popcorn? We could do that.” I sat next to him on the bed, and he immediately rolled onto his back. “Or how about we lay in bed and you rub my belly and tell me stories about your day?” I scratched the soft fur on his stomach, and he gave a happy wriggle. “Oh yeah. That’s the ticket. Oh, Lizzie, I needed this.”
He’d started to kick his back leg in tune with my scratches when there was a knock at the door.
Pirate flipped over onto his feet. “Aw hell.”
“It might not be Dimitri,” I told him, secretly hoping it was. My body screamed for round two. I was certainly ready.
“Um hum,” my dog said. “See? No matter how loyal I am, this is what happens.”
But I was hardly listening. My gorgeous, wonderful, adventurous man was going to get us caught. Again.
“Couldn’t resist, could you?” I asked, opening the door.
But instead of my dream man, I found a very unhappy Hillary.
She’d changed into her version of loungewear—a matching velour outfit with some kind of a designer label on the sleeve.
“I’d like to see you downstairs, please,” she said, her voice clipped, her fingers white on her clipboard.
“Can it wait?” I asked. I was all for planning emergencies, but not at eleven o’clock at night. Besides, I’d somehow managed to hold on to a nice, post-nookie mood. I didn’t need to hear about placemats from a woman who was obviously annoyed with me.
“Now,” she said, in a tone she hadn’t used since I was a teenager.
I held back a sigh. She was lucky she was my mother.
Pirate turned in a circle and settled back in while I found my matching silk robe. “I’ll keep the bed warm for you.”
“You’re a good dog,” I said, closing the door behind me and following my mom down to the kitchen.
Lo and behold, the biker witches had turned in early. The Greeks, too. At least I’d be close behind. Hillary was not a night person. I went straight for the pantry by the refrigerator, thinking I might get some crackers. Or maybe Hillary had ice cream—when she turned on me.
“I can’t believe you were outside—naked—sleeping with Dimitri!”
Oh, God. Just like that, I lost my appetite. I turned to face her.
Her cheeks were flushed, her expression hard.
“Okay.” We might as well lay it out on the table. “I’m an adult. He’s my fiance, and we were
I was thirty years old, for goodness sake, old enough to be able to have a private moment, or three.
Hillary gripped her clipboard. “I have five days worth of parties and after parties,” she said, pounding her finger against her finely tuned, color-coded notes. “I have ribbons that match napkins that match plates. I am killing myself. For you. To give
Because I’d asked for artisan placemats, bonbon making parties and a three-ring circus. “This isn’t about me.” None of it was. “This is about you getting ready for your country club friends.”
She wasn’t even insulted. “How are you going to come back to Atlanta and live a good life if you
“Newsflash mom. I’m not going back!”
She looked like I’d slapped her. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Yes, you’re in love, but Atlanta is your home.” All the color drained from her face. “You’d better not do something insane, like move to Greece. Is he putting these notions into your head?
Like I didn’t have a thought of my own. “Maybe if you got to know him, instead of picking fights with him, you’d realize he’s not like that.”
She snorted. “It’s hard to talk to him when you always have a hand down the front of his pants.”
“That’s not fair,” I snapped.
“You want to know what’s not fair?” I’d never seen Hillary snarl. But she quickly hid it. She took one deep breath, then another. She set her clipboard down on the kitchen island behind her, held up her hands like I was the one attacking her. “I tried so hard to have a baby,” she said evenly, controlled. “When I adopted you, all my dreams came true. I simply wanted to give you a good life, to have a perfect daughter. And you fight me at every turn.”
I wasn’t fighting. In fact, my problem was that I hadn’t pushed back for the majority of my life. I stewed in silence, which didn’t help anybody. It was only when I came into my powers that I began to realize I didn’t have to be the person my mom wanted me to be. I could be me.
The biker witches had given me that gift. They may have dragged me to it, kicking and screaming, but they taught me to let go, to make my own choices, to believe in myself. I didn’t live my life afraid anymore. I knew who I was.
In fact, if I had any sort of guts, I’d tell Hillary I was a demon slayer. She needed to know. And now was the perfect time.
My heart sped up and my voice caught in my throat.
“Mom—”
There was no going back.
“Wait.” She set down her clipboard with a sigh. “I know we’re both under a lot of pressure with this wedding, but you’re my daughter, and I’ve been dreaming about this for so long.” She took a deep breath. “Now, let’s both try to smile. I have a surprise for you.” She walked to the large closet by the back door. “I was going to save it. I should.” She drew a clear garment bag out of the closet. “But I don’t know what you’re going to do anymore.” Inside, was a wedding dress.
“This was my dress. I’d like you to wear it,” she said, as more of a fact than a request.
Disappointment welled up in me. I wasn’t sure if it was from the lost chance at a confession, or that I was going to have to let her down again. “I have a dress,” I said. I loved it. It was so me.
She closed her eyes, as if she’d expected this particular failure, too. “This dress is couture,” she said, unzipping the bag and holding up an off-white gown with one long, elegant sleeve and one arm left bare.
“You’re missing a sleeve,” I told her.
“That’s the style,” she said, proudly.
She turned it around and showed me a waffle-like design on the back. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before and like nothing I wanted to wear.
“Thank you, mom. I’m honored.” I was. I really was. “But I want to wear my own dress.” Maybe a few years ago, before I’d broken free, before I’d learned to stand up for myself, I would have bowed under the pressure to give up my gown. But not anymore.
The sadness in her expression nearly broke my heart.
But it didn’t break
“We’ll think about it,” she said, as if we hadn’t settled it already.
I couldn’t do this anymore. “I need to get to bed.”
“Well, that’s true,” she conceded. “You don’t want bags under your eyes.”
As if that were my biggest problem.
I gave her an awkward wave goodnight and headed out of the kitchen.
I’d lost my chance to give her the truth. But in a way, I think I’d given her all the truth she could handle for one evening. There was nothing for me to consider. This was who I was. She needed to accept me.
Or maybe I was taking the easy way out—only giving her the truths that I had to—leaving out the ones that were soul-deep.
It would come to a head sooner or later, if only I could find a way to make it easier.
Chapter Eleven
