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“Okay, fine. Maybe you’re right.”
Ana slides me a glance. “I’m always right.”
“That’s a stretch, Ana.”
“Shut up.” She throws me a dress. “Put this on.”
Chapter eight
Alec
“I believe Alec is capable of taking Ace Corps to unspeakable heights,” Lugard Sicily says, smiling at me from across the lunch table. “You know, in business, there’s an aura every successful businessman must have, and your son has it in spades, David.”
My father laughs heartily, his voice booming across the dining room. “We trained him very well,” he tells Lugard. “From a young age, we instilled the understanding in him, and he imbibed it wonderfully, too.”
I stuff caviar in my mouth, and it tastes like little tasteless stones. I continue to chew, keeping the expression on my face blank. “I must also appreciate Lillian,” my father says, touching my mother’s hands lightly. “She has been wonderful.”
“Oh, Lillian,” Lugard says, smiling at my mom. “I’ve always admired your strength. You’re a wonderful woman.”
My mother smiles slightly, her gaze resting on me. “Alec knows his responsibility as the heir,” she says, directing her words at me like a spear of warning. It hangs over my head like a dark shroud and my control slips. “David and I think it’s time we step down and let him take the reins.”
“That’s a wonderful idea!” Lugard says as he claps.
I set down my spoon and loosen my tie. Why am I sweating profusely in a well-ventilated room? I undo the first three buttons on my dress shirt and manage to stay still, even though it’s a struggle to suck in air.
“You know, I’ve always envied you, David,” Lugard says, laughing as he sips his wine. “Because you have Alec. I also wanted a son who could take over the Sicilian Corps and rule it like I did.”
My mother scoffs. “Alec will marry Eve,” she says, catching my gaze, and at that moment, I’m sure I dislike her. Why does she always feel the need to control my life? Why is my happiness never her priority?
“And that makes me happy,” Lugard turns to me. “Are you ready to marry Eve?”
“What?” I blurt, eyeing him blankly. He asked me if I was ready to marry his daughter as casually as asking about the weather. Marriage, to me, is a serious commitment, and I’ve never seen myself being able to give myself to Eve in that light.
“He knows his marriage to Eve is an inevitability,” my mother says. “He is ready.”
“Then let’s fix a meeting between the lovebirds,” Lugard says with the eagerness of a man ready to marry his daughter off to the most eligible bachelor in France.
“Friday next week,” my mother says. “That’s five days from now. Eve and Alec will meet here in this house.”
My father and Lugard Sicily share a look before glancing at me. “Is that okay?” they ask. At least both men had the decency to ask my permission. Left to my mother, I’m a puppet who just needed to ask “How high?” when she says “Jump.” I’m not this meek, and the only reason I’m staying silent is because Lillian is my mother, and I don’t want to hurt her with my words.
I rush to my feet, hating the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. “Please excuse me. I need to use the bathroom urgently.”
My mother hates hearing the word “bathroom” at the meal table, and I deliberately used it to get back at her. Her face scrunches with disgust, and I hurry out of the dining room, heading straight for my room. I know I only have a few minutes of bathroom break, but I know exactly what I want to do with those few minutes.
As soon as I burst into my room, Damien appears, too. “Put Jasmine on the phone for me, Damien.”
He freezes, his mouth falling open. For a few seconds, we stare unwaveringly at each other. “Why would you want to risk that, Master Alec?”
“Do not preach to me. God knows I’ve had enough of that at that table. Fucking hell.” I ram my fist into the air and then take several deep breaths. “For my sanity, put Jasmine on the phone.”
Damien stays unmoving for another fleeting moment, and when I think I’ll explode, he walks toward the bedside drawer. “I’ll mask the number,” he says. “It can still be traced, but masking will reduce the likelihood.”
“I don’t care. Put her on the phone.”
While Damien fiddles with the phone, I pace the room. Yes, my life is highly privileged, but I hate it so much. Years ago, I found out that Lillian, my mother, was tracing and monitoring my calls. Whenever I’m in France, she’s aware of everyone I call and every text I send. It was how she found the number of one of my flings and sent her a letterhead warning her to stay away from me.
I was irritated, but it was just a fling, so it didn’t matter to me. But since then, I do not call anyone while I’m in France because I did not want her to have any idea of my life and relationships in New York. It’s become my happy place, and I do not want it tainted by her volatile desperation for control.
