Once I’m finally back in my regular clothes, Mom walks me into Fratelli’s, the best Italian restaurant in town. Somehow, it slipped her mind to tell me about the reservation earlier.
“You keep working in these surprises,” I murmur after we’re seated.
“I told you, darling, I want to spend more mother-daughter time with you.”
I lift the menu to cover my face. “Mm-hmm.”
Mom orders our drinks with a server, and then clears her throat before telling me, “We’re having dinner with the Prescott family this evening.”
I lower my menu. “Will LJ be there?”
Mom smirks. “He’s part of their family, isn’t he?”
I use all my might to hide my discontent, but my mask is cracking.
“He’s quite fond of you, isn’t he?” Mom says, a hint of glee in her tone.
“He’s practically been raised to chase me.”
“And it’s harder to deal with him now you’ve found someone you actually want to be with?”
Unable to deny it, I nod.
Mom flexes her fingers as if ready to hatch a plan. “I could make things easier for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve already shown no interest in dining with your family,” Mom says. “I could get you out of dinner with his family.”
“Why would you do that? Aren’t appearances everything?”
“This is just a minor event. It won’t cause a problem,” she replies coyly.
“This doesn’t make sense. Why would you let me spend time with Dax instead of making nice with LJ?”
“Darling.” She leans in. “I care about you. I want to make things easier for you.”
I swallow distastefully. This isn’t my mother. My mother doesn’t put my feelings first. Knots clamp and bind my back. She’s not letting me off the hook. This is a new form of control, and I’m not falling for it.
I lift the menu. “No, it’s fine. I want to spend time with LJ. I miss him.”
Mom’s arrogance shatters, shocked by my response. She composes herself quickly, but I can’t help smiling, knowing I ruined her plans.
Whatever they might be.
Maybe she wants me to skip dinner so she can spin her own narrative? She could tell LJ’s parents about how I’m dying for him to escort me to the gala.They’d eat it up. The Prescotts can’t wait for the day their son puts a ring on my finger.
Ugh. As if.
Twenty-Three
Itwasthelongestlunch ever. How my mother drew out the ordering process, I’ll never understand. She gabbed endlessly with maître d' and sous-chef about everything and nothing. Thank goodness the sommelier was hosting a function, and the head chef was out for the day, or we never would’ve gotten out of there.
After a tiresome traipse through the flower market and scrutinizing too many bouquets, she finally allowed Roger to take us home. The drive was bittersweet, knowing she’ll pull me away tomorrow to go over the dreaded seating chart with Mrs. Fisher.
“Hi,” I call out, entering the pool house. “I can’t stay long.”
Dax walks out of the kitchen with a glass of water. He sets it down, looking at me curiously. “What’s happening? How was today?”
