Page 77 of All I Desire

Outside, I spot Chad’s mom—Matthew’s mom— right away. She has Matthew’s raven-dark hair and looks like a larger, campier version of Sophia Loren. She doesn’t sit up from her lounger as we approach, nor does she take off her sunglasses. My stomach twists at the sight of her. And at the memory of how nasty she’d been when I went to court for the restraining order.

“Mother, this is my friend that I was telling you about. Natalia Hastings. She runs the Paradise Beach resort.” Matthew says my name pointedly, as if trying to jog her memory. I wonder if he’s attempting to piece together the timeline of my relationship with his half-brother. Surely, he doesn’t know that his parents completely ignored my parents’ plea for their so to stay away from me.

“Hello, Mrs. Richman.” I don’t even pretend that I’m happy to see her, because from the sour look on her face, I know this will be a shit show from the word go. After all, my family and I had the temerity to call the police on her baby boy.

“Weren’t you the girl who chased after Chad back when he was, what, sixteen? Seventeen? Matthew, why are you just telling me her name now?” She shoots a glare at her son, and I hate her even more.

I stare at her, expressionless, unblinking. “If by chasing after, you mean bullied by, stalked by, and coerced into an abusive relationship with, then, yes.”

Damn that feels good to say out loud. Mrs. Richman’s nostrils flare.

“She sure was,” Chad replies. Jesus Christ. It’s as if he’s acknowledging all the hell he put me through. Celebrating it, even. Matthew fixes a glare on him.

My eyes go to a knife near a watermelon on a table. Suppressing my murderous rage is going to be key to my future relationship with Matthew. Okay, and my future as a free woman, period.

“How is the resort doing? God knows it was a bit threadbare all those years ago. We just started coming back here now that Matthew’s relocated to the island.”

Probably because I only met Mrs. Richman a few times as a teen, I never noticed that she had the same annoying, arrogant tone as her younger son. Or he got it from her.

“It’s doing well,” I say curtly.

“Well, that’s nice. I feel like Paradise Beach has gone downhill a bit. Don’t you think, Chad? It’s so… I don’t know.” She waves her hand in the air, gold bangle bracelets clinking. She’s wearing some sort of muumuu that has a similar pattern to my dress. Probably the same designer. Which makes me want to claw off my clothes.

“So… what?” I ask in an icy tone.

“So bohemian. It used to be far more exclusive. Now it’s alternative. We even saw some darker-skinned people here with drums the other night.”

The bitch is too polite to actually utter a racial slur, but I understand her subtext all the same.

“That’s the weekly drum circle, sponsored by the head of the Chamber of Commerce,” I say in a tight voice. “He’s African American.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s no Palm Beach, that’s for sure.”

“Mother,” Matthew warns. “We talked about this kind of dialogue. I don’t want it around Chloe.”

She snorts and takes a sip of her drink.

Matthew, God love his perfect manners, jumps in to talk about the day we met on the photo shoot, a hint of displeasure in his voice aimed at his mother. (At least I hope it’s aimed at her.)

As I stand there politely, I’m thinking about the restraining order I got against Chad and wondering if it’s still is in effect. Probably not, since it was fifteen years ago.

“Are you planning on staying long?” I blurt at Mrs. Richman, then I sneer at Chad.

“Oh, no,” she says. “Just the week, here at this lovely house.”

“Nah,” Chad says, cracking open a beer. “I’m here for a couple of days, then back to the city. I’m a hedge fund manager, you know. Or maybe you didn’t.” He smirks again and I want to smack him.

Of course, he’s a hedge fund guy on Wall Street. I’d bet good money he’s running some kind of Ponzi scheme or mortgage fraud ring.

Mrs. Richman tilts her head. She’s still lounging on the chaise as if she’s an old Hollywood star. “Natalie.”

I hate when people call me Natalie. I slide on my sunglasses because I don’t want them to see any of my emotions.

“Natalie, you still look the same as when you were in high school. Interesting. Not beautiful, but interesting-looking.”

Chad chortles. I refrain from punching Mrs. Richman in the face. When I was younger and with Chad, I drank. A lot. Impulse control wasn’t my friend. Now? I’m practically a Zen master of calm. Honestly, I’m impressing myself right now. I deserve a cookie, a foot massage, and an Oscar for this.

“Let’s go have a drink and you can meet my sister. How about a cold beer?” Matthew’s face is red and a bit sweaty by now.

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