Page 73 of Judgment

Paisley

“WOW.” MY MOTHER’S propped up in bed, looking surprisingly awake for one in the morning. “Don’t you look gorgeous.” She wiggles her sparse eyebrows at me. “That doesn’t look like your work outfit. That looks like a date outfit.”

“It might be a date outfit.” I’m not going to tell her it would be just as appropriate for my night job. She doesn’t know I work at Platinum.

Not that I think she’d care in the sense most parents would.

My mother knows what it’s like to work a job for the money it offers even though it will make the majority of the world look down their nose at you.

Or worse.

What would upset her is that I’m doing this for her.

“Do a spin for me.” She smiles wide as I hold my arms out and do a full rotation in the doorway. “Beautiful.” She cocks her head as I turn back to face her. “No matching red lipstick?”

I try not to react. “No red lipstick.”

“You used to love red lipstick when you were little.” Her smile turns wistful. “Every time I would wear it you had to wear it too.”

“I remember.” I wish I could think of it as fondly as she does.

I wish that memory hadn’t been tainted in a moment that took so much more than nostalgia from me.

My mother pats the bed. “Come tell me all about your date.” Her excitement is palpable and there’s a sparkle in her eyes for the first time in weeks.

I carefully settle down beside her, making sure I don’t get tangled in the line feeding her oxygen.

One of her thin hands reaches out to hold mine. “Where did he take you?”

“Palermo’s.” I keep so much of my life from her and I hate it. But telling her about my ‘date’ with Andre seems harmless enough and she looks so happy. “It’s an Italian place.”

“I know what Palermo’s is, honey.” Her eyes look me over. “So this man is wealthy.”

“Um.” What seemed like a harmless explanation is immediately taking a nose-dive. “It seems like he might be well-off.”

Understatement of the century.

“You don’t walk out of Palermo’s for less than five hundred bucks, Pais.” She holds my hand tighter. “Is he nice to you?”

Nice is never a word I’d use to describe Andre, but I’m not sure I’d say he was mean to me either.

He’s hot and cold, sure, but he doesn’t judge me and that’s close enough to nice for me. “Yes.”

A little of the tension in my mother’s eyes eases. “Is he handsome?”

“Very.” It’s an easy answer to give. I don’t have to twist the truth on that one at all.

“Is it serious?” The twinkle is back in her eyes, but this time it’s something else putting it there.

Hope.

I know she worries about me. What will happen if—

“No.” I don’t want her thinking it’s safe to leave me.

That I’ll be okay if she’s gone.

I won’t.

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