CHAPTER 16
Viveka
I give a critical review of my makeup in the mirror, and I’m satisfied with the outcome. One could certainly argue it’s unnecessary because Ford’s clearly interested in more than just my looks.
But I can’t help it.
I’m a girl who likes to primp. I like pretty clothes, dressing up, and putting forth my best. I’m sure a psychologist would agree that is something left over from my modeling days, but I choose to embrace it.
As I start to reach for my hairdryer I have in a large basket on my vanity, Ford walks into the bathroom. His eyes lock with mine, and they don’t even bother to scan my nude body. This alone would indicate something is wrong, but I can tell by the hard lock to his jaw that whatever he’s getting ready to tell me is not good.
I reach my hand down to the vanity and brace myself.
“Your mother is here,” Ford says quietly.
Of all the things I thought he might say to me that would explain the grave expression on his face, I was not prepared for that.
“My mother?” I gasp. She had said she was going to come visit, but she never confirmed that.
Ford gives a curt nod. “Want me to… um… Do something with her?”
The uncertainty in his voice coupled with the fierce determination to be a buffer for me is adorable and makes me laugh. “What are you going to do—encase her feet in cement and throw her in the Neuse River?”
Ford rolls his eyes. “No, smartass. But if you want me to ask her to leave and tell her you are indisposed, I’ll gladly do so.”
That would be lovely. That way I can go on having a pleasant evening, and I can pretend that my mother doesn’t give me immense heartburn.
Instead, I give a pained sigh as I shake my head. “No. I’ll deal with her.”
I make my way back into the bedroom, grateful Ford had shut the door behind him. I don’t want to think about my mother eavesdropping on us. I’m sure she has a million questions about who Ford is and why he’s in my house.
I grab a pair of yoga pants out of a dresser drawer, a loose T-shirt out of another, as well as a clean pair of panties and a bra from yet a third. Ford watches me as I get dressed, a contemplative look on his face.
“What?” I ask.
He gives a quick shake of his head. “Nothing. But it’s uncanny how much you and your mother resemble each other. You could pass as sisters.”
“Good Swedish genes, I guess.” I mutter.
I move to the door but before I can reach for the knob, Ford stops me with an arm around my stomach. “Do you want me to leave?”
God, that is so fucking sweet.
Sure, one might say it’s too early to introduce Ford to my mother because we haven’t been together long, but my mother is not a typical parent whose opinion matters in these things. She’s more like a casual acquaintance. As it stands, I have a deeper relationship with this man I’ve known for eight days than I do with the woman who bore me.
“Please don’t go,” I tell him. “I’m going to shamelessly use you as a buffer.”
The breath is absolutely sucked out of my lungs by the beautiful smile Ford bestows upon me. If I had to guess, I really appealed to his alpha protectiveness. While I know Ford respects me as a woman and the fact I am independent, it’s obvious any opportunity he can use to be the protector in this relationship, he’s going to want to take it.
I hold my hand out to him palm up. He places his against mine, and our fingers clasp. “Let’s do this.”
“I’ve got your back,” Ford says as I pull the bedroom door open. Then in a lower voice, he says, “And what a gorgeous back it is.”
I don’t have to look over my shoulder as I lead him down the hallway to know his eyes are pinned on my ass. I can feel the weight of them just fine.
When I step out of my short hallway and into my living room, I can’t help that futile moment of longing that hits me when I first lay eyes on my mother. After thirty-six years as her daughter, I have never stopped wishing she could be the type of mother I want.
The type of mother I need.
But when her eyes come to me for a cursory glance that results in a slightly disapproving grimace, and then go to Ford for a lingering look of approval, I know my wishes won’t ever be granted.
There is no denying my mother is stunning.
Tilde Sjögren Wroth is fifty-three, and Ford would not be wrong with saying we could pass as sisters. She has never had plastic surgery to my knowledge, but her face is almost completely untouched by time.
Dewy fresh skin, a tall lithe body, and lustrous blonde hair she wears in a sleek shoulder-length bob. Her makeup is flawless, and her clothes are perfection. To the casual eye, her blue chambray shirt tied at her waist paired with white skinny jeans and flats done in a leopard print could be an outfit off the rack from Target. But because it’s my mother and I know her, I’d bet my life every stitch of clothing on her is designer label and probably costs more than what I make in a week.
Simply put, she is stylish, stunning, and one of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen.
I had told Ford one night as we lay in bed about the relationship I had with my mother. He’d already known the basics of how she had dragged me off to the States to relive her glory days as a model. He knew all about me emancipating myself from my mother. Ford is well up to date on what my life has been like since then.
But I didn’t bother to tell him much about the woman she became after I left New York and she had to learn to survive on her own.
She’s currently married to her third husband since she lost me as a money source. While she loves to dally with younger men, for marriage, the older and richer the better. Stephan totally fit the bill. He’s a nice guy, if not a little gullible in believing Tilde married him for his personality.
Even though Stephan is eighty-three, he’s in pretty good health and I’m sure that’s to my mother’s great dismay. Not that it matters. As long as he indulges her with any luxury she could want as well as not be too demanding of her time, she’s perfectly happy to ride the marriage out until Stephan dies of natural causes. I have no clue if he’s going to leave his wealth to her, but it’s also none of my business.
“Viveka,” my mother says in a rich, cultured voice that borders on irritation. “Could you please put those dogs up?”
I note that my dogs are being extremely well behaved. They do bark on occasion, but they never jump on visitors. Right now, they are busy sniffing my mother’s legs.
I ignore her request. “It’s nice to see you again too, Mor.”
My mother sniffs at me in an offended way, but she’s mollified somewhat that I called her Mor, which is Swedish for mother.
But I’m really not what’s important. She’s found something far more interesting, and she turns her attention to Ford. This is not surprising in the least. If my mother is in a room with a mixture of people, her attention has always been on the male persuasion. She steps forward and holds out an elegantly manicured hand loaded with sparkly jewelry. “We didn’t formally introduce ourselves earlier. Tilde Sjögren.”
Ford leans toward her and shakes her hand. “Ford Daniels.”
He tries to pull his hand away, but my mother doesn’t let go. She brings up her other hand to clasp his tightly. “It is an absolute pleasure.”
I want to roll my eyes, but I stopped doing that over my mother’s antics around the time I decided to get emancipation. It’s when I realized my mother has a true nature, and it won’t change.
Tilde turns to me, still clamped down on Ford’s hand, and purrs, “He’s quite a catch, Viveka.”
And then she leans toward me and gives a little giggle that sounds absolutely ludicrous. She lowers her voice as if Ford can’t hear her, but he totally can. “If I was just ten years younger…”
She lets that hang in the air, an invitation to the man who might be interested in what she just offered.
Ford merely pulls his hand away from her. He steps over to me where he puts his arm around my waist. It’s an overt move and completely unnecessary if he did it to soothe me. I have never been jealous of my mother’s overtures toward other men before.
I watched her try it on anyone I dated as well as my ex-husband. One thing I can say is the modeling business built my skin up very thickly, and I learned how to let a lot of stuff roll off my back. Moreover, I am a confident woman. What I just did to Ford in my bedroom rocked his world, and there was no way he’d be looking twice at Tilde for that.
My mother, of course, does not like this rebuff. She fully expected me to giggle right along with her as if we were the oldest of pals. She also expected Ford to flirt with her, because let’s face it… most men do. She’s an exquisitely sexy woman.
“What are you doing here, Mor?” I ask lightly, and her attention comes back to me with narrowed eyes.
I’ve offended her with my cool tone and in my refusal to play her games. She lets her eyes roam over me critically, and I brace for her bitterness.
When she brings her eyes back to mine, she says, “Honestly, Vivvy… What are you doing to yourself? Have you gained weight?”
Ford’s body goes rigid beside me at the overt slap my mother just gave me. I hate that Ford doesn’t know enough about our relationship to realize this is par for the course. I am sure he’s shocked at her behavior.
But if he is going to stick around for any length of time, he needs to learn and the best way is to observe firsthand.
I give my mother a bright smile instead. “I don’t know, Mor. I don’t own a scale. I stopped worrying about what I weighed years ago. Right around the time I stopped modeling, actually.”
And then I dig the knife in because my mother is itching for battle, and I always refuse to give it.
Instead, I give her the most flattering compliment I can. “But you look amazing. I only hope I can be as beautiful as you are when I get to be your age.”
Ford makes a choking sort of noise and my mother blinks at me rapidly as if she can’t understand what I’m saying. She has no clue if I’m joking or making fun of her.
I’m not. What I said was absolutely true.
My mother gets frustrated that she can’t figure me out. The only way she knows how to get the upper hand is to try to tear me down further. She has never forgiven me for abandoning modeling and consequently abandoning her.
My mother turns to Ford as she throws a thumb my way. “That one threw away an amazing career. She could have been famous. One of the highest earning models in history. But her lack of ambition was her downfall sadly.”
Again, I struggle to stop the eye roll. This is Tilde’s version of mom guilt, and she’s laying it on thick. Unfortunately for her, it stopped having an effect on me long ago.
When Ford’s body locks tight beside me again, I know he’s taken great offense.
I open my mouth to distract my mother as this is starting to get awkward, but Ford is going to have his say. “I think your daughter’s ambition is perhaps greater than any I’ve ever seen before. She put herself through college and law school. Used her brains to get ahead in life. Now I don’t mean to malign the modeling industry or to make light of what hard work she put into that early career, but I imagine if you really knew everything your daughter has accomplished, you would indeed be a very proud parent.”
Again like an owl, my mother just blinks and blinks, trying to understand what Ford said. In her world, men don’t appreciate women with intelligence. They want a sexy body and a beautiful face. It’s unfathomable to my mother to think otherwise.
Using a bright, cheery voice I hold in special reserve to irritate the hell out of my mother, I say, “How long are you in town? Because Ford and I were on the way out the door for long-standing plans that we cannot cancel.”
My mother sort of jerks as if stunned I’m not canceling my plans to spend time with her. Maybe I’m being an awful child by doing so, but the amount of loyalty I have for my mother due to our blood ties is nominal.
“Dinner tomorrow night?” she proposes in a clipped voice. “I’ll be flying out Sunday.”
I grit my teeth because there’s no way out of this without being a real bitch, and besides… she is my mother. She could still evolve, I suppose. And I never would want any regrets if God forbid something happened to her and I missed an opportunity to spend some time with her—however unpleasant it might be. “That will work.”
“And Ford…” My mother turns her charms his way, leaning over and touching his arm. “You simply must come, too.”
Um… no.
Not going to let Ford suffer with me. “I’m sure Ford has better things to do than—”
“I’d love to,” he says, giving my waist a squeeze, not as a reassurance but more of a warning for me not to argue with him.
Alpha jerk.
Hot jerk.
My mother gives me a gracious incline of her head and a sweet—but fake—smile. “Call me tomorrow and we’ll firm up plans. I’m staying at the Renaissance.”
Of course she’s staying at the Renaissance. There’s no way she would ever want to stay at my house because first and foremost, it’s not high class enough for her. I can’t afford twelve-hundred thread count sheets. Mostly, I know it’s because she brought her boy toy to North Carolina with her and she would want privacy.
I pull away from Ford to walk my mother to the door. She turns and gives me an air kiss near one cheek and then another. She doesn’t even glance at Ford before she walks out.
I shut the door, turning the deadbolt in case she decides to come back in. Slowly, I turn around to face Ford. I lean back against the door and give a long-suffering sigh.
He grimaces. “So that was your mom, huh?”
I blow out a shaky breath because for all of my confidence I’m able to show my mother when I’m face to face, it’s quite draining to deal with her. “That’s my mother.”
Ford walks to me and pinches my chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger. He tilts my head up to look at him. “How did you turn out so normal?”
I place the palms of my hands on his chest and give him a little pat. “Who’s to say I’m not a whack job?”
Ford’s grip on my chin tightens, and his eyes darken slightly. “You are not a whack job. And I’m an excellent judge of character.”
“You’re sweet,” I tell him.
I go to my tiptoes, which dislodges Ford’s hold on me, and I press my mouth to his for a soft kiss.
When I come back down to my heels, Ford wraps a hand around the back of my neck. “I think you’re amazing. And maybe perhaps your greatest accomplishment wasn’t putting yourself through school, but rather deciding not to be the type of person your mother is.”
My stomach flops over, and there is a sweetly aching pain in the center of my chest. It’s not just that Ford always seems to say the right things, but that he says them without any thought.
It means that what I am hearing is coming straight from his heart.
And I have to say, a girl could really get used to this type of honest talk from a man.