AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Thanks,” I say.
“Bunch of pretentious pricks if you ask me,” Caius says. We’re watching our mother being introduced to a group by Cummings. There’s a delay before the smiles appear and those smiles aren’t quite welcoming, not quite warm. Fucking elitists. Sometimes I wonder why Dad wanted this. Why want to be a part of something that doesn’t want you?
Although that’s hypocritical.
“Caius,” our mother turns to beckon my brother, who downs his drink and pastes a smile on his face. “Come meet…” her voice fades out because, as if fate heard my thoughts, my attention is drawn to the far corner of the room. It’s not a movement or anything I can put my finger on that catches my eye. I’m simply drawn to look.
It’s her, Madelena De Léon in the flesh. This particular charity is for mental health, a charity her mother was involved in when she was alive. Understandable. Her father has kept it going in her memory.
Madelena is seated on a chaise lounge, and as I watch, she takes something out of her clutch, a bottle of aspirin or something. She pops two into her mouth then, half turning away from the room, brings a flask to her lips and quickly swallows those pills with several gulps of what I’m sure is not water. She slips the flask back into her clutch and turns back to the room. She teeters when she stands, taking a glass of wine from a passing waiter’s tray. I sharpen my focus. What were those pills, and how much has she already drank, I wonder.
She pushes dark hair over her shoulder. It tumbles in thick waves down her back, the black satin dress hugging her, fitting like a glove. It drapes to the floor, dragging a little as she moves. The light catches the pale, perfect skin exposed along her collarbones, the split of the dress giving me a glimpse of thigh high stockings. She’s quick to cover herself though, and I notice how modest the gown is by the standards of the others here—similar to the lace dress she’d worn to prom had been. She isn’t dressing to draw attention, but she does all the same. I see it in how the men around the room glance her way, their gazes lingering just a little longer than I like.
But no man approaches her. That’s because of me, I know. Word is out that she is mine. None of the women do either, though, and I remember my discussion with the idiot boy from prom. Remember her isolation. It explains her fight. She’s like a cornered cat with her claws out. Always claws out.
As I look on, Madelena rubs a spot on her hip, and when I follow her gaze, it leads to her father standing in a circle of men. He’s drinking, probably already drunk. I return my gaze to her to see her walk quickly, a little clumsily even, toward the curtained off exit at her back. Just as she reaches it, someone pushes the curtain aside to enter. She crashes right into him, and the collision sends the contents of her glass all over the man’s shirt. Of course it’s red wine, and he’s clearly not happy about it.
He grabs her arm and forcefully yanks her back toward himself so hard that she stumbles. Fury makes my blood boil. My hand clenches around my glass and I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. I take a step, feeling the eyes of every person present follow me as I cross the room in silent fury.
