Page 175 of Guarding Grace

“I’m her boyfriend, someone who actually cares about her.”

“Well, I’m her mother.”

I laughed at her until I could hear exasperated sounds from the other end. “Her mother died a long time ago.”

“That’s a lie. I’m her mother.”

“Tell me, lady—and I use the term loosely—are you on marriage number four or number five?”

“I’m a contessa, and you can’t talk to me that way,” she snarled.

“Somebody should, you old hag. Now, how many?”

“I’m her mother. Put her on the phone right this instant. I demand it.”

Grace smiled and held up five fingers.

“Let me tell you, Alex, when you skip out on your kids to marry some South African businessman, you lose the right to call yourself a mother.”

“I couldn’t take them with me. It wouldn’t have worked with the children.”

Unbelievable. In her mind, it was all about her. And from what Pete told me, marriage number two had only lasted four years.

“Being a mother is being there for birthdays, for school plays, for soccer games?—”

“How dare you talk to me like that?” she complained.

Since Grace was smiling, I continued. “Being there for her first date and her first kiss. You didn’t stick around for any of those things, so you never earned the title of mother, Alex.”

“It’s Contessa to you. I always knew Grace would end up with a heathen. You’re rude.”

“I may be rude, but I can learn to be better. You’re just a bitch.”

The woman spluttered, unable to get out a coherent word.

“Bad news for you, Alex. Being a bitch is something you can’t change.” I stabbed the end call button.

The biggest smile in the world filled Grace’s face.

“Your mother is a bitch.”

She nodded and laughed. “And you told her that to her face.”

“If the truth hurts, that’s her problem, not mine. I’m glad it’s not an inherited trait.”

Grace blushed bright red. “Thank you, kind sir.”

Having now virtually met her mother, Grace’s devotion to her employees crystallized for me. They were her family, and she treated them as her children in an attempt to be the good mother she’d never had. Her laser focus on her company was her attempt to provide the stability she’d never known.

I sensed that pity for her plight was the last thing she wanted, so it was time to pivot to the real issue. “Anyway,” I began, “what are you doing here?”

The smile I’d put on her face dropped away. “I’m doing what we agreed on when you forced me to move to your place. It was only for as long as I was in danger.”

“That was then. Haven’t I since made it clear that you’re my woman and I want you to stay?”

“Your woman? You don’t own me.” Her fierce independent streak had surfaced. “I get a say. I decide what’s right for me. Not you, not anybody else.”

Take it slow.I took a deep breath. “Try it this way. I have committed myself to you, and you alone. We’re in a relationship, so why would you want to move out?”