Page 85 of Coldhearted King

I grit my teeth. God forbid anyone or anything disrupt her perfect, careless existence, let alone her husband’s arrest. She’s more worried about how the women at the country club look at her than the fact that her husband has no respect for her or his family.

The whole thing is a joke—sitting here and having lunch together, pretending we’re a happy family that gives a shit about each other. Because that’s all it is and all it’s ever been—a pretense.

“So, Delilah,” Mom starts up again, “is your family from New York?”

Delilah puts down her fork. “No. I grew up in North Carolina. Near Raleigh.”

“And what do your parents do, dear?”

“My mom is a hairdresser.”

Mom’s nostrils flare and her lips purse. I grit my teeth. She’s not even trying to hide her horror. “And your father?”

Delilah raises her chin and looks my mother straight in the eyes. “My father’s not around.”

God, this fucking woman. She’s not letting my mother intimidate her for a second. She’s not pandering to her or trying to win favor. She’s not ashamed of her upbringing. She’s proud of who she is, where she comes from, and who she loves. Her defiance is a refreshing change from the status-obsessed world I come from.

I catch Tate’s slow grin, and the way he’s looking at her pisses me off. I rest my arm on the back of her chair and trail my fingers up the side of her neck. Goose bumps ripple down her arms, and she cuts a glance in my direction. I give her a smile that promises a few good orgasms later, and her cheeks flush.

Mom’s expression is pinched. “That must have been...difficult.”

Delilah shrugs. “Mom worked very hard to give me a good life, and now I hope to do the same for her.”

“What do you mean?” Tate asks before I can, and I glare at him.

Delilah smiles in his direction, making my teeth grind again. “I’m saving up so that I can build a house for her. I’ve already started designing it. It’s going to be a surprise.”

I didn’t know that. But then, I haven’t bothered to ask her for many details of her life, have I?

“You’re obviously close to your mother,” Tate says. “I’ve always wondered what that’s like.” His lips curl, but I’d hardly call what his mouth is doing a smile.

“Uh...” Delilah shoots a glance at Mom, who doesn’t deign to acknowledge the comment. “Yes, we’re very close. It was just the two of us when I was growing up.”

“How sweet.” Mom sounds like she thinks it’s anything but sweet.

Delilah looks around the table, then at me. She still has a smile on her face, but I can see the uncertainty in her eyes. Considering my parents never did anything for us that didn’t serve themselves, the fact that my mother is trying to make Delilah feel bad about how she grew up makes red flash across my vision.

I’m about to claim an urgent meeting I’d forgotten about, but Delilah speaks up again. “I may not have grown up in a mansion”—she gestures toward the house behind us—“but my mom showed up for me every single time I needed her. As far as I’m concerned, that means more than anything money can buy.”

My mother narrows her gaze on Delilah, who merely picks up her fork and continues eating. Pride rushes through me. Since when has a woman stood up to my mother as directly and sincerely as Delilah just did? And what must it have been like growing up, knowing you had someone who cared about you that way? Someone who would put your needs above theirs. Someone who loved you more than money, power, or themselves.

Roman picks up the conversation, giving Delilah a break from being the focus of the conversation, although Mom’s gaze occasionally slides back to her. I have no idea what she’s thinking, since her face is frozen as much by lack of discernible emotion as it is by Botox. Roman, Tate, and I run over some numbers for the new project while Mom listens. Delilah tries to make small talk with her, but the replies she receives are cool and short at best. Delilah’s increasing discomfort distracts me from talking work with my brothers.

I was an idiot to think my mother would unbend enough to be courteous to a woman who doesn’t meet her wealth and power requirements. I should never have put Delilah in this situation. I don’t know if I’m angrier at myself or my mother.

It only takes one more curt response from Mom, and I’m done. I push my chair back and stand. “We’re going.”

Delilah rises as well. “Thank you for lunch, Mrs. King.” Her words may be calm, but tension radiates from her. How she manages to be so polite to the woman who has alternated between ignoring her and being borderline rude, I don’t know.

Fuck it. I thread my fingers through hers again and look over at Tate and Roman. “I’ll see you in the office.” Then I look at Mom. “I’ll see you next month.”

She’s staring at me in shock. “But Cole, we haven’t—”

Without bothering to wait for her to finish, I tug Delilah after me and we make our way back to the house. As soon as we get inside, I press her against the wall and skim my nose down her neck. “I’m sorry.”

Breathing in her sweet scent calms me. As does the way her arms go around me, her hands pressing against my back. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

I let out a harsh laugh. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come. I know what she’s like.”

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