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She narrows her eyes as she studies me. “Uh-huh. What drugs are you on? You haven’t upped your medication, have you?”
“No,” I tell her, rolling my eyes.
“Didn’t think so. So then I’m going to assume this is all because of Mr. Cole.”
Do I have the strength to argue with her? No. I mean, I do, but I don’t want to argue with her. I’m too fucking giddy.
So I just shrug and stare at her in the mirror. “Life is good right now.”
“Because of Mr. Cole. Just look at you, Piper. You’re glowing.”
I look at myself. My eyes are wide and glossy and my skin looks alive, and it’s not just the blush or the highlighter. I look happy. Really happy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen myself look like this.
“Oh no. You’re not pregnant, are you?” she adds, aghast.
“No,” I say in a quick huff. “I’m not pregnant.” I pause. “And why would you even think that? I never said I was sleeping with him.”
Now it’s her time to roll her eyes. “You think I’m a fool, don’t you, dear?” Then she turns around and walks into my bedroom. “You better hurry up. We need to be there in ten minutes.”
This is a change. Usually my mom has zero concept of time. Perhaps things are evolving for the both of us.
Tonight is the dinner, and while I don’t think it will be any more formal than last time, that doesn’t help quell the excitement and nervousness in the air, at least when it comes to my mother. While I’m practically floating above the ground (giddiness makes you buoyant), my mother has been so anxious that she didn’t even bother making a dessert. We’re not heading over there empty-handed, however. I did manage to bring a bottle of local blackberry wine for after dinner, something I had been saving for a special occasion.
And what’s a better special occasion than this? Sure, it’s a normal dinner to everyone else, but to me, and hopefully to Harrison, this feels like a next step. I know our relationship is still under wraps and I don’t know how long it will have to stay that way, but I guess any excuse to be with him feels like something worth celebrating.
Which reminds me.
We’re almost to the mansion’s door when I pull my mom to a stop.
“Mom,” I say to her, my voice low. “I need to tell you something.”
“What?” she says in a hush. Her eyes widen. “Oh, you really are pregnant!”
“No,” I say again. “I have an IUD, so that’s not happening. But whatever is happening between Harrison and I, it’s a secret, okay? Monica, Eddie, the housekeeper, none of them can know.”
She frowns. “Why not?”
“Because,” I tell her, “Monica specifically forbade it.”
“She specifically forbade it?”
“Okay, so she vaguely warned me about dating him. Or being with him. She said it would be a disaster and would reflect badly on her. Which I totally understand.”
Now that I’m saying this out loud, I realize what a shitty friend I’ve been to her. Because of course it would reflect badly on her. Everything does. If the media found out about Harrison and me, they would have a field day with it, and Harrison would get slammed for being unprofessional, even though it’s in his right to date a citizen (I think), and Monica would get dragged through the mud for having hired Harrison. Everything would come out, maybe even a look into Harrison’s past.
“Oh, sweetie,” my mother says, putting her hand on my cheek. “Don’t look so glum. I won’t say a word. I promise.”
I give her a quick smile of thanks but now find it impossible to shake off this feeling. There goes my giddiness. Shot down by reality in seconds flat.
I sigh, and we walk toward the door. I’m going to have to talk to Harrison about this when I get a chance. So far we’ve been so wrapped up in how we feel about each other and our own obstacles that I forgot that we might really hurt Monica by doing this, and that by doing this—sneaking around and keeping it a secret—we might be awful people. I know our conversation was meant to be between us, but even so I feel like Harrison should know what she said.
My mother rings the doorbell, and Agatha appears. We’re led into the house and to the lounge where Monica and Eddie have gathered. I don’t see Harrison, which makes me feel both disappointed and relieved.
“I’m so glad you were able to come,” Monica says.
“Please have a seat,” Eddie says, gesturing. “Agatha will bring you something to drink. What will you have?”
We settle in our seats, and both my mom and I ask for a glass of wine. My mother didn’t drink last time because of her medication, but this time seems different. My eyes are boring into hers, hoping she’ll give me some explanation, but she’s smiling and fixated on the royals. I just hope she can handle that one glass.
