Page 23 of Vicious Titan

16

Victoria

Of course he is. Why did I believe that Elliot was going to chill the hell out? The fundraiser is extremely important to Quinn, and Elliot actually likes her. I have faith that he will be a decent human being since he’d made it through the last week without causing a scene. Maybe he’ll choose to listen to the good angel on his shoulder (not that he does it often) and influence Asher to do the same for a change. When I saw Asher as he was leaving and I was arriving home, I was so happy and genuinely excited after spending the day dress shopping with Quinn, that I was kind of disheartened by Asher’s dreadful attitude—which included him informing me that Elliot is his date for the fundraiser next weekend. I’d hesitated to ask Dalton to join me for the black-tie event, but when he messaged me a few days ago, I took it as a sign. A sign I needed to give Dalton a real chance, one without Elliot interfering, though it may be too late for that. But I had high hopes.

Stepping into the closet, I hang the garment bag containing the gorgeous navy dress on the hook in the rear of the closet next to the full-length mirror. I’d just tried the dress on at the store hours ago, but I’m itching to put it back on already. Unzipping the garment bag, I strip off my clothes, and pull the gown on. I love it as much as I had in the store. It’s perfect. The strapless satin ball gown is simple, yet elegant. Walking out of my room, I search the house for my mother, finding her in my father’s office of all places. She doesn’t notice me while she sits at the desk, clicking away on the computer.

Lightly knocking on the door, I startle her and she jumps, her face paling as she looks to me.

“Victoria, I didn’t realize you were here. If you’re looking for your father, he just left for a business meeting.”

“On a Saturday?” It’s not an uncommon occurrence for my dad to work all hours, every day. He says the marketing industry never sleeps, and even when you’re sleeping, someone is still trying to sell you something and win your attention.

“Yes, Victoria. He’ll be back this evening.”

“I was actually looking for you.” She’s as surprised as I am. I usually don’t show her anything, fashion and art included, but I was so excited about finding the perfect dress that I figured I’d give it a shot. Maybe one day she’ll decide to be excited too. “I found a dress for the Bennett fundraiser.”

“That’s nice,” she says, turning her attention back to the computer.

“Yes, I thought so.” Today definitely isn’t the day we’ll share excitement. “I’ll show Dad later when he gets back home.” Maybe he’ll display some interest.

“Okay.” She continues clicking away. “Please do me a favor and don’t mention I was in his office. You know how he gets about anyone being in here and I just needed to print out a few things and the one in the other office isn’t working.”

“What did you need to print?”

She looks to me for a quick second before resuming her task. “A few receipts for the CPA.”

“Oh, okay.” I step out of the office, an uneasy feeling weighing heavy on me. There’s an unnerving tension between us that gives me the feeling there’s another reason she doesn’t want Dad to know she was in his office.

Purposefully, I make my way upstairs, my hands smoothing down the satiny fabric of my dress as I pass my bedroom, continuing down the hallway until I reach the office. Crossing to the laptop on the desk, I rub my finger over the smooth touchpad and the screen lights up. Opening the first document I spot on the desktop, I click print, holding my breath until the noise of the laser printer sounds in the background. My finger hovers over the touchpad as I listen to the printer as it finishes up, spitting the document into the tray. Working perfectly, it confirms what I already knew. My mom is guilty. The missing files, the outbursts from my dad, the reason she doesn’t want him to know she’s in his office—she’s guilty of everything he’s accused her of and maybe even more.

Stealthily, I walk out of the office, step into my bedroom, and close the door behind me. My back presses against the solid wood door, and I slide down along it until my butt hits the floorboards, my ball gown’s skirt fluffs out around me, engulfing me. What should I do? If I tell my dad, he’s sure to lose his temper, and he’s barely been holding onto it as is. He was livid at the suspicion, what will he do with proof of her going behind his back? If I don’t tell him, I’m just as guilty as she is. Neither choice feels like the correct one, so I remain on the floor, my dress surrounding me as I conclude that a delay on decision-making is the best solution. At least for now.