Sinful Ever After (Sinful Serenade #5)

by Crystal Kaswell

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Willow

  My phone is still in my purse, still beckoning me. I can't say it beckoned me all night—my husband's body had every ounce of my attention—but it's been calling me all morning.

  It called me as I brushed my teeth and dressed, and as we walked to the cafe a few hotels down.

  And now that Tom is meeting Ophelia in the lobby, my cell is tempting as all hell.

  I pull it out and scan the emails. The first, to start.

  I hope this email isn't an imposition, but I recognize your model and I was wondering if you'd pass along my contact information. There is no easy way to say this, but he looks a lot like my son. It's a messy story, but I lost him many years ago. My boyfriend was not the kind of man who should be around a child. The state was right to take Tommy away. But I wonder about him. I miss him dearly. I'd love to hear from him, to know he's doing well.

  - Liberty Wright

  And there's her contact information—she included everything about her save her social security number.

  She lives in Las Vegas now.

  Tom's birth mother lives in Las Vegas and she wants to contact him.

  We've exchanged a few more emails. She had no idea Tom was in a band, that he was even famous. A friend of hers who was looking for a boudoir photographer showed her my website.

  What a mortifying way to stumble on your long-lost son. There are many, many half-naked pictures of Tom on my site and on my Instagram. What can I say? The camera loves him almost as much as I do. The sexy pictures are enough to keep his fans wanting him and wanting our relationship to succeed at once.

  She's sincere. She wants to speak with Tom.

  He's still carrying around all this baggage about being in foster care, about being adopted. Everything worked out-Ophelia is the best parent anyone could ask for—but he went through a lot of pain along the way.

  It might be good for him to meet her. To realize that his birth mom did love him.

  He'll never agree to it. If I ask, he'll say no, and that will be it.

  If our roles were reversed, Tom would push me to do it.

  But will he forgive me for setting this up? I can't do anything that risks losing Tom. Even if it will be good for him. Even if it will help close a wound that still hurts him.

  My thoughts are interrupted by Tom and Ophelia's arrival. He's not as bouncy and energetic pre-coffee, but they're still quite opposite. She's much more like Pete—calm, even, assured, and completely obsessed with sex.

  Her hair was teal the last time I saw her. Today, it's a vibrant shade of orchid.

  I slide my phone into my purse and rise to hug her. "Your hair looks great. Did you sleep well?"

  Tom shakes his head. "Go tell her."

  Ophelia smiles. She motions for Tom to sit. When he does, she takes her seat. "I didn't do much sleeping."

  "Did Ellie come with you?" I ask.

  Tom looks at his mom and cocks a brow. "You didn't tell her?"

  "Tell me what?" I slide my phone back into my purse.

  By all accounts, we're staying in Vegas through Christmas. Until the start of the tour even.

  That buys me a week and a half.

  But I don't like this hanging over my head.

  "Sweetheart, your wife doesn't want to hear about my sordid affairs." Ophelia smiles.

  "And I do?" Tom asks.

  "You understand what it's like to enjoy something casual." Ophelia turns to me. "I'm afraid Ellie and I wanted different things."

  "Oh?" I ask.

  "Ellie was three or four women ago." Tom shakes his head. "And I thought I slept around."

  I laugh. "There's no shame in sleeping around."

  "Thank you." Ophelia nods to me then she turns to Tom. "Is your brother coming or is he held up in his hotel room?"

  "Do you ever get tired of talking about your children's sex lives?" Tom clears his throat, but it does nothing to hide the blush forming on his cheeks.

  "She likes embarrassing you," I say.

  Ophelia mocks incredulity the same way Tom does. It's amazing how much they have in common when their dispositions are so different.

  She's a great mom. And Tom adores her. Everyone adores her.

  Maybe it's better to delete these emails and pretend they never happened.

  I feel for Liberty, I do, but I can't do anything that will hurt Tom more than it helps him.

  "You okay, sweetheart?" Ophelia asks. "Don't tell me you're pregnant too. Not that it isn't wonderful, having children, but you're still young. You and Tom work nonstop. You can't do that if you have a child. God knows how your brother is going to manage balancing work and child rearing. It's hard enough when you have a normal job."

  "No, I'm not pregnant." I try to shake off whatever unpleasant expression is plastered on my face, but I can't be doing a good job because Tom and Ophelia are still looking at me with concern. "I have an IUD."

  "Nothing is one hundred percent except eating pussy," Ophelia says.

  Tom presses his palm into his forehead. "You do this on purpose."

  "Willow, sweetheart, how does Tom talk when I'm not around?"

  "He's not as filthy as Pete," I say.

  "God damn, both of you. Can't we talk about the weather or a movie or something for once?" Tom turns even more red. "Even Pete and Jess talk about The Hunger Games sometimes."

  "Are you eavesdropping while they're... talking about other things?" I ask.

  "Eavesdropping? No. I wish I had to try to hear him." Tom shakes his head. "Fucker still lives for phone sex."

  "And I'm the one with a dirty mind?" Ophelia shakes her head with mock incredulity, exactly the way Tom does. "You shouldn't call your brother a fucker."

  "What should I call him? Peter, like you do? He hates that," Tom says.

  "You'll understand if you have kids." Ophelia hails the waiter and orders coffees for the table. Once we've all given him our orders, she turns back to us. "There's no rush. And there's nothing wrong with deciding you'd like to stay childfree. Don't give into pressure from anyone. Including me."

  The tension in my chest relaxes. Ophelia is the most supportive person I've ever met, maybe even more supportive than Tom. She's the opposite of my mother, who pushed for her way so hard we're no longer communicating.

  She was even worse with Drew. They haven't spoken a word since he dropped out of college. She pretends like he doesn't exist.

  If Liberty is anything like my mom, Tom is better off never knowing about this email.

  But if she really has cleaned up her life, if she's even half as supportive and sweet as Ophelia, then meeting her would be a good thing.

  In theory.

  "We're gonna adopt," Tom says. "But not for a while."

  Ophelia's smile is ear to ear. Her whole expression is soft. "You are?"

  I nod in agreement.

  I swear to God, she melts.

  "Tom, you don't... are you sure?" she asks.

  "Have I ever done anything I wasn't sure about?" he asks.

  "And you, sweetheart?" She looks to me.

  "Yeah, I am." I squeeze my hands together. All this talk of family and children only highlights this decision. What the hell am I going to do? I need to know where I stand. "How long do you want to stay in Vegas?"

  I've had enough of the city. I miss my bed, miss California, miss the smell of the ocean air.

  Tom shrugs. "Meg and Miles are leaving late on Christmas. They want to do a big Christmas thing with everybody. Her parents are here. And he wants Ophelia there too. Probably 'cause they're both suave perverts."

  Ophelia smiles, charmed by the comparison. "Miles still has a lot to learn about seducing women."

  "Think he's got it figured out, being married and all," Tom says.

  "You ever meet any adult man so fixated on his mother settling down?" Ophelia asks.

  I shake my head. "No." There's nearly a whole week to the 26th. I'm not really a fan of Christmas—too many awful memorie
s of awful family encounters. I don't mind spending it in Las Vegas. And that does buy me time to figure this out.

  But I want to be home.

  I want everyone else's problems off my back for a while, so the entire world is only me and Tom.

  With his celebrity, it can be hard to shut out the world. The only place we can do it for sure is our house. Or on some private beach on some sunny island, him lying on the sand and frolicking in the waves in the world's skimpiest bathing suit.

  Or frolicking in the waves in nothing.

  That would be perfectly fine.

  Ophelia's phone beeps with a text alert. She checks it and smiles. "Your brother and his fiancée will not be joining us."

  Tom shakes his head. "He's making us look like a boring married couple just cause we're respectable enough to get out of bed once a day."

  "You sound jealous," I say.

  Tom pouts. "No, just... he was the boring one with the girlfriend."

  "I doubt he was ever the boring one," I say.

  "Yeah." Tom taps his fingers against the table. "We're gonna have to get some more sex toys. Show him up."

  Ophelia chuckles. It's funny. She has the same deep chuckle Pete does.

  The brothers are such opposites in most ways, but both of them take after their adopted mother.

  "I'm not complaining," I say. "But I don't think you'll ever come out as more depraved than Pete."

  "Yeah, I guess." Tom shakes his head. "You think he's ever going to marry her?"

  "They've only been engaged a month," I say.

  "And?" Tom raises a brow.

  "Pretty sure she's the one making him wait," I say.

  Tom cocks a brow. "You're holding onto gossip?"

  "A few things," I admit.

  Tom looks to Ophelia. "Can you believe my wife? She's supposed to tell me everything."

  "This is why I never got married." Ophelia pats Tom on the shoulder. "Women need to be mysterious. Let her have a few secrets."

  Tom raises a brow. He pushes himself up. "I'm going to use the restroom. Try not to gossip too much while I'm gone." He leans down and plants a kiss on my lips.

  It's only a peck, but that's enough to overwhelm my body. There's only one way to describe the feeling. I'm loved.

  Can I risk a single ounce of Tom's affection? Even to heal a wound that still cuts him?

  Ophelia waits until he's out of earshot then turns to me. "Sweetheart, I don't know how you keep up with him."

  I smile. "Sometimes, he runs circles around me, but Tom is... Tom is Tom."

  "That he is."

  The waiter arrives to drop off our coffees and assure us that breakfast will be here shortly.

  "He takes great care of me," I say. "Every place we go, he makes sure there are vegetarian options. He gets me a coffee every morning. And sometimes, he wakes up with... well, never mind about that part."

  Ophelia chuckles. "I'm glad the two of you are happy together."

  We are. Really happy.

  But still, I feel like I have to make this connection happen.

  I check to make sure the coast is clear, and I lean a little closer. "What made you decide to adopt?"

  She frowns. "My parents kicked me out after they caught me screwing one of my friends from church. It was a different time then, though that still happens."

  "I'm sorry." I can't believe I've never heard this. "That must have hurt."

  "At first. But you can't live your life waiting for people to accept you. You know that, after everything with your mother."

  I nod. She's right. Some people are never going to change their minds. It's possible Tom will never change his mind about his mother, that he'll always see her as a druggie who abandoned him.

  "Once I was mature enough, and financially stable enough, I knew I wanted to help kids who were in dire straits. I had a few other foster kids before Tom. They eventually reunited with their parents. It was great for them, but it broke my heart. I adopted Tom the second I could."

  "Did he really call you ugly when you met?"

  She laughs. "Yes, he did."

  "What a little shit."

  "That's Tom."

  I play with the fabric of my jeans. "His mom, she was a drug addict?"

  Ophelia nods.

  "Why didn't she try to get custody back after she cleaned up?"

  "It was part of a plea agreement. She had to choose between jail and giving up custody. She had little chance of getting custody behind bars. It made more sense to give it up. I think she knew that it was best for Tom that she not be his caretaker." Ophelia's expression gets quizzical. "Is there something you need to know about her?"

  "Maybe."

  "Sweetheart, I love you as much as I love my sons. You are my daughter now. But whatever it is, you should talk to your husband about this."

  "I know."

  "What do you want with his birth mother?"

  "Maybe nothing. Maybe... maybe it would be good for him to meet her."

  She presses her lips together. "And where do you fit into this?"

  "He'll never do it on his own."

  She nods. Her eyes fix on me, an expression that demands I explain. "What happened, sweetheart?"

  "Liberty contacted me."

  Ophelia's brows turn down. Her forehead screws with frustration. "And Tom doesn't know about this?"

  "It was from my photography website. She didn't know he was my husband. She only hoped to pass along her contact information to a model, so he could contact her if that was what he wanted to do."

  Ophelia leans back into her chair. "Quite the awkward way to find your son."

  I nod.

  Her voice is low, like she's sharing a secret. "Willow, she didn't give him up because she was seventeen and she knew he'd be better off. He was eleven when the state took him, and he was beaten within an inch of his life. It wasn't her. It was her boyfriend who did it, but I don't think that matters much to Tom. All he knows is that his mother didn't protect him."

  "I know."

  "He's not curious about what happened. He knows that his birth mother didn't think enough of him to get clean or to leave her abusive boyfriend."

  "It's not that easy to leave someone abusive."

  "She had a son."

  "It fucks with your head. You think he loves you, that he doesn't mean it. You think that there's no one else who can help you, who even cares. Or you don't realize how bad it's gotten." My palms slap the table. I'm nearly shouting, but I have to get this out. "Sometimes, you've already lost all your friends and your family and he's the only person you have."

  Ophelia frowns. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I didn't—"

  "It's okay. I know you didn't mean offense. Nobody ever does." Nobody ever thinks about what it's like when you're in the middle of it. They act like it's easy to leave, like women stay with abusive men because they're stupid or weak.

  I take a deep breath. I don't like reliving that part of my life, but running from it doesn't do me any good.

  I blink back a tear. Stupid fucking memories.

  "Think about what you do. Tom might not forgive you for this. And I'd hate to see anything come between the two of you."

  Right on cue, Tom steps into the restaurant. He zeroes in on me like I'm the bat signal and he's Batman.

  He practically runs over. "What's wrong, Willow?"

  Shit, it must look bad. He only drops the nickname when things are really dire.

  "Something insensitive I said. I'm sorry, Willow. I wasn't thinking, but there's no excuse." Ophelia pushes herself up. "I'll take my turn in the restroom."

  Tom slides next to me on the bench seat. "What did she say?"

  I shake my head. "Something about abusive relationships."

  He frowns. "Why the fuck were you talking about that?"

  I don't have an explanation that won't give this away. I don't want to lie. "It just came up."

  He pulls me into a tight hug. "It's okay. No one is ever going to hurt you again."
>
  With Tom's arms around me, I give myself a few moments to cry. Those memories don't sting as badly as I used to, but they still fucking hurt.

  "Never," he whispers.

  He's helped me overcome my past. I want to do the same, but not if it means losing him.

  I tug at his t-shirt, pulling him closer.

  Whatever happens, I can't lose Tom.

  Ever.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Tom

  Willow only eats half her omelet and one slice of toast. She drinks her coffee with timid sips. My wife is nearly as addicted to caffeine as I am.

  That shit isn't like her.

  There's no sense in prying with Mom. She's never spilled a secret in her life. But there's something real strange about the apologetic look on her face.

  Ophelia isn't the kind of woman who apologizes for shit.

  What did she say that upset Willow?

  Neither of them shows any signs of confessing. Better to wait until Willow and I are alone. If it's serious—and it's fucking serious if she's crying at breakfast—she won't want to talk about it with an audience.

  Our conversation is all small talk. Mostly Willow asking Ophelia about the woman she's dating. Ophelia plays nice about it, but it's pretty obvious she's describing a Vegas fling.

  After we finish eating, we head to one of the indoor shopping areas. It's meant to look like some other place. There's a fake sky painted on the ceiling, bright blue with puffy white clouds. The shops are designed to look like a little town in Europe. Venice, I guess. The fake canal that intersects the shops gives that away.

  Vegas is a weird fucking city. I enjoyed the hell out of it back when I spent my nights drinking, dancing, and taking a stranger or two home. But now it seems as hollow as the fake plastic trees lining the streets.

  At least Willow is taken with the faux Venice shops. She looks up at the painted-on sky, her lips curling into a smile.

  "It's like living in Los Angeles. The sky is blue every day." She slides her hand around my waist and looks up at me. "You don't like it?"

  "It's fine." I shrug. Don't think I can like any place where she's hiding something from me.

  Mom stays quiet, and she stays a few steps in front of us. She's up to something, but then it's not like she's gonna tell me. Better to accept that I'm in the dark.