Page 60 of Now Their Starlet

Gina’s probably just too drunk to even comprehend that.

“Move,” Ezra grunts, when I freeze in place.

He gently nudges my shoulder, and I scramble towards my childhood bedroom and current prison cell.

The door is open, and I hurry inside with an urgency I haven’t felt in years. I don’t think I’ve ever been particularly enthusiastic to come back to this place.

“How are we supposed to do this?” I hiss under my breath as I hear Gina stomping her way up the stairs. The body tape feels itchy against my skin—the sticky adhesive not doing anything to help soothe my fraying nerves.

“I don’t know,” Ezra bites out, his hands clenching into fists by his side.

“Andi!” Gina yells, her voice high-pitched and screechy.

“I’m right here, Mom!” I call out. “You don’t have to yell.”

“There you are!” Gina says, her muddy green eyes glazed over from the alcohol. She’s carrying in her hand one of those giant wine glasses. It’s only half full, but I’m pretty sure it’s the equivalent of several traditional glasses of wine.

The fact that she’s still carrying the glass makes me think the thing Stuart managed to coax away from her was the bottle, though I would’ve been able to tell she was absolutely plastered just by the way she sways slightly on her feet.

What the hell is her problem? She doesn’t normally drink like this.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my chamomile scent souring.

“Take off your dress,” she slurs.

I stiffen, cold dread leeching into my veins like I was just injected with liquid nitrogen.

This is the worst possible scenario, considering I have a secret burner phone taped to my body. One she’ll easily be able to see if I do just take off my dress.

“What?” I rasp, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You heard me! Take off your dress!” She reaches into the pocket of her silk robe and brandishes her phone.

The action just confuses me. What in the world is going on?

“Can’t—can’t I have a bit of privacy, Mom?” My own saliva tastes sour from my nausea. I actually think I’m going to throw up.

My guys have been spending all month coming up with a plan to help save me. One that relies on me having the burner phone. On being able to snap photos of my living conditions to prove that Gina shouldn’t have the power of a conservatorship over me.

And I’m going to fuck it up.

“Privacy?” she snorts, like the request is the most absurd thing she’s ever heard. “I pushed you out of me! There’s nothing I haven’t seen already! Now, Take. Off. Your. Dress!”

The only thing keeping her from being in my face is Ezra stepping between us, his arms held up in a motion that to her probably looks like he’s holding them up in surrender, but to me looks like he’s trying to create more space.

“She can’t take it off herself, Gina,” Ezra says through gritted teeth. “Calm down. Why do you even want her to take off her dress?”

“I need a picture of her tits!” Gina yells, waving her phone around again.

The absurdity of her declaration has Ezra and I stiffening.

What the fuck?

“Huh?” The single syllable is the only sound I’m capable of making. Because seriously. Huh?

She rolls her eyes so hard she actually sways.

“For the plastic surgeon! I need reference photos for when I get work done,” she says, like we’re stupid for not catching onto her rambling. There’s a flush across her pale cheeks that’s getting progressively worse. This time with fury, not just intoxication.