Serving Pleasure (21 page)

She was so lost in the haze of desire, it took her a minute to realize the person calling her name was not Micah. The voice was far too high-pitched to be Micah.

Nope. That was definitely not Micah. That was her mother.

She froze under Micah, who hadn’t seemed to hear the other woman, judging by his busy hands. She immediately turned from pulling him toward her to pushing him away. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

Not her mother. It couldn’t be. Was this a nightmare?

If it was, then the nightmare was her fucking life.

Always attuned to her, Micah sensed the change in her and stiffened.

“My mother,” she whispered in his ear. Not because she actually thought she could get away without her mother hearing her, but because she couldn’t manage much more than a whisper at the moment.

She could say this much for Micah—he was fast, launching off her like she was on fire. Rana sat up and struggled to get her clothes put to rights. Micah tried to help, but both of their hands fumbling over her body only meant she barely got her bra re-hooked and the cups back over her boobs before her mother appeared in the doorway.

The older woman froze, her eagle eyes taking in the two of them. They were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, but Micah’s hair was down and tousled, his lips swollen. Rana could feel how hot her face was. Her shirt was askew. Her breasts were popping out.

None of that mattered. Because her mother could find her and a man playing mahjong, and she’d assume that Rana had been fucking him not two seconds prior.

For good reason. Rana had lived at home until she was twenty-two and Devi was done with high school, and Rana couldn’t count the number of times this scene had been acted out—her mother walking in on her locked in an embrace with some good-looking guy.

Frustration and nerves running hot, Rana stood and locked her legs to keep herself steady.
Only this time it’s your house. Your couch.

Why did that not seem to matter?

“Mama,” she said, her voice fainter than she would have hoped. “What a surprise.”

“I apologize. I didn’t know you had…company.” Her mother surveyed her tousled appearance before meeting her eyes. A chill ran up Rana’s spine. Fuck it all, she knew that frigid disapproval. She’d seen it since puberty, had even grown accustomed to it, considered it a necessary price to pay for living life however she wanted.

That look had been absent for so long she’d forgotten how much it hurt. Guilt and regret and anger made Rana’s hands shake. “I…uh…”

After a long, awkward moment, her mother continued stiffly. “Your door was open. You shouldn’t leave it unlocked like that.”

It didn’t really matter if her door had been locked. Her mom had a key, as did her sisters. Any of them would walk right in whenever they felt like it. Standard practice. Ringing the bell first was optional in her family. “Yeah.” Rana cleared her throat. “This is my…” Panic spurted through her. What was Micah? Was there a title that was safe?

They hadn’t been able to call their date a date last night, so she sure as hell couldn’t refer to him as her boyfriend. Lover or affair was out, unless she wanted to give her mother a heart attack. Rana tried to jiggle her bra strap unobtrusively, in the hopes her breasts might readjust themselves.

“Neighbor,” she finished lamely. “Micah’s my neighbor.”

“Neighbor.” Her mother said the word slowly, with a great deal of skepticism. Her gaze dropped to Rana’s neck. Since Micah had just been scraping his teeth over her skin, no doubt there were visible marks there.

“Yes. A neighbor.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Micah stiffen, but she was so consumed with calming her mother, she couldn’t pay attention to him right now. “Micah, this is my mother. Mama…Micah.”

Her mother scanned Micah, and Rana was certain she had judged him and found him wanting in that single sweep. To his credit, Micah was silent but dipped his head politely.

“Rana. Walk me to my car.” Ice dripped off every word her mother uttered.

Of course. Mama did hate to shed blood indoors.

Micah stirred. “I’ll go—”

“No.”

“No.” She and her mother spoke in unison.

“We’ll only be a minute,” Rana managed, struggling to keep her voice moderate. “Hang on.”

She knew in her gut this was not going to be pretty. It was dumb, but she wanted Micah to console her after, tell her she was fine and her mother was wrong and everything would be okay. She needed that.

Silent as a mouse, Rana followed after her mother to the front door. They both stepped outside, and Rana closed the door.

It was her house. Her body. Her heart. She wasn’t a child anymore, and she didn’t have to listen to her mother or beg her approval.

None of those arguments were worth a damn when Mama turned on her heel and faced her, her words cracking across her nerve endings. “So this is why you wanted to stop looking for a husband? Because you are having an affair with this man?”

Rana let out a long, low breath. “He’s my neighbor—”

“I am not stupid.” Disappointment flashed in her eyes, and Rana felt about three inches tall. “How many times have I walked in on you with a boy? Since you were fifteen years old. I know that look on your face. For God’s sake, Rana.”

Funny her mother should invoke her teenage years, because she definitely felt like she was fifteen again. No, worse, because when she’d been fifteen, she hadn’t had any inkling of what it was like to have her mother’s respect.

Now she knew. She straightened up, for fear she would get down on her knees and beg her mother to be pleased with her again.

“When you said you wanted to settle down, I was so happy,” Mama said, not bothering to moderate the volume of her voice. “I figured you were done sowing these wild oats.”

Rana opened her mouth, intending to apologize, but instead all she said was, “If I was a man, you wouldn’t care about me sowing my wild oats.”

“You’re not a man. You’re a woman.”

“That’s dumb,” she muttered. “It shouldn’t make a difference.”

Silence for a second. Her mother clenched her jaw, hard. “It’s the way the world works.”

“Maybe it shouldn’t work like that.”
What are you doing? Diffuse the situation, don’t aggravate it.

“Do you even want to get married, Rana?”

“I want love.” She heard herself, and it was like listening to a broken record. She’d said this so many times over the past year, but her mother hadn’t yet picked up on the distinction. Her mother cared about the big ceremony, the fancy wedding outfits, the license itself. Did she?

Not really.

She blinked. She didn’t care about getting married at all. Sure, perhaps eventually. But all she’d truly wanted since she’d started this whole process was a guy she could come home to.

“Do you think you will have that with this man? This long-haired…” Her mother threw up her hands. “Is he even employed?”

“He’s an artist,” she said, her lips numb.

“An artist.” Her mother shook her head in disbelief. “I put doctors in front of you, and you wouldn’t even look at them, but you think an artist will make you happy?”

Rana could have pointed out that Micah had an income, but she knew that wasn’t the point, and it wouldn’t matter to her mother. Micah didn’t have a steady job. He’d never gotten any kind of diploma. They hadn’t discussed his parents’ careers in-depth, so for all she knew, he could be missing that all-important successful gene.

Rana twined her fingers together, aware her mother was waiting for an answer. Micah wouldn’t be able to give her love and forever. He wasn’t suitable for a long-term relationship. He was her muffin.
The man you’d fuck, not the man you’d marry.

That was the answer her mother was waiting for. “Maybe he could,” she said, her voice strong and clear.

Wait. What?

Her mother looked as shocked as Rana felt. “What?”

The words fell from her lips, feeling so damn good she couldn’t regret them. “Maybe he could make me happy.”

“You are not serious.”

A strange sense of calm descended on her, and she felt vaguely disassociated from her body. Like she was watching some stranger talk. “He’s a good man. He really is. Kind. Funny. Gentle. His job title has nothing to do with that.”

“Rana…”

“He’s talented. He doesn’t think he is, but he…is. Talented and passionate about his work.”

Her mother shook her head, resignation deepening the lines around her mouth. “You aren’t seventeen anymore. This isn’t some boy on a motorcycle that you’re claiming really is good underneath his tattoos and criminal record!”

“I’ve never brought home a man like that,” she retorted, aware her temper was rising. “Never, not once. I might have dated them, I might have slept with them, but I never brought them home. Because I knew none of them would ever be good enough for you.”

Her mother’s eye twitched. “I think…”

“I’ve bitten my tongue,” she rasped, unable to shut up. “I’ve gone along with everything you’ve said this year, haven’t I? Looking for the man you decided would be perfect for me.” A suitable man. What did that even mean?

“Because I know you can find someone good. A man who knows nothing about your past, one who would be happy to have such a pretty, lively girl as his wife.”

Each word her mother said cut into Rana’s heart like a knife, while bringing every single action she’d taken in the past year into sharp, glaring focus.
A man who knows nothing about your past.

That’s what she’d been doing. Searching for a man who would only know New Rana. A man who would never know the impulsive, overtly sexual drama queen Old Rana had been. Because if she wanted love, truly wanted it, she had to change. New Rana might be worthy of love from a good man, defined as whatever her mother said a good man was, but she had to hook him fast before her looks faded, because that was literally all Any Rana had going for her.

Or at least, that was the message she’d internalized. It wasn’t true, though. Was it? “What’s wrong with my past?”

Her mother’s nostrils flared. “Rana. Do you think an eligible man wants a wife who has slept with so many men?”

All of the blood leached from her face, and she reeled back like she’d been slapped. Never had her mother come right out and said what they all knew she thought: that Rana had been judged a slut the second her mom had found her letting Gary Peters stick his hand up her shirt when she was thirteen.

Rana tried to swallow. Funny, she’d never minded anyone whispering about her fondness for men. She did mind her mother thinking she was the most disgusting thing in the world.

Like a piece of chewed-up gum.
They’d had a rigid, awful neighbor who had told her daughters that, that men didn’t want a piece of chewed-up gum.

She’d never felt that way, until this moment. Was this what her mother truly thought of her? After decades of constant disapproval, this shouldn’t surprise her. It shouldn’t cut her to her heart.

Except this was the woman who had given birth to her and cuddled her when she was a baby and braided her hair and raised her sisters, so yes. Yes, it hurt like nothing else could.

“How can you say that?” she whispered. “That wasn’t necessary.”

Regret spasmed across her mother’s face, but Rana’s chest was knotted with too much pain to care.

“I know.” Her mother walked forward, and Rana braced herself, but she didn’t touch her. That was a good thing. Rana wasn’t sure if she would welcome a hug right now. “Rani…”

Rani.
No, no, no. Her mother hadn’t called her by the pet name since she was ten or so. No one had used it since her father had died.

A part of her yearned for the woman to say it again.
Tell me I’m your Rani, no matter what I do.

Another part of her couldn’t stand how it sounded on her lips. Wrong. Fake. Not her name. She was Rana.

“I apologize. Truly.”

Rana didn’t want an apology. She wanted to rewind time so she wouldn’t have to hear her own mother call her worthless because she loved sex. She dug her nails into her palm, struggling to bring her riotous emotions under control.

“I… Don’t you see I’m trying to help you?” Her mother’s voice became wheedling. Pleading. “It’s not too late. You’re still young. This is the time. Didn’t we talk about this? Your chance to change your life.”

“Maybe I don’t want to change my life. Maybe you decided I needed to change my life, and I went along with it because I was so desperate…” She’d been so hungry for love. She would have done anything for it. She could see that now, and her desperation staggered and shamed her.

Get married? Okay. Change herself? Sure. Follow an arbitrary list of criteria she barely understood to find the perfect man? No problem.

“Parents know what’s best for their children—”

That might work for parents who understood their children. Her mother didn’t know
anything
about her. “I think you should leave.”

Her mother hesitated, emotions playing over her face. Regret. Anger. Disappointment. Always the disappointment. Finally, she sighed. “Very well. You’re too overwrought to discuss this properly.”

Overwrought. Hysterical. Emotional.

She’d gone numb. Rana watched her mother walk away. Her chest hurt so hard she wondered how her heart could still pump.

As soon as she was able to move, she flung open her door and stormed inside, only to find Micah leaning against the wall in the foyer. His face was expressionless, his dark eyes shadowed.

She slammed the door shut and pressed up against it. Her breath was coming fast, and she was unable to moderate it. His thick brows snapped together, and he crossed to the door, grasping her shoulder. “Breathe, Rana.”

She couldn’t. It hurt too much.

But slowly, subtly, as he massaged her shoulder in a circular motion and breathed loudly and audibly—for her, she supposed—next to her, she managed to calm herself enough to speak. “I hate her,” she sobbed, like a petulant child.

“You don’t,” he said quietly.

He was right. She didn’t. She couldn’t. “You don’t know what she said to me.”

“I heard.”

Her head came up. “What?”