Page 34 of The Luminosity of Loriana Harper

She arched an eyebrow.

“In a good way.”

Her lips twitched. After a moment, her full-on smile was back. “Now, hot chocolate? Or would you prefer something alcoholic? I’ve got beer around here somewhere.” She opened another cupboard. “And a bottle of red—although I’m not sure that’d be a good choice.” She closed the cupboard. “Sorry, I don’t drink a lot. Don’t have many friends over who do.”

“Well, hot chocolate sounds delicious.” Mitch enjoyed the occasional beer, but tonight was a night for hunkering down with a warm drink. Preferably by the fire. With a willing woman.

Okay, keep it in your pants.

She hadn’t invited him for anything more than a hot chocolate—a way to thank him for helping out at the last minute. She certainly wasn’t waiting for him to put the moves on her.

Right?

Or had he read this wrong? Maybe she’d known Marnie’d bail from the beginning and that the two of them would end up back here alone. With only the cat to chaperone.

Loriana poured milk into a pot and set it on the stove. She retrieved a container of chocolate powder from her pantry and held it up. “I know purists would melt real chocolate. I have neither the patience nor the chocolate.”

Mitch laughed. “Oh, that’s totally fine. My mom used to make me that kind when I was a kid.”

Crap.

Her head tilt told him everything he needed to know. At least he was prepared for the question.

“Will you tell me about her?”

“Wow, you don’t hold back.”

She shrugged. “I suppose I could ease into it. Or just pass over the comment entirely and bring up the weather for the umpteenth time today.” She stirred the milk. “But I heard a lot of pain in your voice when you mentioned your mom.”

Well, she’s not wrong.

“I loved my mom. We had a really tight bond. My dad was…I don’t want to say absent—because he was there every night. I don’t want to say abusive—because he never laid a finger on me. We just…weren’t close.”

Loriana continued stirring. “We both know a parent can be both absent and present at the same time. Mine were. And I think we both know abuse can take many forms. Some words wound as deep, if not deeper, than physical violence.”

She gets it.

“Your parents?”

“Never abusive.” She apportioned the powder and stirred it into the pot. “Rich. Self-centered. Egotistical. Very much believed in having a perfect child who perfectly reflected their perfect vision of themselves.”

He shuddered. “Why do I think that was as bad as it sounded?”

“Because you’d be right.” She stopped her stirring while she grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. Then she resumed her work. “They were as misogynistic as you could get. Wanted a son to carry on the family name. Well, they had one daughter. My mother developed a life-threatening infection after I was born, and she had to have a hysterectomy.” She eyed the milk and kept stirring. “I eventually intuited she was willing to take the risk because she wanted a baby boy so badly, but the doctors put their feet down. As it was, she was within hours of dying from septicemia.” She met his gaze. “I think my father would’ve preferred she die so he could legitimately remarry and have an heir with a second wife.”

“Jesus.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, if you believe in Him.” She tore her gaze away and looked back at the pot. “Okay, that’s hot enough.” She shut off the burner and then—very carefully—poured the brown liquid into each of the mugs.

Steam rose.

“Initially they considered sending me to boarding school. Then they realized they could dress me up in fancy dresses and shiny shoes and show me off like a doll.” She shuddered. “They were nightmare parents. If I didn’t get the top grade at school, they were there to challenge the teacher. If I tried out for the play and didn’t get the lead role, they threatened to withhold a donation they promised. If I expressed an interest in playing a sport, they hired a tutor so that I’d be the best, and by the time I was ready to make mydebut,I’d be so sick of the sport, I’d quit.”

His chest constricted and his heart ached for the little girl so lost. “Sorry sounds so inadequate. Yet you survived.”

“I did.” She pointed to the mug. “It’s still scalding, so be careful.” She took a breath. “I was barely surviving until Miss Edna in the third grade. She stood up to my bully parents. She encouraged me to try all kinds of different things. Then, as if those weren’t big enough gifts, she gave me Narnia.”

“The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.” A gift he could respect and understand.

---