It was strange to be back home, sleeping in my own bed. It felt too cold, too empty, when I slipped into it that night. After tossing and turning for hours, I managed to wedge enough pillows around myself to give the illusion that I was snuggled between the boys, and finally got some sleep.
The next morning, I awoke to four “good morning” texts in the group chat. It made me smile, but God, I already missed them.
What had happened to me? Where had the independent, didn’t-need-a-man-let-alone-four version of Jessica go? That version of me had been lonely and anxious, haughty and judgmental. But she’d been pretty damn untouchable too, and life behind a barrier made a lot of things simpler.
This wasn’t simple anymore, none of it.
Especially now that I’d met Vincent’s family. It had quickly become obvious that he’d been talking to them about me, and the realization was both intimidating and strangely comforting. Stephan and Vera had made me feel instantly welcome, as if I’d been having dinner with them for years. Little Kristy started crying when we had to leave because she and I hadn’t gotten the chance to play with her dolls, and could only be consoled when I promised to come for a visit again soon to play.
Was it even fair of me to promise that? Was it right for me to be building relationships with his family when I wasn’t even sure how long our own would last?
But when Vincent mentioned New York, I swear the entire world stopped for a split second. A world of possibilities — of hopes, fears, and what-ifs — flooded me in an instant. And the tide hadn’t receded yet.
Mom kept her eyes on me suspiciously all morning, although I had no idea what I’d done to deserve it. It was like having an angry cat follow me around; I was surprised she wasn’t hissing every time she saw me. Something had pissed her off, and soon enough, I’d find out what it was.
At least work allowed me to avoid her for a few hours.
Since I’d missed my Monday morning meeting, my boss scheduled a one-on-one Zoom call so she could catch me up to speed. After giving me the rundown on our current clients and upcoming design projects, she brought up a client I’d been working with over the past few weeks.
“Mr. Krazinski had nothing but praise for you, Jessica,” she said. “He was incredibly pleased with your correspondence and said you were very professional.”
Mr. Krazinski had been such a difficult client, I’d been convinced he hated me. But he was also a repeat customer, someone who’d been working with the Smith-Davies Firm for years, so impressing him was crucial. It had taken every ounce of patience and professionalism I had in me, but I’d managed to do it.
“How are you feeling about your upcoming review?” she said. “You’ve been with us for almost six months already.”
“I’m feeling good,” I said. “I’ve been working on expanding my portfolio like you suggested, and I’m really excited to show you what I’ve been working on.”
“Excellent to hear that, Jessica. I look forward to it. The other partners and I have been giving a lot of thought into hiring you full-time.” She tipped down her glasses, peering at me with a smile. “Is that something that’s still of interest to you?”
“Oh yes!” It was a struggle to rein in my excitement. “Absolutely, I’m still interested.”
“Wonderful. Well then, I’ll see you during our Friday meeting and we can get your review scheduled.”
I practically floated out of my bedroom after work. I had customers giving me praise, my boss was clearly pleased with me. Getting that promotion felt closer than ever. I was so excited, I had to call Ashley to tell her the good news.
As I spoke on the phone, I fixed myself a snack in the kitchen. Mom’s eyes were boring into the back of my head the entire time, latched on to me like missiles prepared to fire. Every time I turned around and made awkward eye contact with her, I knew something was coming.
The moment I clicked off my phone and turned to head back upstairs, she said, “Did you have a good weekend with your friends?”
I turned. She was sitting at the table, her phone in one hand with a glass of sweet tea in front of her. She was smiling big, her voice was upbeat and friendly.
Red flags. Red flags everywhere,
“It was great,” I said. “A lot of fun.”
“Who all were there?” She asked it so casually, it was almost as if she didn’t care.
Almost. I knew better.
“Quite a few people,” I said. “You probably don’t remember them, so…”
“Danielle and Candace?” she said, tweaking up a perfectly-plucked eyebrow. “You said they were going, didn’t you?”
“Yep, they were there.” This felt like an interrogation, and I really wanted to make a quick getaway. She was still smiling, and it was starting to unnerve me. Sometimes, she’d pretend to be in a good mood to lull me into a false sense of security.
Then she’d rip me to shreds once my guard was down.
“Well, you wouldn’t believe the weekend I’ve had!” she exclaimed. She pushed out a chair, motioning for me to sit.
With a tense smile, I set my plate down and sat as she launched into an in-depth account of everything she did while I was gone. Shopping trips with friends, brunch, dinner, cocktails. I listened without getting a single word out, but Mom wasn’t looking for conversation.
It was weird to simultaneously feel like she was trying to be my best friend and my manager. But she had always been that way. She wanted the comradery of someone who was obligated to please her; who better than her daughter?
I zoned out, distracting myself with memories of the weekend. The feeling of the cool river water washing over my naked skin as Manson and Lucas held me was so fresh in my mind. It made me feel lighter, and when I thought of Vincent’s sweet kisses and my conversation with Jason under the stars, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.
Mom thought the smile was related to her story.
“I’m so glad you remember him!” she said, and I stiffened with alarm at the realization that I had no idea who she was talking about. “Marguerite said he’d be so excited to see you —”
“Wait, wait, who are you talking about?” I said.
Her face scrunched up with disapproval. “Oh, good grief, Jessica. Marguerite Fall and her son, Greg?” My face must have shown my confusion, because she sighed and said, “Greg Fall, from middle school?”
Rubbing my hand over my face, I said, “I guess I remember him.”
“Well, you’ll get to know him much better on Saturday,” she said, grasping my arm in her excitement. “I told him he should take you to that Italian restaurant you’ve always liked. Anthony’s!”
Surely I’d misheard her, or was misinterpreting what she was saying. I tried my best to remain calm as I said, “Mom, did you set me up on a date with a stranger?”
“Oh, honey, he’s not a stranger,” she said, chuckling as if I’d said something silly. “You’ve met him before! It’s just dinner. Besides, the man has more money than he knows what to do with —”
“I don’t care about his money!” I blurted. “Mom, this is so incredibly invasive. You can’t schedule things for me without asking me, let alone a date!” She was still looking at me as if I was being silly, overreacting. It drove my temper to boiling. “What if I already had plans on Saturday night?”
“Well?” She folded her arms. “Do you have plans? Perhaps with the same friends you spent time with this last weekend?”
I folded my arms in return, realizing too late that I was mirroring her position exactly. “Yes, actually. I do have plans with them.”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I saw Danielle and Candace in town on Sunday. They weren’t with you this weekend, you little liar.”
Goddamn it. Caught red-handed. I should have known better than to tell her the names of people she would recognize. Her eyes filled with tears, and her voice trembled as it increased in volume.
“After everything I’ve done for you…” She sniffled. “Everything I sacrificed. Driving you to cheer practice, dance recitals, the piano lessons, tutoring! The amount of money we poured into your pageants so you could be happy!” She gave another massive, exaggerated sniff. “Do you have any idea how rude I’ll look if you don’t go to that dinner?” She clutched her hand to her chest, gasping through big fake sobs. “I’ll be so humiliated. And here I thought I was doing something nice for you. You have no idea what it’s like being a mother! To watch your own daughter breaking your heart! Spending all her time with degenerates!”
“Mom —”
“That’s who it is, isn’t it?” she said, her tears vanishing as quickly as they had appeared. “Those boys, those ‘mechanics.’ Good Lord above, we let you live here rent-free, we provide for you, and this is how you repay me? By lying to me?” She cut me off again before I could get so much as a word out. “Is it really so hard to go and meet the man? A fine, decent, normal man with a good job?”
My heart throbbed against my ribs. Fury pumped into me with every beat. “What exactly do you mean by normal?”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Oh please, honey, the dumb blonde schtick is not a good look for you. I’m not ignorant of what those boys get up to. Word gets around.”
“You mean, gossip gets around.”
“The ladies at church have been asking me why I’m letting you go anywhere near them,” she said, shaking her head as if she hadn’t even heard me. But I’d had enough of not being heard. More than enough.
Shoving my chair back from the table, I stormed from the house. Mom shouted something after me, but the door slammed behind me before she could finish. My stomach felt like a hollow pit, my heart was racing in anger. If she expected me to go to that ridiculous dinner, then she was dead wrong. She could cry about it all she wanted.
Except it wouldn’t just be tears. It would be griping, scolding, and passive-aggressive comments until I gave in out of sheer exhaustion. It would be guilt-tripping me for every aspect of my existence that didn’t cater to her.
Swallowing hard around the lump in my throat, I pulled my cell out of my pocket as I power-walked down the street. Without really thinking about it, as if on instinct, I dialed Vincent’s number.
He picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, baby.” He sounded groggy, as if he’d just woken up. “What’s up?”
“Can you come pick me up, please?” Tears of frustration were threatening to escape, but I’d be damned if I let a ridiculous argument with my mother make me cry.
He instantly sounded more awake. “Give me ten minutes, I’ll be there.”
***
“She doesn’t listen! She never fucking listens! No matter what I say, it doesn’t matter to her.”
Choking up for a moment, I fell silent. It had been a long time since I’d been this frustrated with my mom, but it brought all the old feelings rushing back. The anxiety. The doubt.
On one hand, I had this heartrending desire to be her perfect daughter — but I couldn’t be, I could never be perfect enough for her. On the other, I wanted to kick, scream, and claw my way away from her. Part of me wanted to shut her out of my life, sever the relationship and never look back.
It made me ill to think about it. Sick, frustrated, and so confused.
Jason sat beside me, rubbing slow circles on my back. After Vincent had picked me up, he’d taken me straight back to the house. Seated in their garage, I felt better just to have them around me.
Things felt different with them, different than with anyone else I’d ever known. They used to make me feel out of control, like I couldn’t regulate my brain or my tongue properly. Now, I realized the feeling of being “out of control” was just the sensation of all my fake bullshit failing me. I couldn’t pretend with them.
“Some parents will try everything they can to hold on to control,” Jason said. He’d set his laptop aside when I arrived, postponing his work to listen to me vent. “Either because they’re afraid of losing you, or afraid of fucking up, or —”
“Or because they’re assholes,” Vincent said. He was standing beside me, already dressed in a crisp black button-up and slacks for work. He’d picked up extra shifts that week since he’d taken the weekend off. “Just because they’re family doesn’t mean they get to walk all over you.”
Across the yard, Lucas was on the phone with a delivery driver as he opened the gate for them to drive in. He guided the white box truck as it backed toward the garage, then he and Manson helped the driver remove the large, unwieldy package from within.
Temporarily distracted from my mommy issues, I watched them maneuver the item into the garage. “Is that what I think it is?”
Manson pushed his hair out of his face, giving me a grin. “Come, take a peek.” He ripped open a corner of the tightly-wrapped cardboard so I could peer inside. Lots of metal…and a telltale BMW logo within.
Practically squealing with excitement, I spun around and threw my arms around Manson’s neck. I embraced Lucas right after, kissing him and then smacking my lips at how salty he tasted. Both he and Manson had been working all day, and they were covered in grime.
“I need a shower, don’t I?” Lucas said, swiping his hand over his forehead and leaving a streak of grease behind. I swiped it away with my thumb and left another kiss instead.
“I don’t mind,” I said. “I’m just happy to be over here instead of at home. I interrupted you guys in the middle of work…”
“You definitely did not,” Manson said. “You’re never an interruption, angel. Whenever you need us, we’re here.”
My shoulders slumped as I relaxed into Lucas’s arms. He leaned against the bumper of the white Honda Civic they had been working on today, holding me close with his chin resting on my head.
“Are you installing it today?” I said, eager to focus on something exciting rather than the other bullshit.
“Damn, girl, in a little bit of a rush, huh?” Lucas said. “We don’t install parts until they’re fully paid for. And don’t give me that pouty lip or I might bite it.”
“Sounds like I’m being held captive with an engine as collateral,” I said teasingly, before quickly withdrawing my pouting lower lip between my teeth. That didn’t stop him from biting me though. He went straight for the throat, clinging tightly to me as his sharp bites turned into rough kisses.
“We don’t need an engine to hold you captive,” Manson said. “But you will have to be patient for a little bit longer. We have other clients to take care of too. We need to have that beauty over there ready for a show in a couple of weeks.”
He nodded his head toward the bright red Ford Thunderbird currently on a lift at the back of the shop. Dante’s Inferno was emblazoned across the side in swirling calligraphic letters.
“Mm-hm, sounds like you’re stalling,” I said.
My breath hitched as Manson crowded close to me. Lucas’s arms were still around me, and Manson delicately tucked back a lock of my hair before he said, “Maybe we are. Maybe I’m being a very selfish bastard because having you as my toy is too fun.”
“I…um…” I was usually quick with a sassy response. But with Manson looking down at me like that and Lucas’s lips on my neck, while Jason and Vincent snickered, words were lost to me.
“So you’ll be patient, won’t you?” Manson said. “You’ll be a good, patient girl for us?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, then when he tweaked up an eyebrow, I quickly corrected, “Master. Yes, Master.”
Those words tingled every time they touched my tongue. I’d never expected to be calling anyone a title like that. Not only regularly but frequently. It was a loaded word; it carried a seriousness that mere pet names didn’t. But it also carried a promise: guidance, protection, authority. It was a promise of his care.
“There you go,” Manson said, giving me a quick kiss on the forehead before he walked over to the tool bench and began putting things away.
“So is your mama getting what she wants?” Lucas said. “Are you going to dinner with this guy?”
“I’m going to fake that I’m sick,” I said determinedly. “My mom gets really grossed out by vomit, so if I fake gag a little, I can get out of it without subjecting her to eternal shame for backing out.”
“Come on, Jess,” Jason said, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have to fake it.”
“You can’t let her bend your boundaries,” Lucas said, in the most reasonable tone I’d ever heard from him. “You have to be firm.”
“Lucas knows all about being firm with parents,” Vincent said, a smirk on his face. “He was really firm with his old man.”
“Damn right,” Lucas said. “I firmly punched him in the face and we stopped having problems. Mostly. And don’t interpret that as me telling you to punch your mother. Don’t do that.”
Grateful for the levity, I laughed. “No, I’m not going to punch my mom. I just wish she listened. She’s always talking about the things she’s done to make me happy; but those things made her happy, not me.”
Manson peeled off his dirty gloves, tossing them into the trash. “What do you know about this Greg guy anyway? Did he go to high school with us?”
“We went to middle school together. He moved away before high school. I don’t know anything about him beyond that. But knowing my mom, I’m sure he’s good-looking, wealthy, and probably really boring. That’s the type she goes for.”
“A sugar daddy type?” Vincent said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Damn, if you won’t go for it, I’ll give it a shot. I’ll let some boring old dude pay for my shit.”
“He’s not old,” I said. “But you’re more than welcome to take my spot at dinner. Bleach your hair and no one will ever know.”
“All right, what’s the plan then, boys?” Lucas said. “Are we killing this guy or just giving him a good scare?”
“We could dispose of the body by feeding him to Bo,” Jason said. “That little shit will eat anything.”
“Hey, everyone, take it easy,” Manson said slowly, his tone mysterious, as if he’d thought of something the others hadn’t. “Maybe Jess should humor her mom one last time and go to dinner.”
My mouth dropped open in shock. “Wait, what? You want me to go?” I looked at the others, but they appeared surprised too.
“Yeah,” Manson said. “You’ll get to dress up and have a nice evening. I’ll even go with you.”
Now, I was truly confused. “I don’t think Greg swings that way, Manson…”
“I don’t mean I’ll be sitting at the table with you. I mean I’ll be there, in the restaurant, making sure you’re safe. Making sure you enjoy yourself.”
He grinned, cocksure and ridiculously sexy. It made sparks shoot off in my chest, sizzling on my swiftly beating heart.
Lucas seemed to have caught on to what Manson intended as he said, “So when you say you’re going to make sure she enjoys herself, what you mean is that you’re going to be fucking her right under the nose of her date.”
Manson spread his arms innocently. “I like what I like. And I’d really like to see our pretty little fucktoy get dressed up nice and sit politely on her dinner date — while I make things like sitting and being polite extremely fucking difficult.”
Oh, that was filthy. The sparks in my chest were more like fireworks now, exploding in little rushes of adrenaline, arousal, and uncertainty. But there was one thing I was very certain of.
Returning Manson’s eager grin, I said, “I think I’d like that too.”
