Page 22 of Thorns of Desire
It’d been months since I visited, but it felt longer. The lightness I used to attribute to her was gone, and in its place was something I didn’t recognize.
I glanced out the window at the unfamiliar landscape. “We’re not going to the manor?”
My mother, the famous opera singer, had lived in Spain for the past decade as a mistress to the head of Miñanco—the Spanish mafia—under his protection. Emiliano Ortega, her lover, was the reason she’d been able to afford an elite boarding school and private college for me. She made good money as a singer, but not enough to support her lavish lifestyle and my private education.
Before he came along and became a permanent fixture in my mom’s life, I remembered her lovers being wealthy and generous, and that Mom kept me mostly out of sight, claiming I was her deceased best friend’s daughter. The men were blindenough to believe it, and enamored enough that they didn’t ask many questions.
Of course, my best friends knew the truth. I slipped once and then swore them to secrecy. Considering the secrets we kept for each other, it was an easy promise given and kept by every single one of them.
“Not this time,” she said. “I want to have you all to myself. Like the good old days.”
Warmth washed over me. There had been many days we ran, hid, and lived in fear, but I vividly remembered the ones where she would wake me up at the crack of dawn to go swimming. Or she’d surprise me at school with a bouquet of flowers, checking me out early to get our nails done.
Until everything changed, of course.
It wasn’t long before the car pulled up in front of Hotel Alfonso XIII, a luxury hotel in the heart of Seville, and we made our way to the top-floor suite.
“Well, this feels like déjà vu,” I muttered under my breath, thinking back to my one-night stand.
“What was that, Athena?” Mom asked.
I waved my hand. “Oh, nothing.”
“I still can’t believe you’re here,” Mom said. “We can catch up on what you’ve been doing and talk about your mom. I miss her so much. You must too.”
I swallowed, smiling tightly. Some things never changed. “I do.”
I hated the pretense, but there was no way around it—not when her bodyguard stood so closely and likely received paychecks signed by the head of the Spanish mafia.
The elevator dinged and opened into the luxurious hotel suite. Her guard went ahead and we stepped out, waiting for him to clear it. Once he reappeared, he gave her a terse, wordlessnod and stepped back into the elevator, then disappeared out of sight.
Mom and I sighed, sharing a glance, and she smiled.
“Go ahead and pick the room you want. I’ll make us a cup of coffee.”
I made my way through each of the bedrooms and opted for the first one, the view of Seville stretching in front of its expansive window. I dropped my bag on the luggage stand and joined Mom in the kitchen.
She handed me my mug and we settled next to each other on the plush linen couch. Mom smiled at me over the lip of her mug.
“Now tell me the reason for this sudden visit.”
I let out a breath. “Well, I’ve missed you.”
She tilted her head. “You’ve missed me before and it didn’t prompt a visit.”
She was right. We’d always done it this way to ensure our safety. I steeled my spine for the conversation we were about to have. My mom hated talking about certain events—namely anything unpleasant. But I needed to know how far she went with Manuel Marchetti, and since he was indirectly connected to her horrible attack, and subsequently me, we’d be forced to go there.
I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “I’ve been thinking about… the past.”
Her brows arched. “Past?”
I looked down and brushed an imaginary speck of lint off my jean shorts. I always dressed down when meeting my mother, not wanting to attract any attention to myself.
“Yes, I’ve been thinking about that night those men attacked us and… and about that man who caught you lip-syncing. The man you were dating back then.”
“Why would you ask me about that after so many years?”
I placed my cup on the coffee table and tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear.
