Chapter 10

Ten

Kyleigh

I'm still stunned over the fact that I have Rowan Landry's cell phone number in my phone, and I'm supposed to call him whenever I want to fuck him. It's a power trip, I swear. I want to text him this morning just to see how serious he is about this agreement.

Instead, I'm on my way to my mom's storefront with her coffee order. It's time that I confront her about what I saw, as much as I'm dreading it. Rowan was the perfect distraction this weekend, but I can't put it off any longer.

That's not to say that my stomach isn't a ball of nerves. I'm so full of anger and sadness and shock that I'm not sure how this is going to go.

My mom has her own bridal boutique in downtown Chicago. Although she's been approached by major companies to design for them, or to sell the brand to them and have her work as the creative director, she's stuck to the boutique wedding experience. She believes the dress makes the wedding and that every bride deserves to feel her most beautiful on her wedding day. She used to sew them all herself until business really took off, and now she employs some seamstresses to fulfill her vision.

It's been an amazing experience, working alongside her since college and watching her fit brides, talk about the design, and interpret exactly what they want, even if they don't know it themselves. I've seen so many brides cry just from looking at her sketches and fabric swatches before the dress is even made. I've looked up to Mom all these years and figured maybe I would take over one day, but now, I'm not so sure. Because it all feels like a lie, and I can't imagine that would ever change given what she's done.

Her usual eighties music is playing when I walk in the back door. I push back the dread of what I saw a couple days ago.

Instead of going into my office and dropping my purse off, I go right to her office. No one else comes in until ten, so I have enough time to talk to her in private.

She's wearing her usual loungewear, although it costs more than some of our clients' wedding dresses. Maybe not exactly, but close. She'll change into her pantsuit or a dress if a client is coming in. Sitting at her drawing board with her glasses on, she has one hand on a scrap of fabric, examining it.

I knock lightly to avoid startling her. "Mom."

She doesn't turn around. "Come and look at this, Ky. Is the lace too old-fashioned for this dress?"

I steel myself, drop the coffee holder on her desk, and walk over.

Her dark hair that matches my own is pulled into a low bun. I resist the urge to yank the holder out of her hair and tug her to the floor. How could she do this to our family?

"I need to talk to you."

She swivels in her chair and lowers her glasses, obviously hearing the hitch in my voice I always have when I'm upset. "Okay, but what about the lace?"

"I don't give a shit about the lace."

Her head rears back. "Kyleigh." She tries to give me her mom tone that used to work on me.

"I came here on Saturday," I say. "I forgot the card for the wedding, and I came here."

I grab my iced coffee from the holder and slam my straw down to free it of the paper, then aggressively place it in the cup and suck down a big gulp. There's so much I want to say, but I'm here for answers.

"Okay, what does that have to do with the lace?"

I tilt my head at her and narrow my eyes. She slides off her stool and walks over to her desk, taking the coffee out of the holder.

"I'm waiting," I say.

"Was the wedding terrible? I don't understand why you're so…" She twirls her finger at me. "Like this."

My heart rate picks up, and I feel the blood whoosh through my neck. "I'm like this because of what happened before the wedding." I raise my eyebrows at her, but she settles into her chair, sitting cross-legged, seemingly oblivious.

"Because you were rushed, and you forgot the card?"

"Mom!" I shout. "I saw you."

"You saw me when?"

"Saturday night. Stop playing games. Just tell me who he is."

Her porcelain face falls, and she swallows, setting her tea on the desk. "I wasn't here on Saturday evening."

"You're going to sit there and lie to me? You were kissing some guy. Some guy who wasn't Dad! He was pulling your blouse out of your skirt." I squeeze my eyes shut to rid the image from my mind.

She says my name as if she wants time to explain, but all my patience was used up while she was playing stupid.

"How could you destroy our family?" I point at our family picture on the wall, part of a photoshoot she made us do last year. My heart hammers, and my blood feels hot. Tears well in my eyes, and I feel hollowed out. "You just took a knife and sliced it through that canvas. I hope he was worth it."

"You don't understand. He's not important."

Her words make me see red. "He was obviously important enough to you that you risked us! You risked Dad!" I turn around and head for the door.

"Kyleigh!" she calls. "Did you…"

I whip around. "Tell Dad? No. You're going to tell him, and if you don't, I will."

Then I walk out of her office and continue walking right out of the building. Once I'm outside the back door, I rest my back to the brick wall, bending over and taking a few deep breaths.

There was so much more I wanted to say, but my anger got the best of me. All the things I practiced saying were forgotten.

My phone vibrates, and I dread pulling it out, thinking it might be my dad, but I see that it's Alara telling me she's here for me and to give my mom hell. Best friend for life.

I stare at my phone and just want to disappear. I want to get on a plane and fly somewhere no one can find me. I don't want to think about how everything I've ever known and thought was true is just one big lie. But if I go to my apartment, Mom will come and try to talk to me. I need to go somewhere she'd never look until I can gather myself together.

I find the contact I saved last night and text Rowan, hoping like hell he's home.

You busy?

The three dots appear immediately, and I walk away from the boutique toward the street.

Just finished my morning workout. Be back to my place soon. Horny?

Stop saying that, but…

You're horny. It's okay. You'll have to ride me. I'm spent.

My stomach pitches, wishing I was already riding him.

How long?

I love this eagerness. Half hour.

Meet you there.

I order an Uber and climb in, giving them the address. I watch the people on the streets of Chicago, guessing they've all had better Monday mornings than I have, but as the Uber makes its way toward Rowan's, I already know this is exactly what I need to escape.