ChapterTwenty-Four
Alex
There’s nothing like a ladies’ luncheon with a charity auction attached to it to draw out every upper-crust snob within twenty miles of the country club. Mom dragged me out of the house, forcing me to put on something “ladylike,” which, for her, consists of a form-fitting beige blouse, a dark crimson pencil skirt that hugs my knees, and high heels that make me want to scream every time I try to walk.
As I pass a large mirror on the way to a private VIP room at Thasos, I pause to study my appearance, noting that the pantyhose do make my legs smoother—but it’s far too constricting. I’d rather Soren or Tomas pick something out for me to wear. At least then it might be something more appealing and fun, even if it is a bit racy.
“Alexandra, darling,” Helen Pershing coos from the doorway of the VIP room. “You’re just in time! Your mama grabbed a table with—” The way her nose wrinkles shows all the disgust a woman of her status can muster. She clears her throat and proceeds, “With Marie. Tomas’s mother. You remember?”
I nod politely, walking toward her as confidently and carefully as the heels will allow. Once I’m in the room, all the usual greetings smack me in the face, the full brunt of social niceties making me want to hurl. I haven’t had a drink all week and I’m dying; the champagne flutes across the room make my mouth water the moment I see them.
And just as I’m about to walk over there, Mother grabs my elbow and yanks me into a plush seat. This must have been her plan all along. If she kidnaps me for lunch, then she can keep an eye on me. But lunch won’t last all weekend. I smirk while thinking, Love to see what her plan is after this.
I smile tightly as I settle into the chair near a woman from across the lake—Delilah Jones, I think is her name, but I don’t really care. I’m only here for the oysters and the mimosas if I can manage to sneak one.
And I’m sure I can.
Servers carry plates into the room from the adjoining kitchen, each one wandering around the tables to offer whatever Helen decided was edible enough for Macedon’s womanly elite. I grab a plate of oysters, snag a basket of bread and a plate of hot smoked salmon with a light salad. The way my mother eyes me like I’m about to shovel dirt in my mouth makes me realize I’m on thinner ice than usual.
After draping a cloth napkin in my lap, I focus on my food, allowing the delightful tastes to wash over my palate. Each bite is better than the last, inspiring me to eat slowly to savor the flavors. To my mother’s relief, I’m not inhaling my food, and she seems pleased enough to finally take her fucking eyes off me.
Helen stands at one of the tables near the window, veneers shining so bright that I have to squint when I look at her. “Good afternoon, ladies! Thank you for attending my monthly luncheon. Today, we’re auctioning paintings done by one of our very own—Ms. Delilah Jones!”
Light applause reverberates around me as Delilah stands and waves humbly. She nods, takes a seat, and then waves shyly when the applause continues.
“Incredible,” Marie D’Hautpoul says rather loudly from her side of the table. She waves her champagne flute at Delilah and adds with a slur, “What talent.”
“The paintings haven’t come out yet, Marie,” Mother says with a hint of annoyance in her voice. She pats Marie’s hand and smiles with irritation. “Why don’t you have some water?”
Marie snorts and tugs her hand away, pressing it to her chest with an eye roll. “Whatever, Ophelia.” She hiccups and then tips her champagne flute back, her cheeks flushing as she chugs her mimosa. When she’s done, she burps lightly, giggles, and then covers her mouth, glancing at Helen as she says, “Oops.”
Helen raises her thin eyebrows as she glares sharply across the room. “Thank you, Marie.” She offers a smooth smile to the room and then motions to the servers who are waiting at the door on the right side of the room. While announcing each donated painting, her eyes flicker toward Marie, as though anticipating a response.
And I don’t blame her either. While I’m not a huge fan of this particular circle of Macedon, I can see Marie getting worse by the second. She keeps flagging down servers for more drinks, hardly touching the food on her plate that would likely help her pace herself. When she can’t get more drinks, she plucks a medicine bottle from her purse, not even bothering to be discreet about the pills she’s popping.
I swallow hard when a familiar wrenching sensation twists my gut.
My cheeks pinched so hard that I thought I wouldn’t ever come undone. I feel Tomas’s hand on my lower back. I see his eyes burning with terror, sense him shaking, note the tinge of fear in his voice. The recollection comes crashing back so hard that I have to grab the back of the empty chair next to me just to steady myself. I try not to stare—but shit, how can I not stare when Marie is basically having a public meltdown?
It’s just so…embarrassing.
When Marie babbles incoherently, my mother stands up to escort her from the VIP room. Mother looks mostly calm and even smiles while she tugs on Marie’s elbow, but the blush in her cheeks and her ears indicates her abashment—or agitation.
“Stop yanking me, you twit,” Marie barks near the door. She manages to break free from my mother and stumbles toward a nearby table, bumping it with her hip. Luckily, there’s nothing on the table for her to accidentally break. “Just like Felipe. Always meddling in other people’s shit.”
My mother glowers. “Marie, you have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re drunk.”
I roll my eyes. I’ve totally heard that one before.
Marie scoffs. “Please! We all know that dick dipped a dozen times over in this town.”
I perk up in my seat.
What the hell did she just say?
“Those little bastards of his are all over the place, aren’t they? Those women couldn’t afford an abortion for what sorry excuse popped out of their twats.”
My heart rate rises—and now it’s my turn to blush viciously. I whip out my phone and text Tomas rapidly, letting him know that his mother is losing her shit in a very public way.