Page 18 of The Invitation
It wasn’t until the Friday of the Senior Mixer, the night I came home crying, that I learned that my mom knew the Brewers. But it wasn’t until later, well into my freshman year of college, that I realizedhowshe knew them.
It was after her divorce, and Reid had given her a fake name and purported to be a bachelor looking for romance. He love-bombed her, and she fell hard. It wasn’t until she saw him in the news that she realized he was a billionaire business mogul—amarriedbillionaire business mogul.
It was her second heartbreak and too close on the heels of the first. I saw her cry more over him than I recall her sobbing over my father.
It was also the last time she fell in love.
She stands abruptly, taking her plate to the kitchen. “What is he like now? Ripley, I mean.”
I stand, puzzled, and follow her into the kitchen. She never wants to talk about the Brewers.Ever.
“He’s still an asshole,” I say. “Not much has changed on that front.”
“Well, stay away from him. Trust me. If he’s anything like his father, he can be ridiculously sexy, handsome, charming, and hard to resist.”
I snort.
“But resist him,” she says, staring at me intently. “If you ever do anything I ask of you, let it be this.”
I laugh, refilling my wineglass. “Mother, you have nothing to worry about there. Ripley is the only enemy I have in this world.”
“Good. Now fill my glass, and let’s change the subject again.”
“Sounds like an excellent plan to me.”
I fill her glass to the brim and then watch her slurp the top as she moves across the townhouse. All I can do is shake my head.
Me? Fall for Ripley Brewer?
“You really should stop thinking about my dick, Peaches.”
I snort and take a long, slow drink.
Not in a million fucking years.
Chapter Five
Georgia
Music carriesacross Sutton’s backyard on a warm, gentle breeze. Beads of sweat roll down my chest, catching in my bikini top. I close my eyes, relishing the moment of relaxation, and listen to the fountain splash into the pool in the distance.
“If I lived here, I wouldn’t leave this spot,” I say, appreciating the buttery-soft chaise cushions. “Are these the chairs that were on backorder for sixteen years?”
She laughs. “Yup. The closest Jeremiah and I have ever been to breaking up was over these chairs. If he has a fault, it’s impatience when hereallywants something.”
“Like he wanted you.”
“And other things.” She wiggles her white-painted toes. “We’ve been discussing trying for a baby as soon as we’re married.”
Really?I swallow my surprise. “How do you feel about that?”
She rolls onto her side to face me. “I know I always said that I wasn’t in any rush to have children, but I’m slowly changing my mind.”
I turn, too, and remove my sunglasses.
“Why are you reconsidering?” I ask.
“I know what you’re thinking—that Jeremiah might be pressuring me into parenthood because he’s been very vocal about wanting a ton of kids.”
