Page 195 of My Dark Prince
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Briar
The woman had no clue how little I thought of her.
I didn’t hate Philomena Auer. No, that would require feeling something for her other than incredulity. Someone who would abandon their own flesh and blood didn’t deserve real estate in my brain.
Around us, people buzzed with weekend energy. Dogs lapped up water from ceramic bowls, their owners sipped on paw-shaped mugs, and servers zigzagged from table to table. The clinking cups and hum of conversations faded into the background as I studied the woman who once carried me in her womb.
She pasted on a charming smile, a fake Birkin bag perched in her lap. The pearls choking her neck lacked the luster of their genuine counterparts, and she’d stitched up the hole in her old Chanel blazer with miscolored threads.
The irony of raising me in an environment where appearances mattered was that I could see straight through hers.
Philomena gave me the stink eye. She still didn’t get it. “You know we’ve been slumming it up at a Motel 6 to stay in the area.”
I mustered a tight smile. “You get what you can pay for.”
“I have a daughter who lives in a mansion.”
“No. Youhada daughter you turned your back on. That daughter ‘slummed it up’ in tiny broom closets in shitty apartment buildings she needed to clean every week to afford rent. Now all you have is a husband, who hates you because youcheated on him and hatesmebecause I’m living proof.” I sat back, eyeing her with mild curiosity. “Which brings me to the subject at hand …”
The waitress delivered our drinks – a latte for me and an iced Americano with no milk and sugar for Philomena. Another reminder of the fact that she was a psychopath.
I glanced behind her shoulder at the display window. Oliver sat in the car, waiting for me, an iPad propped between his palms. This morning had made it obvious that he didn’t remember much of last night.
I’d have to break up with him as soon as possible. He kept talking about our future as if we could happen, offering up a ridiculous sum of money I still had no intention of forking over to my mother. Neither of them knew that, but they would. Soon.
Philomena’s jaw jerked forward, signaling at the bag I’d brought. “Show me the money, first.”
I reached for my worn-out JanSport, partially unzipped it, and flashed the stacks of cash inside. “It’s all here.”
She yanked it out of my fists and sifted through the crisp notes. “You can never be too sure.”
“If only you had that energy when you cheated on Jason with whoever-the-heck my father is and used protection, we wouldn’t be here.”
Philomena arranged the stacks back into the backpack, regarding me with a frown.
Before she could dine and dash, I snatched the bag back, clutching it to my belly. “Information first.”
“But—”
“You can never be too sure,” I sing-songed in her same tone.
“Fine.” The smugness fled her face, now that she had to face her past sins. “After our honeymoon, Jason’s first international job put him in London. Cameron was the doorman in our Shoreditch building.”
“Cameron?” I cocked my head sideways. “You called him Cooper.”
“No, no.” My mother shook her head. “His last name is Cooper. That’s what everyone called him.”
“You had an affair with him?”
“Affair is such a big word.” She rolled her eyes like a child, spearing the ice in her Americano with a straw. “Jason worked like a madman, pulling seventy-hour weeks. I was lonely. I didn’t know anyone in London. We couldn’t conceive despite our efforts and fought all the time. All he cared about was work.”
Her words stabbed me one by one – not because I cared about her relationship with Jason but because I saw my own fears reflected before me.
Work would whisk me away from city to city, country to country. I endured long, impossible hours on set, never settling down. No relationship could survive that. My own parents’ hadn’t, and my mother followed Jason everywhere. Oliver didn’t share that luxury.
I swallowed my bile. “None of these are valid reasons to cheat.”
