They’d been building to this for a long time though. Every snide comment about Calladia’s career or appearance, every time Calladia had snapped back . . . it had been escalating. When Calladia had opposed her mother at a recent town hall discussing the construction project that would have harmed the forest, it had pushed their relationship troubles into the public eye. I know you’re selfish and don’t want to let anyone else enjoy nice things, Cynthia had said in front of everyone. It had felt like being slapped.
Maybe a better person would de-escalate to salvage the relationship, but Calladia wasn’t built like that. And why should she be the one to cede ground?
Calladia Cunnington, as fair as she is fierce. She fixed the words in her mind, took a deep breath, and answered the phone. “Hello.”
“Oh, so now you can bother to answer the phone when I call?” Her mother sounded seriously steamed.
“I was busy last night.” Busy getting her proverbial socks knocked off by a sexy demon. She checked her smartwatch, wondering how long this talk was going to take. If they were facing Moloch tomorrow, she wanted to have those metaphorical socks completely obliterated by Astaroth.
“I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know people have been asking why you didn’t show up. Rumors have been swirling ever since your shameful display at the town hall.”
“My shameful display?” Calladia asked, temper igniting. “You were the one backing corporate greed over the well-being of your constituents.”
“Oh, please. Like you know a thing about politics.”
Calladia let out a disbelieving laugh. “I’ve watched you manipulate and threaten your way to power for years. I’m pretty sure I understand politics.” She was also sure she never, ever wanted to engage in them herself.
“I’m willing to overlook this misstep,” Cynthia said, ignoring the jab, “so long as you modify your behavior going forward. An influential lobbyist is in town this weekend, and we’re meeting at that new restaurant on Pine Street for dinner and drinks. His son will be there, and I expect you to be as well.”
Calladia’s instincts told her this was more than a mere meeting with a lobbyist and her mother had ulterior motives. “How old is this son?”
“Thirty-five,” her mother said. “And looking to settle down.”
Yep, ulterior motives. “Absolutely not.”
Cynthia let out an exasperated sigh. “You haven’t even met the man. He’d be perfect for you.”
This ought to be rich. “How so?”
“He’s wealthy, handsome, and works in finance. He has a house in Seattle and a condo in New York City, and he travels frequently for work.”
“That sounds terrible,” Calladia said. “Why would I want a husband who travels all the time?”
Next to her, Astaroth stiffened.
“A spouse who travels is the best thing an ambitious witch can have,” Cynthia said. “Why do you think Bertrand and I get along so well? He has his life, I have mine.”
An old, familiar hurt seized Calladia’s heart. Her father had been absent for most of her life, jet-setting around the world as a consulting expert in the dismantling and selling of companies. If a company was in danger of going under, he was there to make sure the circling sharks got their teeth into it. She’d seen him on major holidays as a child, but since she’d come of age, he’d effectively vanished.
He wasn’t worth hurting over, so Calladia shoved the pain down and focused on her other shitty parent. “I don’t want your marriage,” she said. “I want someone who loves me and wants to spend time with me.”
Cynthia’s laugh was ugly. “You already had that, and you threw it away out of selfishness.”
Ice formed in Calladia’s veins. “What are you talking about?”
She knew though. There was only one boyfriend Calladia had brought home to meet her family. Only one man she’d talked about marrying, only one her status-obsessed mother had approved of.
“I’m talking about Sam, of course,” Cynthia said. “I still don’t understand why you sabotaged that relationship. He was perfect.”
“Perfectly awful,” Calladia said.
“A rich, handsome, tenured professor. Yes, that sounds dreadful.” Her mother’s tone was beyond condescending. “You were turning your life around, dressing well, meeting important people . . . do you know how high you could have risen in society? But you couldn’t bear dating anyone I approved of, could you? Just a spiteful little girl, spitting in my face every chance you get.”
The words were meant to flay Calladia to the bone. Make her weep, make her apologize. Make her regret ever abandoning perfect Sam and her mother’s dreams of a high-class, ambitious, equally perfect daughter.
Fuck perfect.
“You don’t know a thing about our relationship,” Calladia snapped. “Sam verbally and emotionally abused me.”
She had hinted at it before but never admitted it outright to her mother. It felt equally good and terrible, like scratching at a scab to expose the tender skin beneath.
Maybe that had been the problem all along. Calladia’s wounds from that first, disastrous love had never fully healed. She’d ignored the pain, instead shutting down the parts of her that were capable of love and vulnerability. And what did she have to show for that?
Anger problems, trust issues, and a relationship with her mother that had stagnated in its awfulness. She’d gotten stuck in self-destructive habits, never shaking off the weight of her trauma.
Astaroth’s fingers curled around her free hand. The heat of his skin sank into her, melting the ice in her veins. She squeezed his hand hard, using it as an anchor.
His beautiful eyes, blue like the heart of a flame, met hers. In them she saw understanding and support.
Calladia would be strong. She would be fierce. It was long past time.
Her mother didn’t respond right away. The gears in her android brain were probably ticking, calculating how to use this revelation to her own advantage. Because that’s what it always was with Cynthia Cunnington, wasn’t it? Her life. Her ambitions. Her advantage.
“I never heard Sam say a mean word to you,” Cynthia finally said.
“You wouldn’t, would you?” Calladia replied. “It happened at home.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t just advising you on how to improve yourself? Loving someone means trying to help them be the best version of themselves.” Cynthia sighed. “But you’ve always mistreated anyone who wants to help you—I know that better than anyone.”
The words hit like a lightning strike, illuminating decades of lies before splitting them apart. Calladia stood stock-still, letting the realization burn through her.
Sam had been an abuser. She’d left him.
Her mother was an abuser, too.
Calladia looked to Astaroth, drinking in the sympathy in his gaze. She clutched his fingers, drawing strength from them. She wasn’t alone. And even if she was, the toxic relationship with her mother couldn’t continue like this.
What she was about to do would hurt for a long time to come, she suspected . . . but it would also be a liberation. The best outcome for Calladia’s heart and health. Her life, not her mother’s. Her dreams. Her future.