Clay didn't spare her a single glance. His dark eyes locked onto mine, deep and unwavering. "Are we good now?"
I looked back at him, my gaze flat. I said nothing.
Clay's parents walked in, their voices already laced with reproach.
"He's already apologized, Lydia. Playing hard to get at this point is just petty."
"Do you have any idea how good Clay has been to you? Have you forgotten who performed your mother's surgery? Who arranged her follow-up care? A person shouldn't bite the hand that feeds them."
A sharp pain lanced through my chest.
My mother's stroke had been Roberta's doing. She'd deliberately played those bedroom photos at my wedding to my ex, broadcasting them for every guest to see. Then she'd eloped with him right there, leaving me as the punchline of the entire reception. The shock and fury sent my mother collapsing, unconscious.
To get her the treatment she needed, I'd transferred her from hospital to hospital until we ended up in Havenport, where I met Clay, a renowned neurosurgeon. Over the course of my mother's treatment, we'd gradually fallen in love.