Page 25 of A Little Harmless Pleasure

Shame and embarrassment swamped her. She had never had much of a relationship with her parents. Even as a child, she didn’t fit in with them. Her brother seemed to always know what her father wanted. No matter what he did, Randall didn’t get punished.Boys will be boys.Randall was still a boy in their eyes. He was three years older than Cynthia.

Her life had been filled with etiquette lessons, dance rehearsals, and debutante balls. Not once had anyone ever asked her if she wanted those things, they just expected it. They hadn’t cared that she’d thrown up all day before her dance performances, or that most of the young men they allowed her to date made her skin crawl. She had done it out of some kind of misguided loyalty…because they were family.

And now they wanted nothing to do with her, except the fact they wanted her money.

Shaking herself free of her depressing thoughts, she picked up her fork to dig into her salad. “No. My father is not speaking to me, you know that. Once he realized my grandmother’s properties were off limits, he probably threw a fit. You know what kind of temper he has.”

Anna reached across the table and patted her hand. “I have to say, I feel honored that you told us first. When are you planning to leave and just what the hell am I going to do without you?”

“Way to worry about Cynthia,” Max quipped.

Cynthia bit her lip and then laughed, rather loudly. “I really love you two.”

Both of them stared at her with blank expressions.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

Anna blinked rapidly. “It’s just an odd thing to hear from your husband’s ex-fiancée.”

“I do love you guys. Most of my acquaintances have disappeared, refused to return phone calls because they think I don’t have my daddy’s money. But you stuck by me.”

“Of course I did. No one can make a macadamia nut biscotti like you.”

“Anna, stop.” Max looked at Cynthia. His demeanor had calmed, and he smiled for the first time since hearing about their trip to the tattoo parlor. “She’s trying to tell you that we love you too.”

Cynthia sniffed and blinked, hoping she didn’t start crying in front of them and the whole happy hour crowd. She heard a sniffle from Anna.

Max cleared his throat. “Why don’t we discuss when and how you’re going to move over there?”

Cynthia zipped the last piece of luggage, mentally going over her checklist. She had an early start to the morning, and she really didn’t want to leave anything behind. She’d packed all her cooking gear, and Anna said she would ship that as soon as Cynthia got her mail set up. As she looked around the bedroom, she felt a bit sad about leaving. She hadn’t lived in Anna’s house long, but it held a special place in her heart. It had been the first step she’d taken for her independence.

The doorbell rang and she smiled, thinking that Anna must have decided to come back to talk more. When she opened the door, she found she’d been terribly wrong.

Chapter Seven

“Hello, Cynthia, do you mind if I come in?”

Maryanne Myers had been considered a catch in her younger years and would still be today. Perfectly dressed in an unwrinkled linen suit, not a hair out of place, and her makeup un-smudged—even at nine o’clock at night—she remained a handsome woman. Naturally, the eyelift and chin tuck she’d had last year in anticipation of being Mother of the Bride helped.

“No, of course not, Mother.”

She closed the door. They stood staring at each other. Many people had told her through the years that she resembled her mother, and she guessed she did in a way. Both were small boned, blonde, and fair skinned. While her mother had hazel eyes, Cynthia had inherited her coloring from her father. Two months ago, they’d had a lot more in common. The outfit she wore was one Cynthia could have borrowed, and the straightened hair was in almost the same exact style she used to keep. Looking at her mother, Cynthia realized she had dodged a bullet. While beautiful, her mother rarely showed emotion and never truly smiled. The years of being married to her father had taken their toll. That gorgeous façade couldn’t hide the cold calculation in her eyes.

The silence stretched, becoming uncomfortable. Knowing that it was probably going to be that way until her mother left, she decided to move things along.

Waving her hand in the direction of the kitchen, she said, “Why don’t we talk in the kitchen.”

After her mother was settled at the kitchen table, Cynthia sat opposite of her, purposely not offering her any refreshment. It took every bit of her control not to, because those damned manners had been drilled into her head. It was juvenile to act that way, but her mother didn’t deserve to be offered anything.

“What do you want, Mother?”

The sigh her mother let loose was one Cynthia had heard most of her life. Whenever she missed a dance step, whenever she embarrassed them with her childish outbursts of laughter, her mother sighed like that. In that one little action, she let her daughter know just how much of a disappointment she was to her and the family.

“I heard that you’re moving.”

Cynthia fought the kernel of hope that sprang to life. Was it possible her mother wanted to mend the fences?

“Yes.”

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