Page 114 of The Singles Club

The door swung open, and she stood there with a hand on her hip. “Glad to see you could finally make it.”

I walked in, ignoring her sarcasm. “You could have come by my place.”

She pursed her lips. “The apartment where your father had sex with his mistress? How charming.”

“Could we not do this now and at least try and have an enjoyable night before I leave?”

She didn’t answer and headed toward the wet bar. “Wine or something stronger?”

“Wine, please.”

She handed me a chilled bottle of Chardonnay along with an opener, and then started on her gin martini. “You’ve lost weight. Have you been working out?”

I reached for a glass. “Sort of. I was taking dance lessons.”

“Really? With who?”

I should have just given a simple yes to the question and avoided this conversation.

“Just a friend.”

She smirked as her eyebrow shot up. “Last minute boy toy before Paris?”

My jaw clenched as I popped open the bottle. “No, it wasn’t like that.”

She eyed me as I poured the wine. “Please don’t tell me you’ve fallen for him.”

I ignored her question with a gulp of Chardonnay.

She shook the metal cup filled with ice and strained the liquid into her glass. “Are you dating him?”

“No.”

“Good.” She sipped her martini and sat down next to me at the bar island. “I know I don’t say this often, but you are young, beautiful, and talented. Don’t waste that on a man. It’s not worth it.”

Beautiful and talented weren’t two compliments my mother gave often, but I’d heard versions of her spiel on how men ruin women for most of my life.

“Some men are worth it,” I whispered.

“What are you saying? That this man you’re in love with is worth giving up Paris? Your career? The parties and a lifestyle you love?”

I traced my finger along the glass. “What if I don’t love that lifestyle anymore?”

“Vivian, please.” My mother batted away my words with a flick of her wrist. “Do you know how many women would kill to have the opportunity you have? Fashion jobs in Paris are not easy to come by. You’ve wanted this since you were fifteen years old.”

“No. It’s whatyouwanted for me.”

“Then what is it that youdowant?” She held out her hands mockingly. “Husband, kids, white picket fence? Maybe massage his feet after long nights at the office?”

I rubbed at my forehead. “Not all men cheat.”

She let out a sarcastic chuckle. “One out of every 2.7 married couples will have an affair. You have better odds playing a game of Russian roulette, for crying out loud.”

“Yes, but there are still 1.7 couples who don’t.” I pushed my wine away. “I can’t do this anymore with you.”

“You can’t do what anymore? Handle honesty?”

I stood up. “You want honesty? I mean,realhonesty?”