Page 63 of The Forbidden Trio

With a sigh, she stopped in front of the enormous Tudor-style mansion and pulled the parking brake on her sporty blue Mini Cooper a little too hard.

“You can do this,” she told herself. “You can see Max without being wildly attracted to him and having the urge to beg him to take you to bed and spank you like youknowhe can with those big hands of his.”

She checked her lip gloss in the rearview mirror. Her green eyes stared back at her doubtfully. “Oh, you are such a liar, Aster,” she told her reflection.

Grabbing her purse, she got out of the car and walked up the front steps, smoothing her white cotton dress. If Max were already there she’d see a rental car, wouldn’t she? Or maybe it was in the garage?

She rang the doorbell and waited. Even though this had been her home until she’d left for college, she’d never truly felt at home here. Her mother had been the dictator of the house, wanting everything to be picture perfect, as if Architectural Digest were coming at any moment to photograph each room. It had never been a place where one could relax and just be.

Her mother’s newest housekeeper answered the door.

“Hello, Miss Aster. Your mother is in her study. Please come in. May I take your bag?”

“Hi, Carla. I’ll hang onto it, thank you.”

The air was cool inside as she moved across the marble foyer and to the left of the grand staircase where she knew her mother would be waiting for her in the study. She paused in the doorway, watching her mother sitting at her gilded Louis XVI writing desk, dressed in a black Chanel suit—of course—her ankles daintily crossed. One of these days she might get over how pretentious her mother was. Or not.

“Hello, Mother.”

“Oh, there you are, darling. I was expecting you much earlier. I had Carla take the tea tray away.”

Passive-aggressive mother for the win.

“I told you I had to teach until four.”

“Yes, but you could have made an exception under these circumstances. I am recently widowed, after all.”

“It’s been four months, Mother. And since you’re involved with all your charity work again, I assumed you were doing okay. Are you?”

“Please don’t say ‘okay’, Aster—you know how I loathe slang.” Lillian Emerson-Hyde let out a long sigh. “You haven’t ever been married. You have absolutely no idea what it’s been like for me. Yes, I’ve been involved, but a widow is treated so differently. The life I once knew has changed forever.”

“Even though you and John rarely saw each other?”

Her mother huffed. “Must you be so difficult at a time like this?”

Aster dropped her purse down on the delicate, damask-covered sofa, plopping down beside it. “I’m sorry, Mother. You’re right. I’ll try to be more sensitive to your grief.”

It was better to apologize and be done with the conversation, even though she knew perfectly well her mother and stepfather had hardly had a real relationship for most of the years they’d been married. Her mother was in St. Moritz when her stepfather passed from a heart attack. He’d been in the hospital for two days before her mother had even gotten on a plane to come home. Had she behaved any differently when Aster’s own father had died in a car accident when Aster was a baby? She highly doubted it. Not that Aster actually knew what a real relationship was herself these days. She was twenty-nine and pretty sure, since her last breakup, that she was destined to be single for the rest of her life. In part because she couldn’t help but compare every man she dated to her stepbrother.

She cleared her throat. “So... is Max here yet?”

“Oh, that brother of yours! He’s finally back in town after his all-too brief appearance at his father’s funeral, even though I’ve told him repeatedly I needed him here to help me wade through all of these legal matters. He got in last night, but he’s already gone off for a run. Honestly, I have no idea why anyone would think that’s relaxing in any way, particularly in this heat. All that perspiring.”

“Maybe you should try Pilates, Mother. You can do a full workout in an air-conditioned room and barely break a sweat.”

“Goodness, please don’t start your usual lecture about how Pilates would be good for me. I get enough exercise gardening, and with my ladies’ walking group.”

“You do realize…” Aster cut herself off. She wasn’t going to start an argument, even though her mother’s idea of gardening was putting on a wide-brimmed hat and gloves and directing her gardeners while they planted flowers.

“Realize what, darling?”

“Never mind. It’s not important. How long ago did you say Max left?”

“Oh, at least an hour ago. I imagine he’ll be back shortly. I should have Carla bring some iced tea for him.”

She rang a small, silver bell, and the housekeeper stepped into the room. “Yes, Ma’am?”

“Iced tea for my son, please. And don’t make it too strong.”

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