It was her mother.
“Oh, damnation,” Lainey groaned. “Fine. Your evil-meter is in perfect working order. Frickin’ hell. Why must she come here and harsh my mellow while I’m still bathed in post-coital bliss?”
Her mother walked through the sitting room door with a determined smile pasted on her face.
She turned to Marigold first. “I know we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Renee Robinson. It’s ever so delightful to meet you.” She extended her hand as if she were royalty about to actually touch a filthy peasant, beaming with self-congratulation.
Marigold didn’t move from the spot or change her expression, which was the exact same expression a person would wear if they realized they’d just stepped in a big, fat cow patty.
After a moment, Renee dropped her hand and turned back to Lainey. “I understand that you are upset with Miles, but you need to rethink your hasty decision. A marriage isn’t just about love. It’s about duty to your family and planning for the future. I have been informed that you’ve been gallivanting around town with a completely unsuitable man, a wolf shifter at that, not even a bobcat. Miles comes from a very successful family, and your children would bear the name of the Bauer family. Remember how excited you were at the thought of becoming part of the Bauer family?”
“No, that was you,” Lainey said. “You were excited about becoming part of the Bauer family. If you like them so much, divorce Dad and marry Miles yourself. He’s made it clear he’s not picky. He just wants a paycheck.”
Her mother didn’t notice the insult. “Don’t be foolish, young lady, our people don’t divorce. You are consorting with a man with very little money and no future. Do you want your children to be poor? To worry about where their next meal is coming from?” Renee’s smile was starting to waver at the corners, but she kept it pasted on her face like a beauty queen at a pageant.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. We’re shifters. We can hunt our food, not that he’s a pauper, anyway. He owns a business. The fact that he’s not a multi-millionaire doesn’t mean he’s poor.”
“Hunt your food?” her mother looked utterly horrified at the thought. Civilized city shifters did not hunt for their own food.
“You can blow hot air all day long,” Marigold interjected, “but it won’t change anything. Tate Calloway is her fated mate.”
“Nonsense. That’s a myth.” The pageant smile stayed put, but Renee’s eyes were bright and angry.
“No, it isn’t,” Lainey said boldly. “The moment his eyes met mine, I felt like I’d been hit by a thunderbolt. I never felt like that before, and I never will again. He is the one for me. You and Dad showed me the right way without even meaning to. You’re rich, successful, you’ve social-climbed to the top of the ladder, and you are the most miserable people I’ve ever met.”
“This man just met you, and he’s using you for sex because he thinks you’re going to leave town.” Renee was no longer smiling. Her lips thinned to a hard angry line. “Miles is offering you marriage and a secure, comfortable future.”
“Tate asked me to stay, and I’m going to tell him yes.” Lainey met her mother’s eyes with an unwavering gaze, staring into their black depths.
“We’ll see about that.” Renee left the room, her heels clacking angrily on the floor.
Marigold began singing “Ding, dong, the witch is dead,” using her feather duster as a microphone and dancing around the room.
Lainey turned back to her sweeping with a grimace.
“What, is my singing that bad?” Marigold asked, in a fake-hurt tone.
“Well, yes, actually,” Lainey managed a smile. “But you also don’t know how determined my mother is, and how low she’ll stoop to get what she wants. She’ll come up with something.”
“Chillax. There’s nothing she can do now. She’ll have to hop on her broomstick and fly away home. Let’s go drink some mint juleps on the back porch and relax.”
“You just said the magic word.” Lainey leaned her broom on the wall.
“Which one? Mint julep? That’s two words.”
“All of the words, actually. Back porch. Relax. Mint Juleps.” She followed Marigold into the kitchen, where Marigold poured two very generous portions of mint julep into mason jars and dumped in ice.
She handled one to Lainey, and grinned wickedly. “So, speaking of back porches, does Tate like yours?”
“Marigold, that is personal information!” Lainey gasped. “What is it with you people from New York? You have no filter.”
“Because Henry loves mine, even though my back porch unfortunately is not as generously sized as your back porch. Want to know our favorite thing to do?”
“No.” Lainey ran for the back porch, with Marigold following at her footsteps, calling out far more detail than Lainey ever need to know.