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Hopefully, New York teenagers wouldn’t give me shit for the accent Preston liked. As long as no one started talking shit about my Pats or the Sox, we’d be okay.
Dad seated Jacqueline at the foot of their small dining room table before heading to the other end. Preston and I sat across from each other on the longer sides, the cushioned chair beneath my ass white and in serious danger of getting stains with how little manners I had when it came to eating.
A woman dressed in all black appeared out of nowhere with filled plates in hand before anyone had a chance to speak.
Outside the 99 Restaurant back home, I’d never had someone serve me. Who the hell had waitstaff in their houses for fuck’s sake?
Eyebrow raised, I eyed Dad on my left.
He smiled at his new wife, oblivious to everything but her.
I mean, the woman was easy on the eyes, no doubt about it. It was obvious where Preston got his cuteness from, but come on. Did Dad not notice the richness around him? How his wife ignored the men in black who silently moved through the condo with boxes of our shit? They sure as fuck weren’t invisible, but Jacqueline felt they were beneath her for all the attention she paid them.
If she knew I used to stock shelves at Market Basket alongside Sean on the weekends, she’d probably turn a blind eye to me too.
Our new lifestyle was about fifty rungs up from the ladder Dad had attempted to climb back home.
Neither of us fit it.
At. All.
How long before Jacqueline grew bored with Dad’s modesty and proved to me yet again that forever didn’t exist? Sure, he was a good-looking guy, but he didn’t come from old money like the Casswell family. He also lacked the refinement I figured she would expect when around her type of people. She would see that soon enough and send us packing—not that I would complain.
A plate suddenly appeared in front of me, and I checked out the funky white sauce artfully dripped over a seared chicken breast. Asparagus spears stacked alongside small, elongated potatoes, the likes I’d never seen before, their pale flesh sprinkled with some green shit.
Parsley, maybe?
My cell dinged with a text, but while I fished it from my back pocket, Jacqueline cleared her throat.
“No phones at the table,” she stated firmly with a fake-ass smile.
“Sorry,” I murmured, ignoring the text from Sean and powering the thing off.
“Next time, leave it in your room, Drake,” she ordered, her tone suggesting she wouldn’t listen to any argument on the topic.
I glanced at Dad. His unwavering smile directed at her annoyed me.
Jacqueline’s home meant her rules, I realized when Dad didn’t speak up. Either the woman had a magical pussy, or she’d lobbed his balls off.
Whatever.
As long as he was happy, I could put up with Jacqueline until I could escape New York. But when she eventually ripped his heart out like Mom had done, I wouldn’t keep quiet.
Mom’s choice to find another man and move to Rhode Island had been forgivable but only because we shared blood.
Jacqueline?
She meant nothing to me. Not even a purse for me to take advantage of. With her snobbish attitude, she could keep her fancy meals, penthouse, and jewels for all I cared.
Three years.
I repeated the two words in my head, turning my focus to my plate.
The meal looked like a work of art, but the steam rising toward my nose smelled fucking divine regardless of it silently screaming I shouldn’t mess up its beauty. I dug into my food like the starving teenager I was while the newlyweds chatted, Dad’s wife filling me in on the private school I would be attending with Preston.
Of course, Jacqueline had family connections that allowed her to sign me up for classes much later than normal at the elite school. I couldn’t begin to imagine how much of a sore thumb I would be regardless of the school’s uniforms. My stomach churned.
Jacqueline bragged that a big donation had the headmaster bending the rules before my less-than-stellar transcripts could even be an issue.
