Page 59 of Wicked Devotions: Part 2

I put a hand over my stomach and groan inwardly because I don’t think I’ll be able to eat for another week after the feast we had yesterday. But my mom does make a mean snickerdoodle. By the time she leads me into the kitchen, the scent of cinnamon and sugar is already taunting me.

“Holiday calories don’t count,” she says as she puts a plate in front of me.

“You say that every year.”

Truly, she is glowing. Her skin and hair have never looked better, and I swear every time I see her, she’s gained more much-needed weight. I never realized how unhealthy she was until seeing her so happy and healthy.

“Because it’s true.” She takes a cookie and bites into it. “Not that you need to worry about that.”

“Neither do you.” I smile and bite into one myself.

Her eyes glisten as she nods her head. “I know.” She finishes off the cookie and brushes the crumbs off into the trash. “But now we have to talk about something serious.”

“What?” I put the rest of the cookie into my mouth.

“Arrangements for your father. Do you want a funeral or anything for him?”

I shake my head emphatically. “I want nothing to do with him, his legacy, his funeral.”

“I figured. I don’t either, but Amanda and Michael are pushing for a service.”

I barely spent any time with my grandparents growing up, so their wishes mean nothing to me. “Good for them. I’m not interested.”

“Fair enough.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Why is Felix here? Are you in more danger than you usually are?”

Mom’s gaze flicks to the den where Declan, Cillian, and Felix disappeared after putting our bags away. “No, he’s just been staying here. It’s easier when Cillian has to go out if Felix is already on the property.”

That makes sense, but it’s still a bit disconcerting. It could just be a me thing, though. I’ve never been great around new people, especially men.

“Is there anything you want for dinner? Jared will be here in about an hour to make dinner.”

Their chef is truly next level talented, but I shake my head. “No, I’m still so full from what they fed us on the yacht for Thanksgiving.”

“Yes.” Her eyes brighten with curiosity. “Tell me everything about this weekend.”

I fill her in on everything from how stunning the actual boat was to hiking up Mount Olympus to our day at the olive farm. She listens raptly to every word out of my mouth.

Another wave of the endless gratitude I’ve become so familiar crashes through me as we catch up and laugh together. This is the type of relationship I always wanted with her but could never have because of the wedge my father drove between us. He found us becoming close to be a threat, whereas Cillian’sjust been leaning against the doorjamb for the past few minutes watching us with a gentle expression in his eyes.

I give in to the urge to grab my mom and wrap her in a tight hug. She’s momentarily stunned by my unusual display of affection but recovers and holds me just as tight. I press my face into her neck and try to not cry as I speak.

“I’m so glad we can have normal moments like this. I didn’t know if we’d ever get here.”

“Me too, sweetheart. I love you so much.” She pulls away just enough to see my face and wipe a stray tear from cheek. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get us here sooner.”

“It’s okay.” I sniff as she begins to cry. “You couldn’t. None of it matters now anyway. We’re safe and never going back. He’s dead.”

“How are you feeling about that?” Cillian asks, slowly walking into the kitchen with us.

“I’m fine. It’s not a sad loss in my opinion.” I reach for a tissue and blot my cheeks.

“It’d be okay if you were sad,” Cillian says. “He was your father.”

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