Sexy Mother Faker

by Remy Rose

  Jesus, this sounds familiar.

  “As a couple, we were doomed. Roger had kept from me that his family was planning to move the business to England, and this virtually killed me, because I knew I’d never see him again. We had a huge fight before he left—more that we were angry about our situation, but we took it out on each other—and I found out he started seeing someone right after we broke up. She ended up becoming his wife and Portia’s mother. I had a rebound relationship of my own with your father, but I never loved him.” She sighs. “I never loved anyone except for Roger, but I was so angry that he’d left me—that he’d in essence chose the business over me.”

  Now, I find some words. “So your plan to take over Bellamy Marine stemmed from wanting revenge because of him leaving you?”

  “Yes. But all that changed when I learned he was having health issues. It terrified me, and it rekindled old feelings I’ve kept buried for years. When Portia called to tell me about his heart attack, all I could think of was going to him. I couldn’t get there fast enough. The plane ride—it was excruciating, worrying that we’d be too late.”

  I hear a tremor in my mother’s voice. She’s never sounded like this before, and I am completely fucking awestruck.

  “Seeing him again after all these years, being at his bedside—I realized I’d never stopped loving him. And he told me he’d never stopped loving me. It was then that I had my epiphany.”

  “Which was…?”

  “I realized that my trying to come between you and Delaney was replaying an ugly scene from my past. I initially saw her as an obstacle in the way of my original plan for you and Portia to get together, but it became more than that. I resented your relationship—for the two of you sticking together when Roger and I didn’t. I resented Delaney for standing up for what she believed in and for speaking up to someone who was trying to derail her relationship...for being what I should have been but couldn’t. I resented you for putting your personal life before the family business, because I did the opposite and ended up with wealth, yes, but bitterness and loneliness.”

  For the first time I can ever remember, the winds of Hurricane Gloria have subsided. There is an undeniable softness to her voice. Suddenly, it’s as though all my anger at her has dissipated—replaced by feelings of shock, curiosity and wonder for this new creature I’m talking with—a creature I thought I knew, but don’t really know at all.

  “Where are you with everything now, Mother?”

  Her tone becomes brisk, business-like, but without the usual bitchy edge. “Roger almost dying has caused me to reevaluate everything, including my own choices. I’ve made the decision that I am not going to be hypocritical and expect my son to put business over personal when that is exactly what had caused me such pain in my life.”

  A blooming feeling in my chest—big, like it’s going to need to be released or I’ll burst. I’m pretty sure I know what my mother is telling me, but I want her to spell it out. “So what you’re saying is...”

  She sighs with impatience. “Oh, for God’s sake, Damon. You may be my son, but you’re being incredibly thick right now. What I’m saying is, I am not going to stand in the way of your relationship. I admire your girlfriend for her spunk and conviction. She needs some help with her fashion choices, and all that hair is too much for her petite frame, but I see potential. I think I might actually grow to not dislike her.”

  Every cell of my body feels like it’s quivering with the heady anticipation of sharing this unbelievable news with Delaney. “Thank you. And Jesus Christ, Mother—you’re actually...nice.”

  She replies in that business-like tone, but it’s laced with amusement. “You can thank me by never calling me that again. Now go get her.”

  And for maybe the first time in our lives, I’m in total sync with Gloria Cavanaugh.

  chapter 38 / Delaney

  “What do you think?” Maddie looks at me anxiously, her dark eyes luminous and expectant. We’re up in her bedroom, the wedding ceremony just moments away.

  “I think,” I say, my own eyes brimming, “you are more beautiful than you’ve ever been.”

  And she is. Her mahogany hair is swept up into a low, loose bun with softly-curling tendrils framing her flawless, glowing face. The gown is stunning on her—the faintest hue of pink, strapless with a sweetheart neckline and intricate lace bodice, with a cascading tulle skirt edged in satin ribbon.

  I’m dangerously close to blubbering. “Jack is absolutely going to lose his shit. He’s going to be a puddle on the ground.”

  “Stoppp,” she chastises me gently. “You’re going to make me cry, and if I cry and ruin my makeup, Kelly is going to kill me.”

  “Okay. No crying.” I walk around her in a circle, checking to make sure there’s no cat hair from Murphy on her dress. I’ve been fighting my emotions all morning. I’m PMSing, which doesn’t help, but it’s of course more than that. It’s knowing that Damon was invited to the wedding, and how I was supposed to be sharing this with him.

  It’s knowing how everything is not how it was supposed to be.

  But today is not about me. It’s about my best friend, and all I need to do is fill my eyes with her to remind myself of that—see her dreamy expression as she prepares to marry the love of her life.

  I can celebrate that. I can celebrate love.

  Maddie’s mother comes in the bedroom, looking classy in her dusty-rose dress. Her hand immediately comes to her mouth, and she gives a little choked cry when she sees her daughter. They hug, the photographer captures the spontaneous, perfect moment, and we all have one last mimosa toast.

  Before heading downstairs, I check my reflection in Maddie’s bathroom. I’m one of three bridesmaids, and we’re all wearing floor-length, blush pink dresses in slightly varied styles. Mine is floor-length and flowy, with a halter top. Jordan, one of the other bridesmaids, did our hair. I opted for leaving mine curly and half-up, half-down, pulled back on the sides with sparkly hairpins.

  I can’t help but think that Damon would approve.

  Jesus, would I just stop?

  We all head downstairs to wait in the tent. It’s beautiful, huge and airy, with a tall, billowy canopy. Maddie and Jack went with a rustic wedding theme—dark pine, farmhouse-style tables and mason jars filled with pink roses, baby’s breath, and ferns picked from woods on their property. Jack built a simple arbor out of birch trees, and that’s where he and the two groomsmen are waiting. Angie, Maddie’s office manager, is a notary public and will be performing the ceremony. The photographer snaps some pictures of Maddie and her very proud, very emotional dad.

  And then, it’s time.

  Kelly is the first one to walk down the aisle on the back lawn. The florist arranged blush pink peonies in antique-looking pots flanking either side, and these alternate with cairns that Jack made. Jordan walks down second, and once she reaches the last row of chairs, it’s my turn.

  It’s a gorgeous day. Not a cloud in the sky, and hot, but once you get nearer the shore, the sea breeze is refreshing and cool. A colorful sailboat is drifting by, the people on it waving to the wedding crowd. Jack is looking amazing in his black tux, his face a blend of nerves and eager anticipation as he looks past me to where his bride will exit the tent. I am smiling at guests I recognize—a college friend, a couple real estate agents whom I’ve met before, Amanda (date-less, because Portia’s still with her father in England), my happy, soon-to-be-remarried parents, and...Damon.

  Damon?

  It’s like everything turns into slow-motion. I keep walking, because that’s what I have to do, but inside my heart and head are explosions of questions, confusion—and joy. I can’t help the joy.

  He looks incredible in his white shirt and navy jacket, his face lighting up when he sees me, flashing that devastating, broad grin because he knows he’s shocked me.

  I had mentioned that Jack was going to be a puddle, but that’s exactly what I’m feeling right now. Quickly, I avert my gaze. I fixate on Jack, who is
unabashedly weeping at the sight of his beautiful wife-to-be, and there is a pang in my heart so sharp and bright that it hurts because there is so much love.

  I turn myself sideways, very aware that an insanely hot blond guy I’ve had sexual intercourse with is in my peripheral view. I focus hard on the ceremony, which is lovely and sweet and personal, featuring vows they wrote themselves. Angie mentions welcoming children into their lives, and Maddie and Jack beam at each other.

  The violinist plays recessional music, and we all walk back up the aisle to the tent, with me buzzing from head to toe, wondering how the hell I am supposed to handle Damon being here.

  The photographer has the bridal party come back out for pictures while the guests enjoy cocktail hour, and I’m grateful that for the moment, I’ll be protected. Then I’ll be sitting at the head table, so I’ll be safe there. Utterly ludicrous to be viewing Damon as a threat right now, but the feelings he’s stirring in me are so strong, I don’t even dare to make eye contact for fear he’ll see what’s there.

  I’m standing next to Kelly and Jordan when I hear him say my name. It rattles me to my core. I can’t let him know that. Fake it, I command myself. Fake that you don’t care he’s here.

  I force myself to turn toward him and speak as the inquisitive eyes of the other two bridesmaids take it all in. “Hi.”

  “Can I talk to you?” He’s smiling, looking maddeningly relaxed, like he knows something that I don’t.

  “I’m sorry, I really can’t right now. Because of the photos and everything.”

  Kelly pipes up. “Oh, you should have some time, Laney—she’s going to take pictures of the guys first.”

  Never have I wanted to kill anyone more than I want to kill Kelly at this moment. I smile at her sweetly, but my eyes are stabby.

  Damon’s grin widens as he looks at Kelly appreciatively. With my excuse obliterated, I walk stiffly over to the granite bench near the edge of the lawn. There is no doubt whatsoever in my mind that my mother is seeing all of this.

  “Look, I’m honestly really surprised to see you here,” I tell him, keeping my expression as neutral as I can.

  “I was invited, actually.” He’s still smiling, his gaze making hot trails all over my body. “You look amazing, Sprite.”

  I decide to ignore that, even as my private parts begin to perk up. “But I mean—given the situation, I’m just surprised.”

  “I think you’re more than just surprised. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  My face is turning redder, and please, please, let him think it’s the sun. “All right, I’ll add irritated, then.”

  “It’s good you don’t have feelings for me anymore, or else this could be really uncomfortable for you.”

  Jesus effing Christ, I want to kill him like I wanted to kill Kelly. Double murder, right during the cocktail hour.

  I raise my chin. “Yes. Yes, it is good.”

  The gentle amusement on his face is unmistakable. But there is more—a hunger in his eyes as they start to rove over me again.

  “I’m going to leave now, because this day needs to be about Madeline and Jack—I don’t want to distract you from that. But we do need to talk. Soon.”

  “Damon, there’s nothing—”

  “We’re going to talk. Not right now, but soon.”

  And just like that, he’s walking away and heading back up toward the house, leaving me with unanswered questions, frustration...and longing.

  * * * *

  It was an absolutely perfect wedding. The reception featured a delicious seafood buffet, a decadent chocolate wedding cake, an open bar with signature drinks, and a fun DJ who knew just what to play to get the crowd on the dance floor. I did more people-watching than dancing and kept fighting with my eyes which seemed to have a mind of their own—scanning the throng of guests to see if Damon had maybe returned.

  After a memorable sparkler send-off, Maddie and Jack leave for their honeymoon night at the Lucerne Inn. I hug them both at the limo, and after some clean-up inside the tent, head home.

  As I approach my building, I can see parking lights. Of a vehicle that I recognize. A Range Rover, with a blond driver who opens the door and gets out while my heart begins a gymnastics routine.

  Oh my fuck.

  I’m almost frozen in the seat of my car, but I obviously have to get out, seeing as I live here.

  “This is what I meant by soon,” he says. It’s dark in my driveway, but I can see a flash of white teeth, and suddenly, I’m feeling scared. Because handling Damon when it’s just the two of us is a whole lot different than dealing with him in public.

  “Let’s go in and talk, Sprite. There are things I have to tell you.”

  I open my mouth to say I don’t think this is a very good idea when he walks toward me so that we’re toe-to-toe. I have to tip my head back to look up at him, my eyes drawn to that perfect mouth. Do not back down, I tell myself firmly. Stand your ground. This relationship is supposed to be over, so show him it’s over.

  “I love you in this dress, Sprite, but I’m going to love you even more out of it.”

  Christ, could he be any more presumptuous? Arrogant? Gorgeous?

  I realize I am not saying anything. He has rendered me incapable of rational thought, of telling him a simple no.

  “Let’s go inside, Sprite,” he says softly, and we do.

  I flip on the kitchen light switch, dropping my purse and keys on the table. Lucy trots over to us, her tail straight in the air, and immediately wraps herself around Damon’s legs as he bends down to pet her. She is not supposed to do that. Why are cats and people doing what they are not supposed to do?

  I can smell him—his sexy, intoxicating, woodsy scent, and God, how I have missed that.

  “Would you like something to drink?” There, I can play hostess and act courteous, and he doesn’t need to know that I’m having visions of something of his in something of mine.

  “All set, thanks. I want to get right to the point.”

  “Okay.” I try to act nonchalant and casual, but when I go to lean back against the counter, I’m a little too far away and end up nearly falling on my ass.

  He’s biting his lip, his warm brown eyes dancing. My face is flaming, but I regain my composure and my balance. “What is it you’d like to tell me? Because I’m really tired...” I make myself yawn. “...And I’d like to go to bed.”

  “That can definitely be arranged.” He grins at me.

  I am a pile of quivery mush in a blush pink bridesmaid’s dress.

  “So what I wanted to tell you...my mother isn’t an issue for us anymore. She had a change of heart—an epiphany, as she called it.”

  That white bird of hope is fluttering inside me, stretching her wings. Not yet, I warn her. You might be setting yourself up for another crash landing.

  “She called me, from England, and she told me things I never knew.”

  And then I hear about Gloria’s past, a broken relationship that shaped her and defined the woman she became—a love that has recently been rekindled. A love that re-shaped, re-defined her—powerful enough to make her see things differently. Including her son’s relationship with me.

  He finishes his story. The bird is flapping, flapping hard, but I’m still holding on.

  “So you—you didn’t have to leave the company?”

  “No. I’m planning to stay. I feel like this is the start of a new beginning for my mother and me. And if you agree, the start of a new beginning for you and me as well.”

  Damon takes a step forward, loosening his tie, and just that simple motion makes me fall apart inside. My heart goes into gymnastics mode once again: forward roll, front walkover, back handspring.

  I nail the landing. The bird sees her chance. She frees herself, and soars.

  “You were willing to give up everything for me,” I say, and start to cry.

  “My sweet little Sprite,” he says tenderly, scooping me into his arms. “You are my everything.”

  Then I am
tasting the delicious heat of his tongue, and we kiss all the way to my bedroom. He lays me down on the comforter. I hear the shift in his breathing to ragged and rough as my arousal skyrockets. My fingers fumble at the buttons of his shirt, yanking it open, and then it’s on to his pants. I can’t get into them fast enough. I unbuckle, unbutton, tug down his zipper, releasing that big, beautiful cock I’ve missed so much.

  He seems to be on the same page I am. “Delaney,” he says huskily, “I’ll make love to you later, but right now, I’ve just got to fuck you.”

  That totally works for me. I am whimpering his name, begging him. He gathers the bottom of my dress in his hands, pushes it up to my waist and rips down my panties as I gasp. He’s kissing me hard, lying partly on top of me so I can’t move—don’t want to move, ever—and I feel his fingers slide inside me. He groans loudly. “Ah, fuck—you’re so wet, baby.”

  I spread my legs eagerly for him, feel his big head near my slit. He sits back, kneeling on the bed, and begins to reach into his pocket.

  “No,” I whisper. “Don’t put it on. I want nothing between us—nothing, ever again.”

  His eyes are wide and wild with desire. He covers my body with his, holding his cock in one hand as he curves his fingers inside me once again, rubbing my arousal over my swollen clit.

  “Going to fuck you so hard, baby,” he breathes, positioning himself between my legs. My fingers sink into his muscular arms, and I cry out his name as I feel him shove his cock into me.

  It is a glorious, stretched to the max, hurts-so-good kind of fucking as he pounds into me over and over, and I am pushed over the threshold into an earth-shattering orgasm just before he pulls out and has his own climax.

  It is so powerful, so completely overwhelming, that I immediately burst into tears. He is kissing me over and over—my forehead, my eyebrows, my cheeks, my mouth—and I wrap my arms around his neck, breathing in the smell of him, the safe, warm, wonderful smell of this man whom I never want to let go.

  Damon slides off me carefully, whispering that he’ll be right back, and leaves the room. I hear the water running in the bathroom as I bask in post-orgasmic bliss. He returns with a washcloth, gently cleans off my belly and climbs back in bed with me. I turn to face him, tracing his sculpted cheekbones with my finger. I can’t stop smiling.