Entwined With You

Gage is different from Gideon in a lot of ways. He’s one of those brooding artist types.”
    “Deep souls.”
    “Yes. Very deep, I think. I hope I get to find out for sure.” She stood. “Anyway, I don’t mean to keep you. I was worried about the reporter and wanted to discuss her with you.”
    I corrected her as I rose. “You were worried about me discussing Gideon with the reporter.”
    She didn’t deny it. “Bye, Eva.”
    “Bye.” I watched her exit through the glass doors.
    “That didn’t look too bad,” Megumi said, joining me. “No scratching or hissing.”
    “We’ll see how long it lasts.”
    “Ready for lunch?”
    “I’m starved. Let’s go.”
    W HEN I walked in my front door five and a half hours later, Cary, my mom, and a dazzling silver Nina Ricci formal gown laid out on the sofa greeted me.
    “Isn’t it fantastic?” my mother gushed, looking fantastic herself in a fifties-style fitted dress with cap sleeves and a pattern of tiny cherries. Her blond hair framed her beautiful face in thick, glossy curls. I had to hand it to her; she could make any era look glamorous.
    I’d been told my whole life that I looked just like her, but I had my father’s gray eyes instead of her cornflower blue, and my abundant curves were from the Reyes side. I had a butt no amount of exercise would rid me of and breasts that prevented me from wearing anything without a lot of support. It still amazed me that Gideon found my body so irresistible when he’d previously been drawn only to tall, slender brunettes.
    Dropping my bag and purse on a bar stool, I asked, “What’s the occasion?”
    “A shelter fund-raiser, a week from Thursday.”
    I looked at Cary for confirmation that he’d be escorting me. His nod allowed me to shrug and say, “Okay.”
    My mother beamed, looking radiant. In my honor, she supported charities benefiting abused women and children. When the fund-raisers were formal, she always purchased seats for Cary and me.
    “Wine?” Cary asked, clearly picking up on my restless mood.
    I shot him a grateful look. “Please.”
    As he headed off to the kitchen, my mom glided over to me on sexy red-soled slingbacks and pulled me in for a hug. “How was your day?”
    “Weird.” I hugged her back. “Glad it’s over.”
    “Do you have plans this weekend?” She pulled away, her gaze sliding warily over my face.
    That got my back up. “Some.”
    “Cary tells me you’re seeing someone new. Who is he? What does he do?”
    “Mom.” I got to the point. “Are we good? Clean slate and all that? Or is there something you want to tell me?”
    She started to fidget, almost wringing her hands. “Eva. You won’t be able to understand what it’s like until you have children of your own. It’s terrifying. And knowing for certain that they’re in danger—”
    “Mom.”
    “And there are additional dangers that come just from being a beautifulwoman,” she rushed on. “You’re connected to powerful men. That doesn’t always make you safer—”
    “Where are they, Mom?”
    She huffed. “You don’t have to take that tone with me. I was only trying—”
    “Maybe you should go,” I cut in coldly, the chill I felt on the inside leaching out through my voice.
    “Your Rolex,” she snapped, and it was like a slap to my face.
    I staggered back a step, my right hand instinctively covering the watch on my left wrist, a treasured graduation gift from Stanton and my mother. I’d had the silly sentimental idea of passing it on to my daughter, should I be lucky enough to have one.
    “Are you shitting me?” My fingers clawed at the clasp and the watch fell to the carpet with a muffled thud. It hadn’t been a gift at all. It’d been a shackle on my wrist. “You’ve seriously crossed the line!”
    She flushed. “Eva, you’re overreacting. It’s not—”
    “Overreacting? Ha! My God, that’s laughable. Really.” I shoved two pinched-together fingers in her face. “I’m this close to calling the police. And I’ve half a mind to sue you for invasion of privacy.”
    “I’m your mother!” Her voice trailed off, took on a note of pleading. “It’s my job to look after you.”
    “I’m a twenty-four-year-old adult,” I said coldly. “By law, I can look after myself.”
    “Eva Lauren—”
    “Don’t.” I lifted my hands, then dropped them. “Just don’t. I’m going to leave now, because I’m so pissed off I can’t even look at you. And I don’t want to hear from you,