“I just won’t always be able to get into specifics about things and you can’t discuss Beck or my relationship with him with other people. Please try and understand. It’s to protect his privacy.”
“What about your privacy?”
“My privacy is fine. I’m not rich and no one cares about me.”
Now she starts shouting. “I care about you. Your dad cares about you too!”
“Thank you, Mom,” I say. “It’s all right, really.”
“They can’t restrict your communication with your family. You should never have signed it. What on earth were you thinking?”
“Mom.” And I can’t tell her about how Ethan’s ex tried to write a book about the family and sell them out (which would go a long way toward explaining the situation) because that’s covered under the NDA too. “It’s okay. Please trust me.”
“You sound like you’ve joined a cult.”
“It’s more like entering rich people land, actually.”
“They’re taking advantage of your good nature”
“Have you ever actually known me to be good-natured, though?” I ask. “When was the last time you thought to yourself: Gosh, my daughter is good-natured?”
“It’s not funny, Alice.”
“Sorry.”
“Did you get a lawyer to go through it with you, at least?”
Oh, shit. “No. It was…um…well, you see, I felt that I had a thorough grasp of the situation and the document. So I—”
“ALICE.”
My ear is ringing. Not good.
“I’m coming out there,” she says, voice determined.
“Oh God, please don’t. Everything’s fine.”
“No. I’m coming.”
“Mom…”
Beck strides toward my table, all smiles. When he sees my face, he stops smiling.
“Perhaps I haven’t explained this all very well,” I continue, stating the obvious. “I’m fine. I can talk to you. We just need to be careful. Beck is protecting himself and his family in much the same way any of us would. But it’s a different kind of world with them being wealthy and all, you see? Some compromises need to be made. And that’s all it is, a small little compromise. While I’d love to see you, it’s just a bit early for planning an actual visit. How about in a couple of months? Or I could come home for Thanksgiving! That would be nice, right?”
Nothing.
“Mom?”
“I’ll text you the details when I have them.” And she hangs up.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
He takes the seat opposite. “Beloved, what’s wrong?”
“My, um, my mom is coming to visit.”
His brows rise and his eyes widen. “Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Soon?”
“Yes. At least, I think so.”
“Oh.” He swallows. “Great.”
“That was not convincing.”
I’ve never seen him scared before. Not even during that gory film of Henry’s. But the idea of my mom visiting has set off all his alarms. His shoulders are rigid and his face has gone pale. “No, no. It’s fine. I can’t wait to meet her.”
“Okay. If you say so.”
He studies me for a moment. “Beloved, you’re supposed to comfort me by saying you’re sure she’ll love me.”
“Absolutely. I’m sure she will.”
“Has she liked any of your other boyfriends?” he asks.
“No. Not really. Though, I mean, they were all assholes, so…”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s just that Mom is no more used to one-percenters than I was. But I’m sure you’ll win her over. You’re funny and kind and charming.”
“Yeah,” he says, voice flat. “But I also come with an NDA.”
“You come with my heart as well.” It’s as close as I can get to saying I love him without losing all courage. Bravery is so overrated. “She’ll see that.”
He holds out his hand and I take it, holding on tight. “Thank you, dearest. It’s just that I’m used to society matrons wanting to get their claws into me for various reasons. Hostile moms out to kick my ass for leading their daughters astray and moving them to Denver are a new experience for me.”
“It’ll be fine.”
He does the furrowed brow thing. Never has a man frightened of my mother been so hot.
“But, Beck, just this once, don’t throw money at the problem. With the mood she’s in, she’s certain to take it the wrong way.”
“You think?”
“Yes. Don’t buy her anything and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” He nods, staring off into the middle distance. “It’ll be fine.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It’s not fine. As is amply demonstrated at three the next morning when Beck wakes me from a deep sleep.
“Psst, Alice.” There’s a vague scent of whiskey as he nudges my cheek with his nose. In a move both cruel and unusual, he switches on the bedside lamp. “Hey, beloved, wake up.”