Page 222 of Tempting Venom
I beat the eggs, my lips curling in a smile. “You’re not wrong. Heisthe best-looking man.”
“Right? He looks even better in person. So charming and handsome.”
“Stop drooling, Mom.” I narrow my eyes. “He’s your son’s age, and most importantly, he belongs to me.”
“Hey!” She punches me in the shoulder. “Stop being a little shit. I wasn’t hitting on him.”
“You wouldn’t have stood a chance if you were, anyway.” I mix the vegetables with the eggs. “He prefersme.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t go for a middle-aged woman.”
“This motherfucker. Are you calling me old?”
“Youareold.”
“Very rude.” She scoffs. “I’ll be reporting you for parent abuse.”
“That doesn’t exist, Mom.”
“I’ll make sure it does.”
I laugh, shaking my head, and she joins me, then takes a sip of her coffee. “I’m glad to see you happy. It feels rare.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m always happy.”
“You’re always living, yes, but happy? I don’t think so.” She strokes my arm. “You’re well aware he’s one of them, though, right?”
“Them?”
“Those like your dad and sister.Them.The people who would wear our skins like designer bags if given the chance.”
“He might have been brought up in their midst, but he’s not like them.”
A flash of sadness covers her eyes. “That’s what I used to think of your dad as well, but I was sorely mistaken.”
“Preston isnothinglike Dad. He might put up a facade, but he cares, whereas Dad pretends to care, when, in reality, he doesn’t.”
“I hope you’re right.” A small smile paints her lips. “I just don’t want you to get hurt like I was.”
“I won’t,” I say. “I know he’s different. When I met him at Dad’s house, the first and last time I went there, he gave me mango candy and wished me a happy birthday, and sometimes I still see traces of that younger version in him.”
“Aw, he was your first crush?”
I pause. “What?”
“You told me all about him on the way back, remember? You kept talking nonstop about this golden-haired prince-like boy you met in the garden.” She grins. “You even asked me if you could marry him when you grew up.”
“I…did?”
“Sure did. Turns out that boy was Preston? What a small world.”
So I even told my mom I’d marry him. Talk about ambition.
My thoughts scatter as movement comes from behind me. When I tilt my head back, Preston’s standing at the doorway—awkwardly, I might add—all his dashing arrogance replaced by an unsure stance.
He looks absolutely gorgeous with his hair falling over his forehead. “Hi, I mean…morning, ma’am.”
