Page 9 of Single Mom's Undoing
Jace chuckles dryly. “Also one of the reasons why she and Stephan always butted heads. But man, he’d be relieved to see her now.”
“Would he?” I shoot back. “I doubt it.”
“Carter, give her time,” Damon insists. “What happened that night with Stephan…. She’s not ready totalk about it nor is she ready to talk about everything else that followed. But she will. Pushing her before she’s ready is only going to have the opposite effect.”
So many thoughts rush through my head, so many questions left unanswered. I’ve spent the past few years trying to get her out of my mind, to forget what it felt like to lose myself, to bury myself inside her. And the boy…dammit. He’s a little piece of Clara, and my heart aches at the thought of something ever happening to him.
“What matters now is that she’s safe and here. She’s getting the trust fund money for her son, and she will do anything to protect their peace,” Damon says.
“I think the question that Carter is trying to answer is what do we mean to her?” Jace replies with a bitter smile.
I think I may already know but Clara isn’t ready to hear it. As much as I hate it, Damon is right. I’m not letting her leave again, yet I can’t force her to stay. I can only offer incentives.
I’ve already offered her a job. Everything else should follow.
She needs time. It seems I need a minute, too, if only to adjust to this new reality, to Matty’s presence, to the idea that someone else shared Clara’s bed after we…
“Carter.” Damon pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts.
“I heard you the first time,” I grumble and start marching toward my car, waiting for them at the base of the path.
SeeingClara again has me itching to revisit a past I’d hoped to keep buried, not because of the pain it caused, but because of the many questions it left unanswered. While I can’t pressClara further about any of it just yet, I still have my sister, though Margot’s story never sat well with me.
Lockwood Manor is imposing, massive, and quite uppity for a town like Blackthorn Falls. It reminds me of something out of a Charlotte Bronte novel, with sculptural archways and a sprawling front terrace. Climbing its steps makes one feel like they’re ascending to another level.
“My dear brother,” Margot says as she greets me in the foyer.
“You look well,” I reply with barely a glance.
There are times when I can hardly believe I was raised here. Almost every memory of my childhood happened within these halls with their tall ceilings and fancy wood paneling, the wall-hung portraits of our Lockwood ancestors gazing upon us, judging us, judging me, in particular.
“Don’t tell me the prodigal son wants to return,” Margot scoffs.
I turn away from the paintings to examine her. She doesn’t look well despite what I’d said before, but she does look better than the last time I saw her. At least she’s healing. She hides her slim figure under oversized black dresses, with just enough concealer on her face to mask the dark circles and pale complexion that comes with opiate use.
“No, the business is still very much yours,” I say to her. “Where’s Dad?”
“Still in Paris, luring our board of directors into a trap of their own making,” she giggles. “He should be returning in a few weeks. I believe he mentioned something about a detour to St. Tropez before he heads back. Or maybe a yacht race along the coast of Marseille. I’m not sure.”
“You’re running the show all by yourself, then?”
“The execs are helping me,” she sighs. “I can’t be bothered with the minute details.”
“Too busy popping pills to numb the pain, I reckon.”
She scoffs and crosses her arms. “Get off your high horse, Carter. You’ve barely gotten the color back in your cheeks since Clara left. This is the first time in five years you’re looking at me like you actually see me.”
As suspected, Clara has been keeping a low profile. Margot is not aware of her return.
“At least I didn’t resort to drugs in order to cope,” I shoot back. “Any word from Emmanuel?”
Emmanuel is Margot’s husband. They are currently going through a divorce.
“He dropped off the face of the earth two years ago. Why do you keep asking about him? I have moved on.”
“Oh, and it shows.”
She feigns a smile and motions for me to follow her into the living room. “I need a drink. Want one?”
