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He smirks. “Maybe I’ll come home for that tonight.”

Chapter 18

Saar

“Saar.” Livia’s voice penetrates my drifting mind.

Shit, I was finally falling asleep. “Yes,” I croak.

I don’t open my eyes, letting the sun warm my skin for a beat longer. Let me sleep, Livia.

I came out to enjoy an afternoon on this huge stone deck. It’s bathed in sunshine today. I can only imagine how lovely it would be in summer.

I’ll miss this place once I’m gone. Which should be very soon.

It took Cal two days, but tonight I can finally catch Corm in the club, and then I can blackmail him to get me the freaking marriage certificate.

It was childish of me to think I could sway him with my demands. But I learned from him. Blindsiding and playing dirty is his language, so now I’ll speak in a way he relates to.

“Mrs. Quinn is here,” Livia whispers.

Now that gets me to open my eyes. I blink a few times behind my dark sunglasses. “Mrs. Quinn, as in…?” Okay, I’m sleep-deprived and kind of slow.

“Mr. Quinn’s mother,” Livia says with urgency, and I scramble to sit up.

“Did you tell her he’s at work?”

“She came to see you. She’s standing in the foyer.” Livia glances back like she could see her. “I have to bring her out here.”

“Okay…?”

“You want her in the living room?” Livia raises her eyebrows.

“Oh no. Why don’t I go greet her while you make us tea?” I stand and grab a backrest, my head swimming. “Do we have some biscuits?”

Livia shoos me forward with her arms. “Don’t keep her waiting.”

“Okay, okay.” Jesus. Livia said Mrs. Quinn is a lovely woman, so what’s with the anxiety?

I wrap myself in my wide shawl and make my way to the foyer. “What a pleasant surprise.”

A tall, slender woman turns to me with a smile. “Here you are. Nice to finally meet you, Saar. I’m Dorothy Quinn, Corm’s mother.”

“Dorothy.” I extend my hand, but she pulls me in for a kiss on my cheek, wrapping her arms around me.

Okay, she’s a hugger. But her honest embrace isn’t as uncomfortable as I’d imagined.

She lets go, eyeing me with the kindest smile. I swallow and clear my throat, suddenly self-conscious.

People have stared at me all my life, but her scrutiny flusters me. Her gaze is warmer than her son’s, but the intensity is similar.

“Do you mind if we sit on the patio?” I croak.

“It’s such lovely weather, let’s take advantage of it. I see you’re redecorating.” She waves her hand toward the plastic sheets covering my handy redesign.

My cheeks warm up. “It’s a work in progress.”

I sit on the lounge chair, and she takes a seat on the other side of the fire-pit table. Closing her eyes, she turns her face to the sun.