Page 67 of Possession

I spin on my espadrille wedge and meet her in the middle of the room. She shocks me when she wraps her arms around me in an embrace. I return it and say, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

She lets me go and holds me at arms-length, looking me up and down. “I was so worried after the bloodbath at the church. We barely got out of there and had no idea where you were. The next day your father got word Damian was dead and you were okay but married to another man.”

I lift a shoulder and decide to spare her the part where I was kidnapped and almost had to marry Damian’s cousin instead of Boz. “That’s basically right.”

She takes in her surroundings for the first time and hikes a brow. “What an impressive estate.”

I narrow my eyes but say nothing. Is she really focused on the soaring ceilings and window treatments after everything I’ve been through?

“Not at all what I expected from Damian Marino. You could have it a lot worse, I guess.” She gives her head a shake. “I still can’t believe you’re here. Had you just considered one of the many young men from the club that I tried to set you up with, you wouldn’t have been single, and this would not have happened.”

I take a step back as her words deliver a different kind of sting than they used to. Her I-told-you-so comments over the years have been irritating at best. But not today. Today, her victim shaming is a slap across the face. “You’re blaming me for being in this position because I was single?”

Her expression turns conciliatory, and her tone sounds like she’s trying to reason with an overly-tired toddler. “That’s not what I meant. All I’m saying is that had you already been married, they would not have wanted you.”

“Or, had Dad not pawned me off to save his own life, I also would not be in this situation.”

Her lips press into a thin line—at least as thin as they can go with her filler injections. “I’m not blaming you. I had a feeling when he started working with the Marinos a few years ago it was bad news. He saw it as a way to diversify and provide for us. He never saw this coming.”

I cross my arms. “Well, I guess if he didn’t plan this, it makes it all better. He made it clear he only cares about himself. I’m not here because there was no other choice. He didn’t have to take the deal and hand me over to the Cartel.”

She shakes her head and reaches out to run a hand from my shoulder to elbow. Her touch is as tender as it is fake. “That’s not the way it happened, sweetheart. They threatened all of us. Anything else you’ve been told is them feeding you lies about your father. They’re going to do everything they can to poison you against us. They cut your father out, and it’s taken a toll on the business.”

My eyes flare, and I jerk from her touch. I don’t give a shit who’s listening and throw my hand out. “Look at where I am, Mom. Do you think I give a shit about his business?”

“Ah-hem.”

Our gazes shoot to our sides where June is standing at the entrance to the room holding a tray.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Torres. Tea and cookies for you and your mother.”

My mother smiles and nods like she’s at Buckingham Palace instead of a mansion funded by cartel money. “That sounds lovely. Thank you.”

June moves to the coffee table and turns back to me. “Do you need anything else, ma’am?”

I shake my head and wonder if June and Miranda ever get time off. They’ve been here daily for every meal. I need to ask Boz about that. “No, thank you.”

The woman knows her role and plays it well. She exits the room as quietly and as quickly as a mouse.

My mother moves to the sofa and proceeds to pour two cups of tea. “Come here and tell me about everything that has happened.”

I stand frozen in my spot. She’s speaking to me like she’s catching up with her sorority sisters instead of her daughter who was traded to pay off a debt. “You know what happened.”

She picks up a cup of tea and pats the sofa next to her. “Sit and talk to me. When we learned that Damian was killed, I knew things were going to change for the better.”

I move to her but not to sit and chat. I stand across the coffee table and glare at her. “I’m glad you feel better about things. Meanwhile, I’m still here.”

She takes a sip of her tea and pauses before lowering her voice—little does she know it’ll take a lot more than that to keep a secret in this house. “Tell me about this Boz Torres you married. I want to know everything about him. Has he been…” Her blue eyes, the color of mine, dart around the room before she whispers, “rough with you?”

“What? No.” I cross my arms to hug myself. “He’s fine. I mean, for the most part, he’s been fine. But I can’t live like this. I’m a prisoner.”

Her teacup clinks when it hits the saucer. “That’s a relief. Your father said you looked fine when he saw you at the funeral.”

I lower my tone, and it has nothing to do with who’s listening. “He thought I looked fine?”

“Yes.” She actually sounds relieved, as if my dad who barely gave me a glance that day thought I lookedfine. “I was happy to hear it.”

“I might be making the best of a horrible situation, but I am not fine, Mom. Not at all. Though, I can’t say I want my old life back, because this is where my old life got me. I wouldn’t feel safe going home after what Dad did.”

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