Page 36 of Burn With Me

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something,” I start.

“Is this about Marcus?” she asks.

I frown. “Marcus?” Why would she think this is about Marcus? We haven’t talked about Marcus in years—at least not past when I’d invited him to meet her new husband without telling her. “What about Marcus?”

“He’s transferring to Eastpoint University, isn’t he?” she replies, looking up.

“Oh, yes. I … you heard.”

“Yes, he told me,” she says.

Shock rockets through me.He told her?“When did you start talking again?” I ask.

She blows out a breath. “After you invited him to that luncheon,” she says, and as she does, her eyes flick up to me. Her brows draw down low. “I was quite upset about that, but honestly, I think it was for the best. You were right. He would have needed to meet Damien sooner or later, and he seems to like him.”

“He—what?” I gape at her. “MarcuslikesDamien?”

“Well, he didn’t say he likes Damien per se,” she says with a wince. “But he hasn’t mentioned anything since the luncheon, so I’m assuming he doesn’t disapprove of him.” The waiter stops by and drops off a basket of fancy bread and takes our drink order, disrupting the moment. When they’re gone, however, I focus my gaze on my mother.

Delusional. That’s what she is. Just because Marcus hasn’t said he hates Damien doesn’t mean he likes him. In fact, I’d say it’s pretty obvious that Marcus doesn’t like him. At all. But whether or not my brother likes her new husband is not why I’m here today.

The waiter returns and takes the rest of our order and, in true high society fashion, disappears into the background as if they never existed, leaving me alone with my mother. I reach for my drink and take a sip—wincing when the bubbly champagne mixture of the mimosa hits my nose. Fuck. They didn’t even bother to check my age. I sigh and finish my sip before setting it to the side.

“So, it sounds like your honeymoon went well,” I say.

“Oh, darling,” my mother says breathlessly as she puts a hand to her chest in a spot-on romantic manner. “It was wonderful. Quite honestly, it was the best honeymoon I’ve ever had.”

“I assume Damien is back in town as well and back to work?”

She nods absently, taking a sip of her drink. “He’s such a workaholic,” she confesses. “He spent as much time with me as he could. However, every spare second we got, he was on his phone and last week he got a call about something or other—changed our whole flight plan, and we ended up back here faster than you would’ve thought.”

My gaze sharpens on her. “What did he get a call about?” I ask, letting the words roll off my tongue in a light, almost disinterested tone.

“Oh, I don’t ask questions about his work, dear,” she says with a scoff. “You should know better than that. It’s best just to let men do their men things, and we women do our women things.” It takes every fiber of my being to resist the urge to roll my eyes at that. “I do hope you and Isaac have been getting along, though.” Her comment has me stiffening, but I feign a smile.

“Oh, I hardly see him on campus,” I lie.

“Is that so?” she frowns. “I could’ve sworn he mentioned that you two had attended a party together while we were gone. Isn’t he in a few of your classes?”

I choke on another sip of orange juice and champagne. “He mentioned that?”

She nods. “He said as much when I ran into him at the house earlier this week.”

I slam my glass down and look at her. “You’ve seen him?” I demand.

She blinks at me. “Good lord, Aurora, you act like it’s a crime for me to run into my stepson.” I wince at the reminder of what he is—not just to her, but to me as well—but keep my gaze on hers.

“It’s just…” What do I say? “I haven’t seen him in class in a few days, so…”

“Oh, yes, he did mention that he’d been out of class because of what happened.”

“What happened?”

She nods and sighs. “He looked quite the worse for wear,” she says. “Boys and their arguments, I suppose. He said something about a workout that got out of hand, but there were bruises on his face. I suspect he must’ve had a falling out with one of his friends.” She pauses and puts a finger to her chin thoughtfully. “Or perhaps it really was a workout,” she surmises. “I forgot, but he’s on the football team, isn’t he? That would explain the bruising on his face. He doesn’t strike me as much of a boxer, although I’m not sure what teenage boys are all into these days.” I don’t point out that he’s not a teenager for much longer, as she drops her finger and shakes her head. “Marcus was so careful when he played. Perhaps I’m just not used to other young men.”

A fight? Bruises? I’m getting more information than I ever expected. It was definitely a good thing to agree to meet with her.

“Anyway,” she says suddenly, switching subjects as she leans forward and clasps her hand over mine on top of the table. “I was so excited that you agreed to have lunch. I actually wanted to ask you over to the house.”

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