Page 76 of The Love Losers

“No.”

I’m still uneasy, but I shoo him away with my hand. “I’m okay. Go get your mother her fancy water.”

He has a stubborn set to his jaw, but I take his hand and squeeze it. “Seriously, I’ll be fine. I’m at least ninety percent sure she won’t kill me. And if she does, then you can avenge me, Bunny.”

“Is that ever going to get old?” he asks, but I see the hesitation on his face. He doesn’t want to leave me. Good. I’m glad he cares. But he still has to go, because if his mother and I don’t get along, there’ll be hell to pay.

“Yes, I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about, and it’salreadygotten old,” Mrs. Rosings says. “And I’m getting more parched by the moment.”

Sighing, he gets up. He gives me another glance before shifting his focus to his mother. “Behave yourself, Mother.”

She laughs even as she nods. “Of course.”

“I mean it.”

“So noted,” she tells him, something like delight sparkling in her eyes.

Anthony looks at me one more time, his concern like a warm hug. When I nod and smile at him, trying to convey that I’ll be just fine and actually want this opportunity to talk to her, he leaves the room.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, she takes a sip of her not-empty drink. “I thought he’d never leave. Now…why have you agreed to marry my son?”

“I want to,” I answer, before I have a chance to second-guess myself.

She raises her eyebrows. “And does that have anything to do with the millions of dollars he’ll get in his trust fund?”

“Of course it does,” I say, which she clearly wasn’t expecting. “If it weren’t for the trust fund, we’d obviously try dating, the way most people do, but I don’t want to give him up, and I refuse to take his trust fund away from him, so yeah, I want to marry him.”

“And you’ll sign a prenup?”

“Of course.”

She studies me for a long moment and then gives a succinct nod. “I think you’re being truthful.” She lifts a finger and wags it in my direction. “Mind, I know you haven’t told me the full truth, but you young people never do.”

“Do you?” I ask, unable to help myself.

Her mouth tips up at the corners and she takes another sip of her supposedly empty drink. I suppose I have my answer. I glance at the fireplace, my gaze finding the three urns lined side by side.

“I suppose you’re wondering if what everyone around here says about me is true,” Mrs. Rosings says, her voice deep and throaty.

“I know it’s not. Anthony told me what happened to your husbands. You were unlucky.”

“And yet they’re dead, and I’m here, left behind with all of this.”

I glance at her, surprised, and the look on her face says I’m meant to be.

“Mark was my favorite,” she tells me. “I still miss him when I’m sitting out in our rose garden. He was a gardener like your brother. But Adrien was a hard, unfeeling man. He was a bad husband and a worse father.”

“Why didn’t you leave him?” I ask, because I can tell she wants me to say the words.

“I had a plan,” she says with a half-smile. “But then he died. You can’t imagine the uproar. There were people who wanted to blame me, but I wasn’t home when he fell. And Anthony, of course, witnessed the whole thing.”

I exhale sharply, the air whistling between my teeth. “He did?”

“I don’t think he’s ever fully recovered. Adrien may have been cruel, especially to Anthony, but he was his father. A boy’s father is important to him.”

“You probably shouldn’t have told me that,” I observe, feeling the emotion swell in my chest. “I would have preferred to hear about it from him.”

“Yes, dear.” She lifts her drink for yet another sip. How much liquid does that cup hold, for God’s sake?

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