Chapter 3 My real mother is coming back

The wedding dress had pinched across Eleanor's chest, and Regina's ring had sat loose on her finger, but Eleanor had worn both and married Asher anyway.

Afterward, he worked himself mercilessly and treated her with painstaking care, compensating for every sacrifice with more money.

At first she wondered whether Regina had taught him that money was how a man kept someone from leaving. Then his tenderness won her over. Now, looking at the ten-million-dollar check on the table, she could not stop wondering how much of their marriage he had priced from the beginning.

At a quarter past eleven, headlights swept across the driveway. The housekeeper Mrs. Henderson had brought Emma home from her grandparents'.

Eleanor was still sitting on the sofa with the check on the coffee table in front of her, exactly where she had put it an hour before.

Emma came in without looking at her, walked past her as though she were a piece of furniture, and went straight upstairs.

Three minutes later she came back down, furious. "Eleanor! Why isn't my bath run?"

Eleanor came back to herself. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and pulled a smile together before she turned around. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I lost track of the time. I'll go and—"

Emma's eyes had already landed on the coffee table. She looked at the check, at the number written on it, and rolled her eyes so hard her whole head moved. "Another one. You don't do anything, you don't know anything, all you do is spend my dad's money."

Mrs. Henderson quickly mediated. "Emma, I'll run your bath. Madam was very tired today, and she's excellent at piano. She's an elegant artist."

Emma scoffed. "What artist? If she's really capable, why is she just a part-time teacher now? She's never even won an award!"

Mrs. Henderson's voice rose. "Madam gave it up for you. When you were little, she never had time to sit at a piano at all, and she only started playing again after you were old enough for school. She has given up a great deal for this family."

"She did it to herself and now she wants a medal for it. I never needed her to take care of me."Emma said.

Eleanor felt her chest tighten, struggling to stay calm. "Emma, I'm your mother. You shouldn't talk to me like this."

Emma's face flushed red, but she still stubbornly said, "You're not my mother! My real mother is a great artist. She's holding an art exhibition. She's much better than you! You're a parasite, that's all you are, living off my dad's money!"

After saying this, Emma stamped her foot and ran upstairs, with Mrs. Henderson hurrying after her.

Eleanor felt a sharp pang in her heart at Emma's words.

For eight years, she had truly cared for Emma as if she were her own child. Getting up at night to feed her, change diapers, take her to doctors, teach her to walk and talk.

There had been years when Emma truly thought of her as her mother. But since Regina came back, Emma had changed. Though they had never hidden the truth about Regina from her, she had begun to rebel. She always felt Eleanor had driven her real mother away.

Mrs. Henderson came downstairs, seeing Eleanor's reddened eyes. "Madam, I've seen how much you love Emma all these years. It's normal for children to be ignorant. She'll understand when she grows up. I already told Mr. Grayson about Emma's behavior today. He said he'll come back to discipline her properly."

Eleanor's heart ached, remembering Asher was probably taking care of drunk Regina now.

"Thank you, Mrs. Henderson." Eleanor forced a smile. "I'm fine."

Asher did not come home that night.

At half past six the next morning Eleanor was in the kitchen as usual. Emma had been born two months early — Regina had gone skiing at seven months and bungee jumping at eight — and for eight years Eleanor had built her breakfasts around that: blueberry oatmeal, two soft-boiled eggs, whole wheat toast, orange juice squeezed while it was still dark outside.

She was wearing a thin ivory silk slip, her long hair twisted up loosely, her neck bare.

Emma came down at seven with her face already set. She took one look at the table, swept the toast onto the floor, and grimaced. "This disgusting stuff again? I'd rather starve."

Eleanor did not raise her voice. She crouched to pick up the toast and said gently, "Your stomach has been sensitive since you were a baby. Eat a few bites of oatmeal, sweetheart, and I'll make you a burger after school."

"Your burgers taste awful," Emma said. "I want one from Shake Shack's. Not something you made."

"All right," Eleanor said, still gentle. "We'll go there on the weekend. I promise."

"I want it now!" Emma shouted, and shoved the glass of milk away with both hands.

The glass flew over. Cold milk soaked straight through the silk across Eleanor's chest and stomach, and the fabric turned translucent and clung to her skin.

Mrs. Henderson couldn't stand it any longer. "Emma! Your mother is up at five every morning to make this for you—"

"Nobody asked you." Emma cut her off, chin high. "She only knows how to please people. No personality at all, like a servant with no opinions."

Then she stood up, and her small face lit with something bright and cruel. "I have good news, though. My real mother is coming back to marry Daddy. And when she does, you're getting thrown out of this house, homewrecker."

Eleanor stood there with milk running down her, and for a moment she couldn't hear anything at all.

Homewrecker.

The word went through her like a needle. Then something rose behind the hurt, something closer to anger. "Who taught you that word?" she said. "Who is telling you to say things like this?"

"Am I wrong?" Emma lifted her chin. "You are the other woman. You're the one who broke my mom and dad apart."

Just then, the sound of the front door opening came. Asher was home. He looked somewhat tired, with a faint smell of alcohol on his clothes.

His gaze swept over the chaotic table, then immediately locked onto Eleanor.

The wet fabric perfectly accentuated her stunning, hourglass figure—her full, round breasts pushed against the silk, and the curve of her slender waist was fully exposed under the morning light.

Dark fire instantly sparked in Asher's previously exhausted eyes and his Adam's apple bobbed slightly.

Seeing Asher, Emma didn't dare say anything more and obediently sat back in her chair.

Asher's gaze swept over the dining table, seeing Eleanor's pale face and Emma's expression. He immediately understood what happened.

His face darkened, though his gaze remained heavy on Eleanor. "Emma, go pack your schoolbag. Mrs. Henderson, take her to school."

Emma didn't dare argue with her father. On her way past she shot Eleanor one quick, guilty look, then followed Mrs. Henderson out without another word.

The living room went quiet. Asher came over to her. "She upset you again, didn't she?"

"It's nothing." Eleanor kept her eyes on the table. "She's a child."

He didn't answer that. He brought a box out from the bag in his hand and put it into hers. Croissants, still warm. "From that bakery you love most."

Her cold heart warmed in spite of itself and her eyes grew moist. That bakery was downtown, an hour and a half drive from here. He must have made a special trip for it. Maybe, somewhere in his heart, Asher still cared about her.

After putting down the pastry, Asher suddenly wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, his large hands smoothly resting on her damp, curve-hugging silk dress. The contrast of the cold milk and his scorching palms sent a shiver down her spine.

His warm breath sprayed on the sensitive area behind her ear. "Eleanor,"

he whispered ambiguously, his voice thick with sudden, intense desire, domineeringly yet gently murmuring, "Take a bath with me. Hmm?"