Page 25 of Unbreakable Bonds (The Boston Romance #2)

ALISHA

For he fourth time this morning, I tear through my closet like a woman possessed. Too sexy, too revealing, too bright... Every rejected outfit lands in a growing heap on my bed. My hands shake as I push another dress aside. Since when do I care this much about what someone thinks of my clothes?

I find my phone buried under a blue strapless dress and hit speed dial. Moments later, Bella's face fills my screen, her artistic workspace visible in the background.

"Hey, enjoying the sex?" Her grin is knowing.

I force a laugh, trying to hide my nerves. "Yeah, I can't complain." If only she knew about this morning's bathroom adventure.

"Okay, spill." Bella leans closer to her camera. "Your face is doing that thing it does when you're freaking out."

"I need help." I pan my phone across the fashion carnage covering my bed. "I'm meeting Cole's mother today."

"Ah." Understanding floods her features. "And you're trying to tone down the Alisha McQueen fabulousness to please Mama Walker?"

"No! Maybe. I don't know." I sink onto my bed, disturbing the mountain of clothes. "I just want to make a good impression."

"Girl, where is my best friend who doesn't give a damn what people think?" Bella's voice sharpens with concern. "Show me your options."

I prop the phone against my mirror and start holding up outfits. Bella's artistic eye assesses each one with careful consideration.

"The satin, soft-pink, knee-length dress," she finally declares. "But pair it with that bold red jacket and your signature heels."

My fingers trace the silky fabric. "You sure? What if it's too... me?"

"Hey." Bella's voice turns fierce. "Look at me, Alisha McQueen."

I meet her eyes through the screen.

"You're not some tea-sipping, wool-knitting, greyish girl. You're vibrant, you're colorful, and you're beautiful. If his mother can't appreciate that, it's her loss."

Warmth spreads through my chest. This is why I love her—she always knows exactly what to say. "Thanks, Bells." I blow her an air kiss. "Love you."

"Love you too. Now go knock her fancy socks off."

After hanging up, I slip into the outfit Bella suggested.

The dress hugs my curves without being scandalous, and the red jacket adds that pop of boldness I need to feel like myself.

I slide my feet into my statement-making red pumps—four inches of pure confidence—and pull my hair into a sleek high ponytail.

The woman in the mirror looks polished but powerful. Perfect. One swipe of my fire brigade lipstick, and I'm ready for battle.

Time to meet Mrs. Walker.

* * *

Cole

"Do you think she will eat these?" Samantha rearranges the cupcakes for the twelfth time, her fingers trembling slightly. "What should I call her?"

I press a kiss to the top of her head, trying to ease her obvious anxiety. "Relax, Sam. She isn't an actual dragon." Though she can breathe fire when she wants to.

A sharp knock echoes through the apartment. Sam's eyes go wide as she mumbles, "I'll reorganize them again."

I cross to the door in long strides, and the moment I open it, my brain short-circuits. Those legs. That dress. Those lips. Without thinking, I step outside and pull the door shut behind me.

Alisha's perfectly shaped eyebrow arches. "Uh, what are you doing? We're supposed to go inside, Walker."

"Yeah, but first..." I pull her against me, letting her feel exactly what that outfit is doing to me.

Her radiant smile breaks through when she feels my obvious reaction pressing against her abdomen. "Oh, your boy needs to cool off." Her hand brushes over my length, and I barely suppress a groan.

"Fuck." I capture those red lips in a hard kiss, desperate to taste her. Just as I'm about to suggest we forget this whole meeting and spend the day in bed instead, someone clears their throat behind us.

Shit.

Alisha spins around as I reluctantly lift my head. There stands my mother, arms crossed, lips pressed into that familiar disapproving line.

"Cole!" Her voice could freeze hell. "What kind of example are you setting for your daughter by behaving like some horny teenager?"

"Hey Mom, on time as always." I keep my voice deliberately casual, hands still possessively on Alisha's hips. No way am I letting my mother's disapproval affect us.

"Alisha, meet my mother, Carmen Walker." My thumb traces circles on Alisha's hip, steadying us both. "And Mom, this is Alisha McQueen. The woman I told you about."

Alisha steps forward, radiating confidence despite my mother's icy reception. "It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Walker."

My mother's eyes rake over Alisha's outfit like she's cataloging every perceived flaw. The slight twitch of her lips speaks volumes. After what feels like an eternity, she lets out a pointed cough.

"Why don't we go in? I'm here to meet my granddaughter."

I catch Alisha's hand, squeezing gently. When she turns to me, her smile doesn't quite reach those beautiful green eyes. Damn it, Mother.

The moment we're inside, my mom scans the living room like she's conducting a military inspection. I take her jacket, fighting the urge to roll my eyes as she straightens her already perfect outfit.

"So, where is she?"

"Easy, mother." I keep my voice neutral, but there's steel underneath. "Samantha is waiting in the kitchen, and I had to convince her you aren't a mean dragon that will eat her alive. So behave."

Alisha's soft chuckle behind me eases some of the tension in my shoulders. My mother ignores my comment—shocking—and marches toward the kitchen. The moment she spots Sam, she freezes.

"Oh, good heavens." Her hand flies to her chest, and for once, I see genuine emotion crack through her perfect facade.

Samantha sets down the cupcakes she's holding, nervously biting her lip. The gesture is so familiar—so Walker —it makes my chest tight.

"Mom," I clear my throat. "I'd like you to meet Samantha. And Samantha, this is my mother, Carmen Walker."

"H-hello," Sam manages, her eyes darting between us like a trapped animal.

What happens next stuns me. My mother—who hasn't shown genuine affection since my father died—crosses the room and pulls Samantha into a tight hug. I narrow my eyes, confused by this display from the woman who taught me that emotions were messy, unnecessary things.

Alisha's warm hand finds mine, grounding me as I watch my mother embrace my daughter. When she speaks, her voice catches.

"My goodness. Cole was right when he said you had the Walker genes. You have the same beautiful eyes as your grandfather."

The mention of my father hits like a physical blow. My fingers tighten around Alisha's as memories threaten to surface. Samantha's wide-eyed plea for help over my mother's shoulder snaps me back.

"Mom, can you let go of her? She likes to breathe, if you don't mind."

She releases Sam immediately, but the questions start firing like bullets. "How are you doing? Is your father treating you well?"

I watch my daughter's careful response, pride swelling as she handles the interrogation with grace. "I'm doing well, thank you. Cole has been very kind to me." Her fingers fidget with her ponytail—another Walker trait. "Would you like something to drink and a cupcake?"

When silence falls thick and awkward, I step in. "Hey, Mom, why don't we go into the living room and talk while Samantha and Alisha get the coffee, tea, and cupcakes?"

As my mother walks away, I turn to Alisha. "Can you check on Sam? See if she's okay?"

"Sure." Her understanding smile makes me want to kiss her again, mother be damned.

But first, time to face the dragon in her lair.

When I enter the living room, my mother perches in her chosen chair like it's a throne, her gaze fixed on the kitchen. I sink onto the sofa, already exhausted by what's coming.

"My lord, Samantha is a Walker." For a brief moment, genuine emotion flickers in her eyes. Then, like always, the mask slides back into place. "So, where is Samantha going to school?"

The tension in my neck doubles. Here we fucking go.

"Why is that important, Mother?"

"Because she's a Walker, Cole." She straightens her spine, fixing me with that familiar steel gaze. "She deserves an excellent education. Does she have any particular... talents?"

The demons I keep locked away rattle their chains at her words. Images flash through my mind—a grand piano, sheet music scattered across polished floors, my father's proud smile, blood on ivory keys...

"Don't go there, Mom." My voice rises despite my effort to stay calm. "She's going to an excellent school."

"Please tell me it's private. I have connections—"

"Mom!" The word cracks like a whip. "I don't need your help. I'm handling it myself."

Her jaw sets in that familiar stubborn line. Like looking in a mirror. "I'm only trying to help you, since you don't have experience with parenting."

I exhale between clenched teeth as she glances away, biting her lip. "Mom, I..."

The girls' entrance cuts me off. Samantha carries the cupcakes while Alisha manages the drinks with practiced grace. As she bends to set them on the coffee table, my body responds to the view. I shift, trying to redirect my thoughts from this morning's bathroom activities.

Samantha claims her favorite corner of the couch while Alisha settles beside me. My hand finds her leg automatically, needing her warmth to stay grounded.

For over an hour, my mother dominates the conversation. I watch her watching Samantha, calculating, planning. When she finally rises to leave, relief floods through me.

"Well, I think it's time for me to go. I am meeting up with Beatrice Banks, the wife of George Banks." Her eyes lock on mine before sliding to Samantha. "He's a teacher at Berklee College of Music."

"Oh, wow. That's cool!" Samantha's excited squeal makes my jaw clench.

Alisha lets out a soft "ahh" and taps my arm. I realize my fingers are digging into her flesh and quickly release her.

Standing, I fix my mother with a warning glare. "Mother, you're right. It's time for you to leave."