Page 63 of Malicious Wedding

“That’s what she said too.” His mother touches his face. I shift from foot to foot, glancing away. It’s too intimate for me to watch. “You know I worry.”

“You don’t have to. I’m happy, Mother.”

“Then I’m happy for you. She’s very pretty. I can see why you like her.”

“It’s not only about looks.”

“I hope not.”

I want to scream and explode. They’re talking about me like I’m not here—or, worse, like I’m a prized cow.

Molly turns away from her son, catching me with an appraising look. “It was lovely to meet you, Ashlyn. I hope we’ll spend more time together in the future.”

Overwhelmed by this whole thing, I say, “I hope so too. Thank you for stopping by.” I come around the couch. “Let me walk you to the door.”

She gives her son a wink as I brush past him. He only stares at me, his expression inscrutable.

“You want to ask me something,” she says out on the stoop.

I linger, glancing around to make sure nobody’s listening. “This isn’t the first time I’ve heard someone mention Carson and me and obsession in the same breath. Like he’s been, I don’t know… thinking about me. For a while.”

His mother tilts her head to the side. “My oldest son is a good person. Despite what you may think about our family, he takes care of those he cares about. And I believe he cares about you very deeply. Does that help?”

“Not really.”

“I didn’t think it would.” She moves down the stoop. “I can’t answer your question. You’ll have to talk to him if you want to get to the root of that. But just know… he does care.” She waves as she gets into the back of a black sedan.

I watch her pull away, a shiver running down the back of my neck.

“I already told you what you need to know.”

I yelp, jumping slightly, and whirl around. Carson’s standing just inside, watching me.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that, you psycho.” I brush past him, heading into the house.

He closes and locks the door. “I like what you’ve done to the apartment.”

“I like that your mother just showed up out of the blue to make sure I’m not your latest kidnapping victim.”

“I’m not so much a fan of that.”

“Which begs the question, why the hell would your own mother think you’d do something like that?” I snatch my wine glass from the coffee table and drink it down.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he picks up a photograph of my brother, my father, my mother, and me back when we were young, taken on the boardwalk at Sea Isle City, New Jersey, during a summer vacation. We’re happy, sunburnt, and nobody’s worried about organized crime or dying of breast cancer. Not yet, anyway. All that ugly stuff would come later. But that’s what I like about the picture: it’s before everything fell apart, back when we were still a family.

“I wish I met you sooner,” he says, touching the picture with a strange longing. “But I’m also glad I didn’t. It would’ve been harder if I had to wait even longer.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I feel sick. Right on the edge of panic. I’m missing something important, but I can’t figure out what.

“It means that you’re safe.” He puts the picture down. “That’s all.”

“You might think you’re reassuring me, but really, now I’m positive you have a murder dungeon hidden somewhere under this house.”

“It’s not underthishouse. I keep my murder dungeon and my personal life as separate as possible.”

“That’s not remotely funny.”

He shrugs, grinning. “It’s a little funny.”

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