“Hey Dylan, where’s that pizza?” Jack shouts at me.
I laugh. “It’s coming, just hang on like two more seconds, okay?”
“I dunno. I’m an impatient man,” he teases, throwing me a sexy wink.
“Oh, you’ll get what you need,” I promise, loving that he’s okay with this kind of playful banter now.
“Hey, lovely,” Cate calls out to me. “If you need a hand, let me know, otherwise I’m gonna mix us up another round of sangria.”
Sangria sounds perfect right now. I slice up the homemade pizza on the stove, eager to get out there and join them, and then I hear the knock at the door.
Strange. We have a doorbell; only the delivery driver knocks, and it’s Saturday.
“Want me to get it?”
That was Cate, but I’m closer. And I don’t want to interrupt the important work she’s doing. We definitely need those sangrias.
“No worries, it’ll just be a sec,” I call back to her, smiling. I wipe off my hands and dab at the sweat on my brow, throwing the towel over my shoulder as I walk for the door.
Before I can get there, it opens.
“Excuse me,” I say, taken aback. “This is a private residence.”
“Well, you certainly took long enough to open the door.”
It’s the voice that clicks, and I finally recognize this woman. It’s Julianne MacMillan, Cate’s mother.
“Oh, hello there,” I say, going for a smile again. I know Cate isn’t particularly fond of her mother, but I’m not going to be the one to add to the pressure. I can be pleasant to her. “It’s Dylan, Ms. MacMillan.”
I hold out my hand, and she stares at it like I’m offering her a strange and interesting bug. Then she stares up at my face. It takes her a moment before I see the clouds part. Recognition.
“Oh, right. Dylan Smith, is it? You’re the chef’s boy, right?”
“That’s right.” That’s how she’d known me, I guess.
“Did Cate hire you to cook for her?” she asks.
I almost sputter, but do my best not to laugh. “I beg your pardon?”
“You know.” She leans in conspiratorially. “Diet food and all.”
I cross my arms, my good humor fading. It’s amazing Cate has turned out as phenomenal as she is, with this woman as her mother.
“Let me just take you to your daughter,” I tell her, reminding myself this isn’t my fight.
But I’m damn sure going to jump in if needed.
“Yes, do lead the way,” Ms. MacMillan says dismissively, as if speaking to a servant.
I turn around and roll my eyes when I’m certain she can’t see, but lead her through to the back of the house. I’m sure Cate isn’t expecting her.
“My God,” the woman says behind me, and I tense at the utter cattiness in her voice. “Just look at this place. It’s even uglier than I remember it. I assume Cate’s behind all of… this?”
I see her flap her hand out of the corner of my eye, a gesture encompassing the entire interior of the townhouse, and I have to grit my teeth to hold in the comeback that springs to mind. Normally, I like to pride myself on being calm and easygoing, but this woman is making it a challenge and a half.
“Excuse me,” she says sharply. “I’m talking to you. What did you say your name was again? Smith?”
“Yes, Ms. MacMillan,” I respond tightly, opening the sliding door onto the patio.
Jack and Cate both look in our direction, snapped out of their conversation at the sight of Cate’s mother, and I wish I could have sent them some sort of psychic warning.
“Right,” Ms. MacMillan says, brushing past me. “Smith. Such a common name. So… forgettable.”
“Mother,” Cate says, her eyes narrowing.
Cate’s expression has me smiling a little, despite her mother’s utter bitchiness. Not that I care what she thinks of my “common” name. That kind of thing has never meant much to me. But I really don’t like the thought that her dismissive, condescending attitude toward me might hurt Cate.
Cate’s definitely looking less put out than I’d have thought, though, and the shine in her eyes combined with the pitcher of sangria on the table make me think that she might be just a tiny bit buzzed.
Good for her.
Lord knows it will help dealing with this old bat.
“There you are, darling,” Cate’s mother says, swooping toward her, the flamboyancy of her greeting doing nothing to make up for the insincerity of its tone. Cate flinches just a little, and the sight immediately raises my hackles.
“Cate, are you sure this is okay?” I ask, frowning.
“It’s fine, Dylan,” Cate responds, sitting up straighter and waving me over. “Come and sit. I’m sure this won’t take long.”
I look between Cate, Jack, and Ms. MacMillan. Yeah. I doubt this will end well. Regardless, I honor Cate’s request and move over to the patio table, taking my seat between her and Jack. I’m happy to offer her my support in whatever way she wants it.
Cate’s mother eyes Jack and me with a sour look on her face. “So, you’re eating with the help now, I see, dear.”
Our Cate tenses a little, but replies calmly enough, “Dylan and Jack are my friends, Mother.”
Jack and I exchange looks, and it’s an unspoken agreement: If this woman does anything to hurt Cate, we’re hauling her out of here in a heartbeat.
Ms. MacMillan gives a delicate snort. “The cook and the errand boy, right. I shouldn’t expect anything less from you.”
“Jesus, Mother, what the hell is the matter with you?” Cate bursts out, an angry flush creeping onto her cheeks. “Did you come all the way to Boston to show up unannounced just to lecture me? Belittle me? In my own home?”
“Your home? I beg your pardon, but this is only your home because no one would take this ratty old place off your hands in a million years.” Ms. MacMillan gestures back toward the house. “Those colors… positively garish, and your drapes make the place look like filth. Like a common whore’s boudoir.”
I open my mouth, my blood beginning to boil, but Jack cuts in first.
“Hey, now,” he says sharply, coming half out of his chair.
“Don’t you dare interrupt me, young man,” Cate’s mother says sharply, cutting into Jack with her verbal razor.
I don’t know if it’s just ingrained respect for the fact that she’s Sully’s daughter, or what, but Jack backs down, jaw clenched tightly. I can see his muscles tensing up, too, and his fist clenching and unclenching.
I love this man; I’m so happy that he and I are on the same page right now.
If she tries to go too far, that’s it.
“And you, Cate, just look at yourself,” Ms. MacMillan continues, shaking her head as she dismisses Jack completely and turns right back on Cate. “The Smith boy must be feeding you the same garbage that comes from his old neighborhood, wherever it was he lived before your grandfather took his mother in.”
Jack almost comes out of his chair again, but I put a hand on his arm as Cate’s shoulders stiffen. Ms. MacMillan’s insults to me and my mother roll right off me for my own sake. Her opinion means less than nothing to me. Besides, I can see that Cate needs to face this demon.
We’ve got her back, but it’s her fight.
“Mother,” she says after a couple of deep breaths, sounding almost bored. “Is that all you’ve come to say?”
I smile on the inside. Good for her. My own mother is wonderful, and it’s hard to imagine what growing up must have been like for either her or Jack when it comes to having such awful family. I don’t know what I’d do if my mother ever talked to me the way Cate’s mother talks to her—it would never happen—but Cate’s handling it well so far.
Not losing her cool.
Not yet, anyway.
Ms. MacMillan is on a roll, though. “You just keep gaining weight, Cate. Keep letting yourself go, and you’re only getting older, you know. It’s a miracle you haven’t had a heart attack from all those gy
m classes you teach. Although maybe it’d be just as well; who in their right mind would date someone who looks like you do?”
What?
Who says that kind of thing to their own flesh and blood? To anyone? That’s it for me. I’m on my feet at the same time as Jack, who looks as angry as I feel, face like a storm cloud and muscles rippling through his shirt as he clenches those brawler fists again.
“I don’t think so, lady—” I start.
“That’s about enough of that shit,” from Jack.
“Boys,” Cate says, her calm tone cutting us both off mid-rant.
Jack and I both freeze, because really, we’d do anything for her. Anything to protect her from harm, verbal or otherwise. The three of us, always united, always having each other’s backs.
“It’s okay,” she says to us, and I can see by her smile that it really is. “Sit down, please. I’ll take care of my mother.”
She rises from her chair and faces Julianne, and as riled up as I am, I can’t help but think how sexy it is, watching her come into her own. She knows she’s the queen of this domain, and even though I’m still outraged at her mother’s over-the-top harshness, I can’t help but grin.
I’m pretty sure Julianne MacMillan is about to be set in her place.
28
Cate
Okay, I’m a little drunk, a little sun-touched, maybe, but fuck… this. I draw myself up to my full height, eyes locked on my mother’s bitter face and fully aware that Jack and Dylan are sitting down only at my behest, still poised to leap to my defense if I give them the tiniest signal.
I love them so much, but this is my battle, one I should have fought a long time ago, but that my own hope of having an actually decent mother kept me from. But her coming here, being this cruel and callous in my own home? My mother just burned the last shreds of that hope like paper.
And somehow, shockingly, it doesn’t hurt. It makes me feel… free.
There’s truly nothing to be salvaged between us, nothing to preserve by holding back. The last ties of family that bind her and me might as well be ribbons of ash, blowing away in the wind.
Good riddance.
“Julianne.”
Her eyes narrow at that, but she’s not “Mother” to me anymore. Was she ever?
Or maybe it’s my tone. I’m using the kind of slow, unbothered voice I used to hear from the few society women Grandpa Sully actually liked, the ones who had spent so many years handling their own business, fighting their own battles, that their reputations meant they rarely had to fight anymore.
This is the tone they’d use when someone new started to act up, the one that someone like my mother would instantly recognize. It told everyone within earshot that gauche rage and worked-up temper was utterly unnecessary. The calm was their due, and they were the most dangerous thing in the room.
That here there be dragons, and the dragon herself was right there in front of you, smiling all the while.
I’m faking the confidence right now—bolstered by the alcohol and my men and the time I’ve spent out from under her thumb these past months—but as my chin lifts, it starts to feel real. It truly doesn’t matter what she thinks of me. I don’t have to prove anything; the people who matter already know who I am.
She sucks in a breath as if she’s about to launch another verbal attack, but this new confidence in me, this surety, makes me smile. It’s a wide, sharklike grin, and as it spreads across my face, something flickers in my mother’s eyes, something that might be surprise, might be fear.
Her eyes widen, and I suspect that for the first time ever, she’s seeing who I truly am instead of who she tried to badger me into being.
And that flicker? That tells me she isn’t prepared for who I’ve become, not one bit.
Good.
“You aren’t welcome here, Julianne,” I say, like I’m explaining something obvious, something that’s inarguable fact. “You’re behaving poorly, and I’d say it’s beneath you, but you clearly have no lower depths to which you won’t sink. It’s vile, and it’s unworthy of me, and I won’t have it in my house.”
She opens her mouth to spit more ugliness and I wave a hand sharply. I don’t have any more patience to put up with whatever she might say. Her mouth snaps shut so fast, it’s like she’s a puppet whose strings I’ve just cut, and it’s a heady feeling.
This is my home.
This is who I am.
She’s insulted everything about me, including the men I love, and I’m done with it.
“You’re casually cruel, and it’s unacceptable,” I tell her. “You can’t see the truth of how things are, even when they’re right in front of your face. I’m healthy, I’m happy, and I have a beautiful home shared with people who love me.”
Dylan’s hand brushes against my fingers, the barest ghost of a touch, and his steady support and love flows through me. Her eyes flick down to track the movement and then skitter away, a look of distaste on her face.
“My life is good, Julianne,” I go on. “And I can see my happiness makes you just sick, but do you know how much your opinion matters to me now? How much all your bitter nonsense matters, all your pathetic attempts to hurt me because you can’t stand how unhappy you are in your own life?” I slowly raise my fist up near my face, turning it palm-out toward her, then my fingers explode outward as though I’m flicking water into her face. “Not even that much.”
My mother is practically vibrating with rage now, but that’s all there is. There’s no remorse in her expression. No apology. If I was still harboring any soft feelings for her, any thought that we might one day have a loving mother–daughter relationship, that fury in her face strangles it like a black vine strangles flowers.
“Now,” I say, and I sound so bored, so regal, that it shocks even me. “Get. The fuck. Out. Of my house.”
I take a step toward her with each word, and, wonder of wonders—my mother, the infamous, monstrous bitch Julianne MacMillan, the bane of my existence and terror of my heart since I was a little girl?—she backs up. She retreats as I advance, her face losing any semblance of composure as she realizes just how badly she misjudged me, how woefully unprepared she is for this confrontation. How much she’s overstepped.
“If that’s the way you want things to be, Caitlin,” she sniffs, making a weak attempt to straighten her shoulders. Her voice is just a ghost of her usual commanding tones, though, thin and reedy, and we both know she’s lost.
I flick a hand in her direction, dismissing her as I turn away.
“Don’t ever come back to this house, Julianne. I will have the Boston police escort you off the property if you do.” I glance back at her and give her the merest flicker of a smile, more a bared-teeth promise than an expression of mirth. Try me, my smile says. “And won’t that be a diverting story for the New York City society pages—Julianne MacMillan arrested for trespassing in Boston, how gauche. How common. You’ll be the talk of the town, for a season. And then?”
She flinches, and I name her worst nightmare.
“Then they’ll all forget you.”
The color drains from her face, and she clutches at her handbag with a white-knuckled grip. She sniffs, trying again to seem imperious, but the balance of power has shifted in my favor and she’s never, ever going to get it back. Her mouth works like a fish’s, opening and shutting on the air, but all she manages is a haughty-sounding, “Well!”
“Dylan, love, please show my mother out,” I say, lightly running my fingers over his broad shoulder.
My mother flinches so hard at love that I can practically feel it. Good. Fuck… her.
Dylan looks up at me, pride and affection all over his gorgeous features. “It’d be my pleasure,” he rumbles, beginning to stand.
“I don’t need your help!” my mother shrieks at him. “I know the way, I’ll—” she licks her thin lips. “Well. I know when I’m not wanted.”
“Oh, thank God,” I can’t help but drawl. “I was beginning to think I’d ha
ve to be rude about it.”
Jack stifles a sudden bark of laughter with his fist, coughs into it, and my mother’s face turns fire-engine red. She pivots on her heel and stalks off, not even bothering to close the patio doors behind her. A moment later, I hear a muffled thunk-click from the front door of the townhouse and I grin; from the sound of it, my mother just tried to slam the heavy new door we installed and utterly failed.
It’s like the cherry on a perfect ice cream sundae—delicious.
And then it hits me. She’s gone. Not just from the townhouse—although, thank God for that—but from my life.
I can breathe again.
I sink into my chair and take the glass of sangria Dylan presses into my hand. It tastes like victory. Okay, it tastes like strawberry and blackberry and peach and alcohol, but it might as well be the same thing.
“Oh, my God,” I breathe, suddenly unable to stop giggling. “I thought she was never going to leave.”
I feel giddy, balloon-light; I hadn’t even realized how much pressure my mother held over me, even now, until I let it all go. The freedom is dizzying.
“Okay, so,” Jack begins, “This might not be real appropriate right now?” I look over at him, and he’s looking at me with what I can only describe as awe. “That was hot as fuck, Cate.”
“I know, right?” Dylan mutters. “You see Coal-Squeezer’s face? I thought I was gonna lose it.”
I shake my head, laughing. “I can’t believe I just did that.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t do it sooner,” Jack counters with a grin. He squeezes my bare shoulder. “You know none of the bullshit she was spouting was true, right? It’s never been true.”
I take a deep breath, and then another. In and out, willing my pounding heart to slow.
“I know.” I do. “I just... she’s been saying those things for my whole life, you know? It’s really easy to forget that it isn’t the truth, it’s just her truth.”
Dylan and Jack share a look I can’t fathom, then Dylan says, “Are you saying you’d like some help remembering just how amazing you are, Cate?”
Mine: MMF Bisexual Menage Romance Page 29