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I’d learned to be careful about what I shared with my mom, doing my best to withhold information that might start discussions that drove me crazy. I was hurting inside when I took a seat on the couch opposite her. Her shock was a hard blow, telling me how completely I’d shut her out. A moment later she was sinking back onto the sofa as if her knees had failed her.
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My words hung in the air, and then I watched comprehension widen my mother’s eyes with surprise. I’d tried a lot of different tactics in navigating my relationship with Gideon, but I hadn’t asked for help from the one person close to me who knew what it was like to be married to prominent and powerful men. I’d stopped turning to her for advice, except when it came to clothes and decorating. Who we were as women couldn’t be more different and, sadly, that was something I’d come to take pride in. In the end, I had matured into her spitting image aside from the style of our hair and the color of my eyes. And her way with men, how they looked at her and catered to her … well, I’d wanted that magic touch of hers, too. I tried to emulate her breathy voice and sensual mannerisms, certain my mother was the most gorgeous and perfect woman in the world. I spent hours dressing up in her clothes, stumbling around in her heels, smearing my face with her expensive creams and cosmetics. Once, I had wanted to grow up to be just like my mother. “A bump that had you avoiding him for days? That’s not the way to deal with your problems, Eva.”