Page 10 of Finally Home

“You can’t be serious right now.”

“Of course I am.” He pulls my camera bag strap over his shoulder and removes our two suitcases.

“Oliver,” I scold. “You can’t carry all of these. Just let me help you.”

“Oh, look at us.” He leans in, brushing his cheek against mine. Anyone looking on would just see two lovers whispering sweet nothings. “Already having our first fight.”

I giggle at his statement but sweep in and grab the dress bags—one housing my dresses and the other, I assume, his suit. He reaches out to grab them, but just as he had with the Twizzler earlier, I pull back and take off toward the hotel entrance.

I’m too busy glancing over my shoulder, watching him toss the valet attendant the keys before taking off after me, that I’m not paying attention to what’s in front of me—or more so, who is in front of me.

“Holland,” my mother’s voice screeches, and if we were in a cartoon, there would definitely be tires squealing sounds surrounding me, possibly even smoke.

“Mother.” I straighten up, and instantly, the tension returns to my body. The smile falls from my face, matching her expression. There are no pleasantries, no hugs and kisses. I can’t say I’d expect anything less. There has to be irony in the fact my mother is a world-renowned cardiologist, yet she has no heart. Had there been a warm welcome, I’d have to assume aliens swapped bodies with her.

Her arms are full of shopping bags. Leave it to my mother to spend this day shopping. I bite back my eye roll.Yep, definitely proof that she is, in fact, my mother and not an impostor.

I feel his presence without turning around. Moments later, a hand grips my waist, pulling me against his muscular front.

“You think you’re funny, sweetheart, but I’ll always catch you.” He gives my hip a squeeze before pressing a kiss to my shoulder.

“Holland, aren’t you going to introduce me to yourfriendhere?”

“Oliver, this is my mother, Dr. Vivian Armstrong.”

“Hello there, ma’am. I’m Oliver Mosby. Your daughter has told me so much about you.” Ollie smiles.

“I’m sure she did. I’m sorry, but my hands are a little full at the moment, otherwise I would shake your hand.”

“That’s okay. Do you need help with those?” He nods toward the overflowing shopping bags.

“Oh, that’s okay. That’s what the staff is for.” She gathers the attention of a hotel employee, who rushes over.

“Yes, Dr. Armstrong, what can I do for you?”

“Please have these bags delivered to our suite.”

“Of course, ma’am.” The poor guy struggles to gather all the bags, but he at least gets an A for effort in my book.

My mother watches him as she heads toward the hallway.Does she really think that he’s going to steal something or mess her precious belongings up or something?

“Vivian,” Ollie says, bringing my mother’s attention back to us. I have to say I preferred it when she focused on the hotel employee. “Thank you so much for having us.”

“It’s Dr. Armstrong. And, it’s not like Holland gave us much of a choice on the plus-one. But if it meant having my daughter in attendance, so be it.”

Oliver gives nothing away from his expression. I have to say I’m impressed because even I have trouble hiding my wince at her bitchiness, and I grew up with her like that.

“Holland, since you apparently have no sense of time, please at least have the decency to be at dinner on time. We’re meeting at the restaurant at seven.”

I stare down at the floor, wishing it would swallow me down, and nod.

There’s no goodbye, just a dismissal. When Vivian Armstrong is done, she’s done. She doesn’t need to acknowledge her leaving.

Ollie leans in, his breath fanning my neck. “Well, your mom seems like a peach.”

“Yeah, one of those bruised, rotten ones, maybe.” I let out a heavy sigh, already feeling a chokehold on my very being from the small interaction with my mother.How the hell are we going to get through this weekend?“Come on, let’s go check in.”

Without waiting for Ollie to respond, I grab the handle of my suitcase and begin pulling it toward the front desk, ignoring Ollie’s protests behind me.

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