Page 53 of Sinful Promises

“Oh my. What are they like?”

Oh crap. This lying business was tricky.

I was a heartbeat away from saying that unlike my fucked-up family, they were perfect. The kind that loved each other. And helped each other. And always told the truth. A family that I so desperately wanted to meet, but probably never would. Instead, I simply said, “They’re great.”

“I bet they just love you.”

I smiled as I pictured Roman’s expression each time he’d mentioned his mother or father. Their love was true and genuine. Something I’d never experienced with my family. My mind jolted to my father. Or to be specific, the man who I’d thought was my father.

She tilted her head. Her eyes darkened. “What is it?”

I cleared my throat. I’d never told Mother what I’d learned on my fourteenth birthday. Partly because she’d been so devastated by him disappearing the way he did . . . without saying goodbye. Or maybe it was because he’d taken the car. But also, partly because I’d wanted to believe that his story was total bullshit.

But what he’d said was something that had messed with me ever since that day. Now was the time to get some answers. “Can I ask you something?”

Her skin paled even further, and when she swallowed, I had a terrible feeling she was going to throw up. She looked bloody nervous. And she should be. There was a lot of water between us, and at the moment, there was no bridge long enough to bring us together. It would need to be built piece by piece. And I was about to toss her the first brick.

Mother hooked her gnarly fingers into the triangle brace over the bed and wriggled up the mattress, maybe stalling for time.

I stood and fiddled with the pillows behind her. It was a moment of care that I’d never had with Mother, and I couldn’t decide if I was comfortable with it or not.

When she finally stilled and looked at me, there was something in her eyes I couldn’t pinpoint. Wariness maybe. Or fear. She cleared her throat, and twisting her fingers, she said, “You can ask me anything. Lord knows you must have a thousand questions.”

All right. Here we go.

I inhaled deeply, picturing the man who I’d known as my father sitting across from me. His pale eyes were wide, his beard-stubble rough, his expression aloof. He had not shown any ounce of the stress that an announcement like his should have produced.

“Dad told me something on my fourteenth birthday that I never told you.”

Her eyes dipped upward as if exploring the darkest reaches of her brain. She blinked, frowned, and blinked some more. “That was the day he left.”

I nodded but remained quiet, waiting to see if she pieced things together.

A moment later, her eyes dimmed, and her jaw muscles tensed. “What did he tell you?”

I sucked in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “He told me he wasn’t my father.”

“Oh.” She flicked her hand. “Of course?—”

“Don’t lie to me,” I barked.

Her eyes snapped wide and she swallowed. I’d never spoken to her like that. Not face-to-face anyway. But I wasn’t a child anymore. When she’d last seen me, I’d been seventeen. I was no longer that girl. I was a woman who had seen the world. A woman who needed the truth. A woman who deserved the truth.

Mother chewed on her lip, and blood smudged her teeth. I resisted offering another drink. This was a conversation we had to have. If she suffered, it was not because of me.

Mother flicked her head. It was a move I’d seen her do a thousand times. But she no longer had the mane of long, golden hair that she’d flick from her eyes with that sexy move. She barely had any hair at all. “You don’t know what it was like.”

“No, I don’t. It’s time you told me.”

“Why would you want to hear about that? It was so long ago.”

“Cut the bullshit,” I snapped.

Her jaw fell open, then it shut and she pulled a pathetic, sad face. “I’m a dying woman.”

I was not falling for her crap. “Exactly.” Our eyes met, and I was torn between feeling guilty about the venom in my stare and feeling justified. “You are dying. It’s time to tell me the truth. Was he my father?”

“All right.” She fired a defiant glare at me. Her chin lowered and she twisted her hands. “I don’t know. Okay?”