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I’m not sure if it’s the fact Mother’s Day is around the corner, or if I just miss her that got me to ask the guys to bring me to the gym with them. Whichever it was, now that I’m here, I’m having second thoughts.

My hand flutters over the tiny bump that’s started to emerge on my lower belly. Things are different now. None of this is abstract anymore. Not since the four of us snuck down to the medical room and Lex said the words, “It’s a boy.”

I take a deep breath and grip the knob, entering without approval.

“I wondered how long you were going to stand out there.” She licks her thumb and flips through a stack of invoices. “Thought maybe you were waiting for an engraved invitation. Maybe a bouquet of white roses?”

“You know what?” I say, feeling instant regret. “Never mind. It was stupid to come in here.”

I spin, too tired for my mother’s East End jabs.

Outside the door, I hear her chair push back, the screech like nails on a chalkboard. “Verity, wait.”

Over by the ring, Ballsack watches, eyes tracking me. I know he’ll take me out of here if I ask him to, but I don’t. Not when my mother’s hand touches my shoulder, and I catch the scent of her perfume. More softly, she repeats, “Wait.”

I turn and face my mother, trying not to squirm as she assesses me. She’s always been impeccable, and I’ve always admired that about her. I’ve never been good at the glamour of femininity. Makeup, hair, jewelry. All of that stuff seems to come so easily to her. I remember so many nights, watching her apply moisturizer, and even more mornings watching her put on her war paint. Because that’s what it is to my mother. The teased hair, the red lips; it’s armor.

I wish I were better at it.

“Your tits are finally bigger than mine,” she says, lips quirking.

Clearing my throat, I hold her gaze. “Yeah, well, all I had to do was get knocked up.”

We stare at one another, a million unspoken words hanging between us. We’d always been close, or so I thought. Obviously, she had an entire life I never knew about. A dark, royal-filled, secret life that included Rufus Ashby being my father.

Something in her eyes softens as we stand there, assessing one another. “Are you still having morning sickness?” she asks.

“No,” I admit, clamping down on the urge to cry. How many times have I wanted someone to talk me through this? To tell me they understood? “The opposite, actually. I’m fucking ravenous all the time.”

She turns abruptly and starts marching across the gym. Halfway there, she jerks her chin for me to follow her into the kitchen. By the time I get there, she’s already opened the refrigerator, a bowl cradled in her manicured hand.

“What is that?” I ask, hands wringing as I try to get a peek.

She smirks. “Banana pudding.”

“Oh?” I couldn’t hide the anticipation in my voice if I tried. I’ve tried to stick to Lex’s dietary plans while in West End. That’s part of the deal. But the thing is, my mother’s cooking is my kryptonite.Especiallyher banana pudding. It’s freshly made, set aside with a note on top:Do Not Touch-Mama B.

She removes the lid and grabs a plate out of the cabinet, scooping me out a large helping. My mouth waters looking at the mushy vanilla wafers lining the edge. Gesturing to the small kitchen table, she carries it over and places it in front of me when I sit down.

The first bite is better than an orgasm.

“Oh my god,” I whine, savoring it. “It’s even better than I remember.”

“I’ll admit to having done some stress cooking.” She sits across from me, arms crossed over her chest, bracelets clinking against one another. “You’re too thin. Is that bastard starving you?”

“No,” I say, taking my time with the pudding. I want this to last. “But it is all very healthy. Greens and antioxidants and stuff.”

She snorts. “Like he has any clue how to nourish a pregnant woman.”

I glance up, catching her glare. “Actually, Lex makes the meal plans. It’s not all bad.” I scoop up another spoonful, making sure to get whipped cream, but before I eat it, I ask the question that’s been hanging over me since Valentine’s Day. “Is there a reason you didn’t tell me?”

Sighing, she looks away. “Yes. One simple reason. Because I didn’t want that monster anywhere near you.” She shakes her head. “Whole lot of good it did. He got you anyway.”

That angry knot in my chest returns. “I keep telling you, I made that decision on my own.”

“But he sent you that invitation. You had the title of Princess before you walked in that door.” She huffs and slinks back in her chair, looking more exhausted than I’ve ever seen her before. “This isn’t what I wanted for you, Ver Bear.”

The old nickname makes my stomach warm. “Isn’t it?” I ask. “All the dance lessons and etiquette classes weren’t for this? What about the metaphorical chastity belt you shackled on me since puberty?” Pointing my spoon at her, I accuse, “Yougroomedme, mother.”