Page 22 of Secrets of the Past (Secrets of Mustang Island #3)

S aturday was moving day. But tonight, his mother had asked him to be home for dinner. Why? he had no idea, but he would use the opportunity to tell her he had another place to live. His own place.

His mother’s dining room gleamed as though it had been frozen in amber since his childhood. The chandelier cast its steady glow, the table polished to perfection, the lilies in the vase stiff and white as bone.

Everything in its place. Everything under control. Except for his feelings, which were raw.

“Marianne called me this morning,” his mother said, her voice smooth as she speared a delicate bite of salmon. “She enjoyed dinner very much. She said she thought you were… charming.”

Marianne, that was the name of the blonde his mother had paraded around, a woman with all the personality of wet cardboard.

She must’ve been the so-called “appropriate” match his mother had thrown in Nicole’s face.

Not happening. Tripp clenched his jaw, every muscle tight with the urge to confront his mother, to call her out for every lie, every manipulation.

But not yet.

Not until this trial was finished. That reckoning would come, and when it did, he’d make damn sure she never had the power to rip Nicole out of his life again. Trust was fragile, and his mother had already smashed theirs to pieces once. He’d be damned if she destroyed it a second time.

Next time, she wouldn’t see him as her obedient son; she’d see him as her reckoning.

Tripp cut his steak with slow precision, his jaw tight. “I’m sure she did. You made sure of it.”

Her eyes flicked up, bright and sharp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Tripp said evenly, “that you’ve been arranging my social calendar without my consent. Again. I’m not interested in Marianne.”

She wouldn’t listen to reason. She never had. She’d keep scheming, pushing, clawing for control until she got what she wanted. Unless he shut her down now, brutally and decisively, she’d never stop.

Her mouth curved, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re too busy to do it yourself. And really, Dustin, it’s not a crime for a mother to want her son settled with the right kind of woman.”

This time, he wouldn’t bend, he’d break her hold, even if it meant burning every bridge between them.

He set his fork down, folding his napkin with deliberate care. “I’m not calling her. I’m not seeing her again. The answer is no. Bring her around, and I promise to embarrass you.”

His mother loathed embarrassment, despised humiliation. If this didn’t bring her to heel, nothing ever would.

A flicker of irritation crossed her perfectly painted features. “She’s from an excellent family. Educated, gracious, poised. You could do much worse. She’s exactly the type of woman you need.”

Her persistence was relentless, corrosive, and if she didn’t back off, it would destroy what little remained between them. Especially if she dared to stand against Nicole. He wouldn’t let her sabotage them again. Not this time.

“A brainless, conservative, blonde is your idea of the perfect woman for me? You don’t know me very well, Mother. I could do much better,” Tripp said softly, leaning back in his chair.

She gave a sharp little laugh, brittle as glass. “Better? You mean Nicole Reyes?”

The name landed between them like a curse.

“Yes,” Tripp said. He didn’t flinch.

Her knife clattered against her plate. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious.” He leaned forward, his elbows braced on the table. “Tell me something, Mother. How would you react if I got back together with her?”

His mother froze, silver poised in her hand, before she set it down with slow, deliberate grace.

Her voice, when it came, was venom wrapped in silk.

“Nicole Reyes was a mistake. She nearly derailed your future once, and she will do it again if you let her. That girl was nothing but a ladder-climber. A nobody. My son needs someone to help him reach the next level. Someone with a pedigree. Someone with connections.”

“For what?”

“Judge? Senator? President,” she said.

Tripp lowered his elbows off the table and resisted the urge to clench his fists, but his voice stayed calm. “Not happening. Nicole was everything. She is everything. And I was a fool to let you convince me otherwise.”

Where she’d ever gotten the notion he wanted a career in politics, he had no idea. What mattered now was that she faced the truth, owned what she’d done to him and Nicole, and made a choice. Either accept Nicole, or resign herself to becoming an old, bitter, lonely woman.

Her eyes flashed, cold and hard. “I convinced you of nothing. You came to your senses. You realized what kind of girl she was, grasping, needy, willing to trap you if you were too blind to see it.”

The woman was delusional, her memory dulled by time and twisted to fit her own version of the truth.

The reality was far different—he’d been abandoned on his college doorstep, a hollowed-out shell, a broken young man left to pick apart the ruins of what had happened, desperate to understand why his world had been ripped away.

The words sliced at old wounds, but Tripp didn’t let them show. “You can repeat your script all you want, Mother. It doesn’t change the truth. I loved her then. I love her now.”

Her composure cracked, the guise slipping to reveal the woman beneath.

Her voice turned sharp, vulgar. “Love?” She spat out the word as if it were filth.

“Don’t talk to me about love. Love is weakness.

Love ruins men. What lasts is money, family, and the name you pass on to others.

Do you really think that girl could carry our name with dignity?

She’s trash, Tripp. She always was. And her family… really, son. Gutter trash.”

For a long moment, he just stared at her. He saw not the elegant society matron she wanted the world to see, but the truth beneath it: a woman who had built her life on control, who would poison anyone who threatened her grip on it.

“What happened to make you so cruel?”

She didn’t respond.

Slowly, he rose, pushing back his chair. His voice was steady and low, yet it carried. “Then you don’t want me around any longer.”

Her head snapped up. “What did you say?”

He leaned across the table, holding her gaze without flinching. “Because when Nicole and I get back together, and we will, we are not going to let family destroy us a second time.”

The chandelier hummed faintly overhead. Neither of them moved.

Finally, his mother scoffed, lifting her glass of wine as though dismissing him.

“You’re a fool, Dustin. Mark my words: that girl will be the end of you. Don’t expect me at your wedding. The birth of your first child or anything else. In fact, don’t think I won’t sell the law firm.”

Threats. More and more threats. He’d had enough. Time for it to end.

“All my life, you’ve been threatening me if I don’t do things your way.” Tripp straightened, adjusting his jacket. “Do it. Sell the firm. At least, I’ll finally be living my own life without your threats.”

He turned, walked across the polished floor, and left her sitting alone at her perfect table.

For the first time in twenty years, he didn’t look back. It felt good to call out her threats. After the trial, he’d see about his own law firm, one with Nicole.

“By the way, I’m moving out Saturday,” he said.

He heard her wine glass hit the floor. Damn, she was mad. Good.

Like any son, he loved his mother, but he loved Nicole more. Seeing her again, all the old feelings had returned like a tsunami crashing toward shore.

When this trial was over, they were going to be together. He expected the trial to end tomorrow, when he introduced new evidence. Evidence that had been right in front of him all along. Evidence that would spin this trial on its head.

Time to be a good lawyer, and then he could have Nicole back.