Page 12 of Her Defiant Heart (Damaged Hearts 1)

Mine.

“Are you two…close?” It takes everything out of me to ask this question. My voice is strained, my throat burns and my eyes sting. I blink back the angry tears and shake my head once quickly, dismissing the emotion.

Rhett’s smile is gone in an instant, and he seems to go cold too. Dormant. “Our relationship isn’t great. She’s not my mom, and when I was younger I reminded her of that fact every chance I got.”

Interesting. Everything I see on the Internet tells a different story. But then again, you can tell whatever story you want on social media. What happens behind closed doors is another matter. “Did she boss you around?”

“No. Well, yeah, I guess. She just—she tried to be my mom, and I didn’t want her to do that. I already had a mom, you know? And then she died.” His eyes go dark, his expression somber. He doesn’t like talking about his dead mother, not that I can blame him. I don’t want to talk to him about my dead father, so the feeling is mutual. “She overstepped her boundaries a lot, especially when she first moved in with us. Still does.”

“Because she’s always mothering you?” I practically spit the question out and I clamp my lips shut so I don’t say something awful. Talking about her is difficult, harder than I thought it would be. How she can be a mother to him and completely ignore me my entire life, I will never understand.

“No, she doesn’t try to mother me.” He tilts his head to the side, like he’s trying to figure out what she is to him. Or more like he’s trying to figure out how to explain her to me. “Our relationship over the years has…changed.”

“For the better?” Don’t act like you care too much. He’ll wonder what’s up with all the questions.

“Not, necessarily.” His gaze lifts, locking on our server. “Ah, there’s our future mimosa angel.”

I glance up to find a gorgeous blonde standing beside our table, holding a small tablet and a stylus. Her smile is slow and sultry, and I study her carefully, hoping I can…what? Pick up tips? What’s up with this restaurant? Do they only hire beautiful women to work for them? “I’m guessing you two want the brunch with unlimited mimosas?”

“You’re so smart.” Rhett hands over his menu and I do the same, though the server isn’t even looking in my direction as she takes the menu from me. Her focus is zeroed in on Rhett. Damn, that’s rude. Even when there’s a woman at the club—which is rare but still, it happens—I always make eye contact with her when I’m taking their drink order. Though most of the time they act embarrassed. Suppose I can’t blame them since I’m the one who’s topless.

“I try my best.” The server is blatantly flirting. She even leans over a little bit, offering Rhett a glimpse of her chest via her deep V-neck shirt. “I’ll bring out the mimosas. Go ahead and help yourselves at the buffet. There are two chefs on duty today, at the waffle bar and the omelet bar.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, though my words are pointless. It’s funny, how I want to blend in and not be noticed, yet I’m offended when the waitress doesn’t acknowledge me.

The server saunters away and Rhett’s already getting out of his chair. “Ready to fix your plate?”

“But my purse…” I point helplessly at my cheap black bag sitting at my feet. Not that anyone would want to steal it. All I see are a fleet of Louis Vuitton, Chanel and Gucci bags. I might be broke, but one of my favorite things to do is read fashion blogs. I look at the pretty photos and dream.

Rhett doesn’t even look at my pitiful bag, thank goodness. “It’ll be fine. No one will take it.”

If someone steals it, which I doubt, I know Rhett will replace whatever I lose, and that isn’t much. Pushing my worry away, I rise to my feet and follow him to the buffet line, grabbing a warm plate and staring in wonder at all the food spread out before me. So much fruit, so many pastries. Bacon and sausage and hash browns and country potatoes. There are salads and thinly sliced deli meats, a bagel and toast section, and the chef at the waffle bar is beckoning me to come to him, so I do.

He prepares me a Belgian waffle and tops it with fresh strawberries and whipped cream. I quickly grab a few pieces of bacon and then I head back to the table, my shabby purse sitting right where I left it. Rhett hasn’t returned yet, and I wonder if I should wait for him.

My stomach growls in protest at the thought.

“Here’s your drinks.” The server appears, placing our mimosas on the table. Her gaze lands on my plate and she wrinkles her nose. “You’re really going to eat all that?”

I glance at my p

late, wondering what she’s complaining about. This is the biggest meal I’ve had in weeks. Possibly in years, especially since I’m not through yet. “Yeeeaaah.” I draw the word out, like duh. I don’t know what her problem is.

“That’s just—so many calories on one plate.” Her gaze shifts to my body and she offers up a blatant perusal. “You must work out.”

Running all over a strip club while carrying drinks and avoiding grabby-handed customers is about as much of a workout as I get. “Sometimes,” I say with a shrug.

“Well, if you want my advice, sugar is the devil,” she sing-songs.

My fingers itch to slap the smug smirk on her face. I bet she’d love to see me fatten up as I shove the food in my mouth. Picking up my fork, I puncture a whipped-cream-covered strawberry and bring it to my lips. “Didn’t ask for your advice, but thanks anyway.”

She shoots me a dirty look before taking off and I plop the strawberry in my mouth, the juicy sweetness exploding on my tongue. Wow, this is good.

I grab another forkful of strawberry and whipped cream and consume it, closing my eyes for the briefest moment. I haven’t even got to the good part yet—the warm, crunchy, sweet waffle. I open my eyes and reach for the syrup on the table, pouring a light steam of it on top of my waffle just as Rhett returns and sits down across from me.

“Their waffles are delicious,” he says.

I examine his plate—the one that’s waffle-free. “Why didn’t you get one?”

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