.

“Snow told me you had dinner with your professor to have one of your paintings in his art gallery. That’s nice.”

She never complimented me on my art before, so what’s the catch? Did my father put her up to it? They used to fight all the time about her not being a supportive mother when it comes to my dreams and hobbies.

I raise my eyebrows and straighten my spine. “That’s nice?”

She brushes a few strands of hair from my forehead. “Yes.”

“You don’t have to care about my artwork, it’s okay. I know you only care about me being taken care of.”

She sighs, picking at the invisible lint on her gown. “It’s not that I don’t care about your work, sweetheart. I’ve been projecting my trauma onto you and that’s not right. I’ve been talking to a therapist, and she told me I did a lot of projecting that I wasn’t aware of.”

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