All Summer Long (Fool's Gold #9)

“Mom.”


Dominique walked toward her, arms outstretched. She moved with a dancer’s grace, her body fluid and elegant, her head high. She wore a tailored suit and her gold-blond hair was in a stylish pixie cut that flattered her delicate features and large green eyes.

Dominique was pushing sixty but looked to be in her early forties. She was petite, maybe five-one or -two, but powerful. Charlie might have inherited her height and looks from her father, but she’d gotten her strength from her mother. As a child she’d watched Dominique practice for hours, working until she was drenched in sweat and her male partner nearly unconscious with exhaustion, and that had been after she’d retired.

As her mother approached, Charlie started to feel like a cartoon character who had been given a growth potion. She got larger and larger until she half expected her head to poke through the clouds. It was always that way when her mother was around. Charlie was the giant next to the tiny perfection that was Dominique.

Her mother stopped in front of her, arms still open. “Aren’t you going to greet me?”

“What? Oh. Right.” She bent down at the waist and awkwardly hugged the other woman. She then dutifully kissed both cheeks. The action was similar to what Clay had done to her, but the feeling was very different.

Charlie straightened and took a step back. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Can’t I visit my only child?”

“You never have before.”

Dominique sniffed delicately, then pointed to the house. “You can invite me inside.”

Charlie wasn’t sure if that was a statement of fact or a prod. Probably the latter, she thought.

“What about him?” she asked, pointing at the hunky guy in the dark suit still standing by the car. He wore sunglasses and kept glancing up and down the street—no doubt wishing he were protecting the president rather than an aging former ballerina.

“Justice is my bodyguard. He’ll wait outside.”

“Lucky him,” Charlie muttered under her breath, then turned and walked into her house. Once in her house, she faced her mother.

Dominique took in the comfortable living room, probably finding fault with every piece of furniture. Charlie had bought for comfort and out of respect for her budget. As Dominique was more into how things looked than how they functioned, she would no doubt be horrified.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Dominique asked.

Charlie glanced down at her dirty jeans and sweaty, smudged tank top. “I was working in the yard.”

Her mother’s eyes widened, although Charlie noted that her brows didn’t lift. BOTOX, she thought idly. One of the advantages of never being even close to pretty was not having to worry about getting older.

“Yard work? Like a peasant?”

Charlie managed a laugh. “Yes, Mother. Exactly like a peasant. Later we’ll all line up and the Lord of the Manor will give us bread and wine.”

Dominique’s mouth thinned in disapproval. “I know you think you’re funny, Chantal, but you’re wrong.”

“It’s Charlie.”

“What’s Charlie?”

“My name.”

“I would never call my daughter that. It’s a boy’s name.”

“It’s better than Chantal.”

Dominique drew herself up. “You were named after my grandmother.”

“Your grandmother was named Ethel. Or Alice. Depending on which one you’re talking about. You named me Chantal because it’s French and you thought I was going to turn out like you and be a dancer. Sorry to disappoint.”

Charlie shoved her hands into her jeans pockets and held in a sigh. This was a conversation they’d had many times before. It never went anywhere, so why did she keep trying? Her mother wasn’t interested in family—she wanted to be adored. Charlie had never been very good at the worship thing. Something nearly as unforgivable as being tall and gangly. All Dominique had wanted from her daughter was for her to be a perfect replica of herself. Charlie had failed at that from the second she’d been conceived.

“I see you haven’t changed,” her mother said, her voice tight.

Charlie felt the first soggy wetness of guilt. If she wasn’t careful, she would be sucked under and drown. It happened every time they were in the same room.

“You came a long way,” she said, trying for neutral ground. “There must be a reason.”

Dominique walked over to one of the club chairs and perched carefully on the edge. “I wanted to see you. In the past few years, we’ve lost our special bond.”

“We never had a special bond,” Charlie blurted before she could stop herself. She sighed. “Sorry. Okay. Special bond. I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Some mothers and daughters are close.”

Charlie didn’t like the sound of that. “You want to be close?”

“We’re family.”

“I haven’t seen you in five years.”

“That’s my point.”