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But what did I know?
I did know—thanks Mother for the brutal honesty—that I had been Father’s idea, not hers. I also knew I was only an overly opinionated teenager who loved Chit’n Chat and watched makeup tutorials late into the night.
Well for the next week, I won’t.
Turning my focus on my scrambled eggs, I forked up a small bite Mother would approve of, fighting to keep my back straight when all I wanted to do was slouch and let loose the weight pressing against my shoulders. “I hope Mr. Destil makes you happy, Mother,” I whispered through the thickness tightening my throat, expecting anything else I attempted to say would end in a catfight. Something I definitely didn’t have the energy for.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. I fought off a huff even as tears burned my eyes.
I put the eggs between my lips and chewed without tasting. Three days before Thanksgiving and I learned my mother hadn’t ever wanted a child. That she would marry some stranger thinking he would fulfill her when all I’d ever done was strive for that very thing.
Guess I’d failed one too many times. Hell, I’d failed since the moment of conception.
What a way to start off the long winter ahead of us.
Mother slid my cell across the table, and I glanced up at her, not trusting her offer. “Mr. Destil and I discussed your disobedience last night after you went to bed, and he suggested you must have been caught up in your homework and forgot to change.”
Well, holy shit.
I stared—and remembered I ought to nod quickly before she changed her mind.
“Here.” She patted my cell. “But next time, please be better prepared for company. We must always put on our best front.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I tucked my cell into my back pocket, my face muscles tempted to grin.
Mr. Destil had made excuses for me—and he got me my cell back.
Huh.
Mother started in on their wedding plans, and I made noises of approval she would expect while forcing down my breakfast. Once in her good graces, I’d learned it was best to milk it for as long as possible. She would often buy me gifts, probably thinking they would make me forgive her negativity or treatment. Not that she ever apologized for a damn thing.
They would marry after New Year’s at the courthouse—because her fiancé didn’t want to waste money on a lavish wedding. He just longed to marry the love of his life, the sooner the better.
Gag.
Of course they would take off for a two-week vacation to some islands down in tropical waters, leaving me in the freezing cold in my new stepbrother’s care. The good shivers I’d felt upon first seeing him caressed over my skin again.
“And when we return, we’ll discuss your birthday party,” Mother stated, breathless from her usual excitement over planning get-togethers.
From one party to the next—Mother’s favorite pastime outside of the spa.
“Sweet sixteen,” she sighed, and I actually smiled, the two of us sharing a cool moment for a change.
Sweet Sixteen. I’d been dreaming of that day for years, ever since I decided boys, Devon Bradshaw especially, weren’t so bad after all. I wanted the fantasy of a perfect sweet sixteen more than anything. That first touch from a young man, the brush of his lips over mine.
Or perhaps, I’d heard Mother gush about it for so long that I’d taken on her desires. Hard to tell with an overbearing mother like mine who often complained her parents had never tried to protect her from the world.
“I would love to have a big party here,” I dared to suggest, considering our smiles. “Invite all of my friends—not just the girls like we do for slumber parties every year.”
Mother’s lips pursed as though recognizing my hint, hint without the wink.
Aaaand my shoulders slumped.
“I was thinking a nice brunch at the country club. Girls only.” She sipped her second cup of coffee. “The last thing I need is for you to end up pregnant as a teenager and have you dumping a kid off on me when you head to college.”
Yeah. I’d forgotten for a split second it was her “time to live.”
