In the dining room, my mother sits snugly next to Amos. I sit a few feet away, smoothing a napkin over my lap as I wait for the staff to bring our meals.
Mother drills me with a disgruntled look. “Well,” she states loudly, “I see you’ve decided to grace us with your presence.”
“Good evening,” I greet, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in my voice.
Mom grimaces at me and waves our staff into the room. Plates are settled in front of us that host freshly baked salmon with thin slices of lemon on top. Garden vegetables occupy the rest of the plate. A bowl of baked bread is placed in the middle of the table along with a glass tray of butter.
While the staff invests effort in impressing my mother, I stare at her, watching her and her fiancé settle in like he didn’t just barge in on me half naked upstairs. Does she know about that? Does she even care?
“Darling,” Amos coos at my mother, “did you hear about the body that was discovered at the pier?”
I perk up. “What body?”
“That Ivan Waring boy was found. Poor thing drowned. He went to your school, didn’t he, Alexandra?”
His predatory gaze falls on me, eyes glittering as if we share some great secret together.
My upper lip peels up slightly. “I think he was a freshman. Didn’t know him.”
“Thank God that wasn’t you.”
“Weren’t you just at the pier on Saturday?” Mother inquires. “When did this happen, Amos?”
“Saturday night,” he replies. “Alexandra, you were there pretty late.”
I arch my brows curiously, thinking back to when I was at Thasos. Honestly, I’ve been trying not to think about the pier because that’s where Parker cornered me. But probing through my memories produces nothing worth noting. I didn’t hear splashing or any boats leaving. Parker and I were the only two people there as far as I could tell.
“Apparently, he went sailing and his boat capsized,” Amos explains. “Lucky that wasn’t you, Alexandra.”
Mother snorts. “No, she got her tires slashed instead.”
My fingers tighten around my fork. “That wasn’t my fault.”
“I’m not fixing your car, missy.” She stabs the fish on her plate, a wholly unnecessary action considering it’s baked perfectly enough to fall apart without much prodding. “You ran away from our conversation. You’ll have to learn from your errors if you’re going to become a proper wife.”
I drop my fork out of frustration. “But Mom!”
“No!” she growls. “I don’t want to hear it or it’ll be the boat that goes next.”
My jaw clenches as I struggle to recover my fork. I’m not even hungry anymore. Two steps forward just knock me four steps back.
Am I ever going to recover my power?