Chapter 90

Cecilia

The morning sun streamed through the kitchen windows as I watched Arthur move around our kitchen.

"Coffee?" he asked, already pouring me a cup.

"Please." I settled onto one of the bar stools. "What are you making?"

"Omelets. And those croissants you like." He glanced at me with a slight smile.

My heart did that stupid fluttery thing it always did when he was being sweet.

He set a plate in front of me, then came around the counter to press a kiss to my forehead.

I was about to respond when my phone buzzed on the counter. I glanced at the screen and felt my stomach drop.

I'm downstairs, darling. Come let me in.

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked immediately, reading my expression.

"My mother." I showed him the text. "She's here. Now. I thought she was coming later—"

The phone buzzed again.

I have luggage. Please hurry.

"Luggage?" I stared at the screen. "What the hell—"

"Go," Arthur said quietly. "I'll be here when you get back."

I grabbed my keys and headed for the elevator, my mind racing. Luggage? Why would she have luggage?

The moment I stepped into the lobby, I saw her. Evelyn Gray stood near the entrance, surrounded by what looked like half a dozen designer suitcases, her hair perfect, her makeup flawless, looking like she'd just stepped out of a magazine spread.

"Cecilia!" She brightened when she saw me.

"Mom." I looked at the luggage. "What's all this?"

"Oh, didn't I mention?" She waved a hand dismissively. "I'm staying with you for a while. Just until I get settled."

My brain short-circuited. "You're—what?"

"Staying with you." She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Come on, help me with these bags. The doorman was absolutely useless."

I stood there, frozen, trying to process what was happening. Then I saw the doorman—who'd always been nothing but helpful—giving me an apologetic look, and I realized my mother had probably been terrorizing him.

"Right," I said finally. "Let me—just give me a second."

I called Arthur. He answered on the first ring.

"She has luggage," I said without preamble. "Multiple suitcases. She says she's staying with us."

There was a pause. "Bring her up."

"Arthur—"

"Bring her up, Ceci. We'll figure it out."

I hung up and turned to my mother, forcing a smile. "Okay. Let's go."

Getting all the luggage into the elevator took three trips. By the time we finally made it to our floor, I was sweating, and my mother hadn't lifted a finger to help.

"This is nice," she said as we entered the apartment, her eyes scanning everything with that particular assessing look she had. "A bit small, but nice."

"It's perfect for us," I said, more defensively than I intended.

Arthur appeared from the kitchen, still wearing his apron, and I saw my mother's expression shift into something I couldn't quite read.

"Arthur," she said, her voice taking on a warmer quality. "well, I told Cecilia I wanted it to be just us."

"Mrs. Gray." Arthur's voice was perfectly polite, perfectly neutral. "It's good to see you again."

"Please, call me Evelyn." She moved closer. "And I really did want some mother-daughter time. You understand, don't you?"

"Of course." Arthur's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Though I'm afraid I can't leave Cecilia alone just yet. Doctor's orders—someone needs to be here in case she needs help with her injuries."

It was a lie, after all, I’ve fully recovered. And we both knew it. But my mother didn't.

"Oh." She looked between us, and I could see the calculation in her eyes. "Well, I suppose that makes sense."

"Mom," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Can I talk to you in the bedroom for a minute?"

"Of course, darling."

I practically dragged her down the hallway.

The moment we were in the bedroom with the door closed, I turned to face her. "What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" She was already pulling out a small wrapped box. "I brought you an engagement gift. I know it's not much—I came back in such a hurry, and money's been tight—"

"Money's been tight?" I repeated. "You married a count."

Her expression flickered. "Yes, well. The count is... traditional. Very controlling about finances. He gives me an allowance, but it's not—"

She stopped, her eyes filling with tears. "Oh, Ceci. You don't know what it's been like. He treats me terribly. I couldn't stay there anymore. I needed to get away, to breathe."

I stared at her, trying to figure out if she was telling the truth or if this was another manipulation. With my mother, it was always so hard to tell.

"I can’t keep living in your father’s house forever. So I want to live with you." The tears were falling now, and god help me, part of me wanted to believe her. "I'm sorry, darling. I know this is awkward. But I'm your mother. Surely you can understand—"

I pulled out my wallet and handed her several bills. "Here. Get a hotel room. Somewhere nice. My treat."

She took the money quickly, too quickly, and I felt something cold settle in my chest.

"Mom, I live with Arthur. It's not—"

"Oh, I know it’s not a big deal. I don't mind." She waved a hand. "I'm sure we can all manage. Besides, it'll give us a chance to catch up properly."

"I really think a hotel would be better—"

"Cecilia." Her voice took on that particular edge. "Are you really going to turn your own mother away? After everything I've been through?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," I called, grateful for the interruption.

Arthur stepped inside, and I could tell from his expression that he'd heard everything. Of course he had. The walls in this apartment weren't exactly thick.

"Mrs. Gray," he said. "You're welcome to stay here as long as you need."

I turned to stare at him. "Arthur—"

"We have plenty of space." His eyes met mine, and there was something in them—a warning, maybe, or a reassurance. "It's no trouble at all."

My mother's face lit up. "Oh, thank you, Arthur. You're so kind. I promise I won't be any trouble."

She swept past both of us, heading back toward the living room, and I grabbed Arthur's arm.

"What are you doing?" I hissed.

"Trust me," he murmured. "I have a plan."

Before I could respond, my mother called out from the kitchen. "Oh, is this breakfast? How lovely. I'm starving."

I looked at Arthur. He gave me a small smile and squeezed my hand.

"Come on," he said. "Let's eat."

We sat down at the kitchen counter, my mother chattering away about her flight and the weather and how lovely the apartment was, and I tried to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach.

After breakfast, Arthur pulled me aside while my mother was busy examining my gramophone.

"The bedroom," he said quietly. "Now."

I followed him, my heart pounding. The moment the door closed, I turned to face him.

"Arthur, what the hell—"

"The engagement party," he said, cutting me off. "I've been planning it. At Black Peak Estate."

I blinked. "What?"