The Dare Collection: March 2018. Nicola Marsh

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      ‘Abigail, those dark circles under your eyes could do with a thicker concealer.’

      ‘Abigail, that shade of coral lipstick makes you look too pale. Try a vivid pink.’

      I’d tolerated her beauty advice because it was her thing, like I accepted her criticisms of everything from my wardrobe to my haircut. She was my mother and it’d been easier to acquiesce than cause dissension and ultimately get the silent treatment. I’d hated when she’d ignored me.

      Ironic, as she’d given me the ultimate silent treatment over the last twelve months.

      If she’d been trying to teach me a lesson, it hadn’t worked. The only thing I’d learned was that I should’ve escaped my parents’ shadows and started living my own life a long time ago. And that I couldn’t trust those closest to me, despite how much I loved them.

      Hoping the emotion clogging my throat wouldn’t make my voice shaky, I said, ‘I’m busy, so maybe we can catch up another time?’

      She wrinkled her nose, considering she couldn’t wrinkle her perfectly smooth Botoxed brow. ‘You don’t have to be busy, you know. Working at that pastry place, going to school here once a week.’ She waved her hand at the TAFE, then in front of her nose, like the place stank. ‘It’s beneath you.’

      Ice trickled through my veins. This definitely wasn’t how I’d envisaged our first meeting after a year. There were no kind words, no professions of missing me, no hugs.

      Instead, it was the same old. Mum telling me what I should and shouldn’t be doing.

      I crossed my arms across my middle, desperate to quell the hollow ache that her indifference elicited. ‘How do you know where I work?’

      Not that I particularly cared what the answer was. They’d obviously wanted to keep an eye on me, to ensure I hadn’t entered prostitution or anything similarly nefarious that would bring disrepute on the precious Prendigast name.

      ‘You know your father likes to keep tabs on everyone.’ She patted my arm, the briefest touch that conveyed nothing but condescension. ‘We care—’

      ‘Cut the crap, Mum. If you cared, you would’ve tried to contact me over the last year. To at least pretend you loved me more than keeping up appearances. To show you were worried about me rather than your reputation.’ My voice had risen and several students glanced our way, so I blew out a calming breath. ‘Look, arguing is pointless. I need to get to class so—’

      ‘Come home,’ she said, her expression dour as she stared at me with distaste. Heaven forbid a Prendigast showed real emotion. ‘It’s not too late. You can salvage your marriage to that poor boy Bardley, resume the life you should have, repair our name—’

      ‘You don’t get it,’ I said, mentally counting to ten to quell the rising anger making my hands shake. ‘I’m happy. I’m leading the life I want, not the life you want me to.’

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped, bitterness twisting her mouth. ‘You’re behaving like a child. You’ve had your fun for a year, time to grow up.’

      I stared at the woman who’d given birth to me, with her powder-blue designer suit, perfectly streaked blond hair, immaculate make-up and a handbag that would pay my rent for two years.

      My mother.

      Who wouldn’t know the meaning of the word if it jumped up and bit her on her surgically tightened ass.

      A few moments ago, I’d been filled with hope that she’d sought me out to offer a smidgeon of understanding, that she’d finally understood my rationale for walking away from my old life and wanted to embrace me with acceptance.

      What a crock.

      Bone-deep disappointment shook me to my core. I loved my parents; all I expected was to be loved in return. But this wasn’t love. And if I was completely honest with myself, had they ever loved me at all?

      Love wasn’t controlling and dominant and angry. Love didn’t expect me to acquiesce and bow down to the heavy weight of expectations. Love didn’t leave me alone for twelve long months, without making the slightest overture to heal a rift.

      The ache in my stomach spread into my chest, reaching outward until I could hardly breathe. I needed to escape, to get away from her obvious disapproval.

      There was no love here, only judgement, and I couldn’t tolerate it a moment longer.

      ‘Bye, Mum. Don’t contact me again.’

      How I managed to get the words out without breaking down I’d never know, but I did, sounding surprisingly calm when I was a screaming mess inside. A seething mass of emotion that threatened to spurt out of my eyes in a torrent.

      My mother drew herself up, squaring her shoulders for a fight that would never come. Because I was done. ‘Abigail! Don’t you dare walk away from me.’

      So I did just that, without looking back.

       CHAPTER TWENTY

      Tanner

      ‘WHAT THE HELL did you tell those doctors to bully them into discharging me early?’ Remy propped on his elbow crutches, grinning at me with newfound respect the following Tuesday. ‘On second thoughts, I don’t give a flying fig what you said. I’m just rapt to be going home.’

      ‘And back to work as long as you keep off that ankle and just supervise,’ I added, playing the solicitous brother to the end and feeling like a fraud because of it.

      Getting Remy discharged from hospital hadn’t been an altruistic act on my part. I needed him back at Le Miel.

      So I could leave.

      Continuing to work alongside Abby after this morning was untenable.

      For the first time ever, when I’d woken next to a woman after another incredible night of sex, I hadn’t wanted to leave.

      I’d wanted to stay. In her bed. In her apartment. In her life.

      Ensuring I had to leave pronto.

      I wasn’t a forever kind of guy. I’d end up driving away anyone who got too close. I’d had that drummed into me from a young age, the reason why I’d made such a big effort with Remy to prove Dad’s prediction wrong. At least he’d died knowing I was loyal to my brother. I hoped he choked on the knowledge when he looked up at me from hell every single day.

      ‘I can’t thank you enough for holding down the fort while I’ve been in hospital.’ Remy cleared his throat as I picked up his bag. ‘You’ve been amazing.’

      ‘Save the mushy crap for someone who cares,’ I said, sounding just as gruff as we exited his room and made our way slowly up the corridor towards the exit. ‘Do you want me to drop you home or at Le Miel?’

      ‘The patisserie, of course.’ He waved one crutch around. ‘The ankle feels fine in the boot and these СКАЧАТЬ