LEAH
Stifling humid air blew in through the open window beside me.
My hands rested on the top of the steering wheel, my wrists crossed. I imagined that an outsider might think I was posing for a photo or something.
In reality, I was just paralyzed with apprehension.
Despite the numerous warnings from James and even a stern call from Julia, I sat in my car, parked outside a quaint French bistro. In approximately thirty seconds, I would be expected inside.
My stomach was a jumble of interconnected emotions.
James begged me not to come. He said his mother went off her rocker and that she was unpredictable in this state.
His mother terrified me as it was. I knew shaking the already-agitated beehive wasn't smart.
But I also couldn't allow this woman to trample me for the rest of my life.
She needed to come to terms with the fact that her son and I were in love and we were planning a future together.
I wanted her to be involved, as much as detested her, because she was his mother, at the end of the day. She raised this man I fell so hard for.
This was her last chance, though. I would not be bullied by her childish, elitist mannerisms any longer.
I sucked in a breath and gathered my purse from the passenger seat. Sliding out of my Mercedes, I strode across the parking lot to the bistro doors.
Inside, the place was sparsely populated. A few older couples and a handful of people in church attire were seated at the tables spread around the room.
Midday sunlight streamed in through the windows. I fussed with my curled hair and made my way to the hostess stand.
My eyes searched the occupied tables for a familiar tuft of dyed hair. I felt more anxious when I didn't see anyone who looked even remotely like Marie Muller.
"Just one?" the hostess asked me.
"Oh, no. I'm meeting someone here. She might have made a reservation—"
"Leah," called a shrill, crisp voice.
The hostess and I both turned to acknowledge the woman herself.
She stood between us and the kitchen with a black pencil skirt and matching suit jacket. Her dark hair was styled fashionably in an updo on her head.
With one withering look, I felt myself instinctively retreat into my shell. This woman appeared ready for battle.
"This way," she said impatiently, gesturing for me to follow her.
I glanced at the hostess, who seemed just as startled as me. Shrugging, I hurried to catch up with the older woman's long legs.
"You're late," Mrs. Muller said.
"Sorry?" I checked my watch. "My watch has the time—"
"You're only on time if you're early, Miss Harris," she chided. "If you're on time, then you're late."
I scowled at her perfectly ironed back. What the hell kind of stupid rule was that?
And what did she think this was? A propriety lesson?
Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to hold onto the resentment prickling at my skin. I let the feeling fester and take root in my chest so that I would remember to be strong for myself. I would not be this woman's doormat.
We turned into a conference room with one long table and a wall full of windows overlooking downtown.
"So, do you own this place?" I asked.
She certainly acted like it.
She flashed me a bitter smile, gesturing for me to sit across the table from her. We sat at the last two chairs at the end of the table.
"We own the chain," she told me. Her words were coated in venom. "Now, let's cut to the chase. I'm not here to waste my precious time when enough has been squandered already."
I gaped at her. Her evident disdain for me was still somehow shocking.
Two waiters dressed in back uniforms entered the room with domed trays. I sat back in my seat to mentally process where this conversation was going.
The food was placed in front of us and the domed lids were removed. I looked at the bowl of house salad in front of me and then at the plated lamb rack in front of her.
How typical. Should have seen this one coming.
Pushing the salad away, I lifted my eyes to Marie. She cut gingerly into the meat on her plate.
"What do you want from me?" I asked.
If she didn't want to play games, I wouldn't pussy foot either. I wanted this conversation to be over and it had hardly begun.
"What do you think, child?" she said, tongue sharp with mockery. "To inform you that you will not be marrying my son."
Her eyes fell to my left hand. I followed the path of her intense focus to my well-endowed ring finger.
"Why do you think you have the authority to make this decision for him?" I said. "He is an adult. He doesn't need your permission for anything, as far as I'm concerned."
"As his mother, it is my job to guide him in the direction that will benefit him most," she cut back, stabbing a forkful of meat in her mouth.
She chewed thoughtfully before swallowing.
"I don't know who you're trying to convince here," I said, laughing a little. "I love your son. Nothing you say or do is going to change my feelings for him. And I trust him enough to believe the same goes for him."
The woman threw her head back and laughed once, the noise cold and empty.
"You think I care about your feelings?" she sneered in disbelief. "This isn't about you, selfish child. This is about my son. The only one I have left, no thanks to you."
I chuckled bitterly and shook my head. "If this is all you have to say to me," I said, "I'm leaving."
Standing, I threw my purse over my shoulder and turned to leave.
Her next words rooted me in place.
"What if I told you that marrying James would put his safety at risk?"
I froze. Her question sent a cold chill down my spine.
Clenching my jaw, I faced her again.
Her utensils were down, her half-empty plate aside. She watched me with a strange sense of calmness. A calmness that I sensed masked layers of underlying fear.
"What safety risk?" I demanded.
"You can't outrun your demons forever, darling," she said. "They always catch up eventually."
"I don't have demons," I grit out.
"You're only deceiving yourself, darling."
She looked unusually pale as she rose from her seat. I could only stare at her, petrified and confused.
"My son does not deserve to be another victim of your sinister ways," she hissed.
She rounded the table and leered down at me. I gripped my purse strap tighter.
"This is your last warning, Leah Harris," she said. "Leave my son alone, or you'll regret it."
I blinked, mouth agape.
"Are you threatening me?" I demanded, completely astonished by this woman's behavior.
"Your actions will determine what my words are. Either a warning or a threat—that's up to you."
"I'm sorry, but what do you think this will accomplish?" I insisted. "I'm not stalking your son. I'm not forcing him to keep me as an assistant. I didn't manipulate or bribe him into proposing to me. He's with me because he wants to be. Because we're happy."
"Happiness is fleeting." She waved a dismissive hand at me. "You'll learn that soon enough."
I shook my head. I was bitterly disappointed with how this conversation had gone.
"He loves you," I reminded her. "I would never want to get in the way of that. But I can tell you with certainty that you are going to push him away."
Her eyes shined with tears. She struggled for a moment before her frosty facade slid back into place.
"I will always do what I must to protect my children," she said. "Someday, I hope you understand that."
She turned to leave but I knew I wasn't done yet. I was at least entitled to a few answers.
"Wait," I called out. "I have one more question."
She paused.
"Did you hear about Timothy García?"
"What about him?" she asked, and I could hear the eye roll in her tone.
"He's dead," I said. "OD'd in his car just after his release on parole."
My eyes remained fixed on the side of her face. She was still for a moment, then she shrugged slightly.
"Good riddance," she remarked.
I frowned, noticing the edge to her forceful, almost awkward body language.
Marie released a little breath and then strutted off.
I waited a moment, my mind whirling with emotion and speculations, before storming out of the restaurant.