Page 25 of Wes

I roll my eyes, which she misses as she keeps studying the furniture around us. Unable to get mad at her, I snort. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met. Spill it!”

Before she can do so, a tall and slender young woman enters the room carrying a silver tray. She bends to settle the metal rectangle on the coffee table. Her black and white uniform is wrinkle-free as she pours two glasses of pink lemonade. Beth Murphy runs a tight ship and I’m grateful for that. She worked for Ken long before I married him. She knows this house better than me. Hell, she probably knows all my properties like the back of her hand since she oversees all of them.

“Thank you, Simone,” I accept the glass she offers me.

“Not a problem, ma’am.”

Moira holds hers to her lips, taking a long sip, and smacking her lips. “That’s exactly what I needed.”

With a grin and a slight bow, Simone murmurs, “Excuse me.”

She turns around to head back to the kitchen, leaving the tray and the pitcher for us. When she’s out of earshot, I insist with Moira, “What did Aidan tell you?”

Moira raises her hands in the air. “I honestly don’t know details. Wes didn’t want to share them with Aidan. He just said the guy babbled some nonsensical garbage about your past. When Wes called him out, he doubled down and Wes lost it.”

Frosting chills run down my spine and I slump against the plush upholstery, throwing my head back and closing my eyes. I need a second to slow down the roaring blood coursing through my veins because of her confirmation of my suspicions.

“You okay?” Moira murmurs when I take too long to return to the present.

Still leaning my head back, I open my eyes and smile into hers. “You’ve never asked me why I despise celebrities so much.”

“It’s obviously a painful subject, so I didn’t want to press it. I’ve always believed you’d tell me when you were ready.”

I take a swig of the refreshing drink. Pain in the back of my throat makes it hard for me to swallow it. After I do, I whisper, “Mom was a successful top model in Brazil when she became a single mother.” I point both index fingers at myself. “Her exotic beauty landed her a contract with a movie studio. She moved to Los Angeles. When her Hollywood career tanked due to her lack of talent, she turned to recreational drugs for comfort. She had a lot of famous friends, many who played in rock bands, and none minded sharing their stuff.”

Moira squeezes my forearm and groans, “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” I pat her hand. “By the time I was five, she had turned into a junkie groupie with more mileage than most reward programs. I grew up in this environment, exposed to her lifestyle. Many of her boyfriends molested me from an early age.”

Moira gasps and covers her mouth with a hand.

I give us both time to process the emotions before adding, “She never believed me. She would either accuse me of seducing them or beat the shit out of me. So, I stopped telling her anything. Despite everything, I didn’t hate my mom, still don’t, and never considered running away. She was all I had in this world. I stuck around to make sure she didn’t kill herself, accidentally or on purpose.”

“Now I understand why you’ve told me you never felt a need to experiment with drugs.”

“Exactly.”

Beth returns to invites us to the informal dining room. There, we find an array of colorful dishes arranged on a counter propped against the wall. Despite the painful conversation I’m having with Moira, my mouth waters as I inhale the aromas. I take a seat at one side of the cherrywood table for four.

Moira rubs her hands, sitting across from me. “I recognize the roasted pears salad with blue cheese toast, the onion soup, the steamed carrots, and the mashed potatoes with parsley. What else do we have over there?”

Simone replies, “Brie and apricot quesadillas, roasted pork with honey glaze and fruit stuffing.”

After she serves our plates and leaves, we eat in silence for a while until Moira sets her fork and knife on the table.

She steeples her fingers before murmuring, “Witnessing what drugs did to your mom, I get why you kept away from them. I’m guessing you didn’t have any kind of support system to help you, though?”

“Correct.”

“How did you cope with your pain?”

“I didn’t. At least, not as a teenager. I suffered from low self-esteem and didn’t believe I deserved love, so I used sex as an escape mechanism.”

Moira knits her eyebrows. “That must’ve changed at some point because I remember you mentioned marrying Ken at sixteen, right?”

“Yes. You already know that part of my story,” I remind her with a sharp stare.

She slants her head and tears well up in her amber eyes. “No need to revisit that tragedy. I remember the details you told me about your husband’s murder.”

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