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I hated Drake hearing about that awful me—the girl who had stuck up her middle finger at the world while an inner war had twisted me into knots. And it had gone nuclear. Especially as I scrolled through the pictures that were not even my originals.
He’d obviously had someone reconfigure a new batch, and they looked convincing. Bile rose in my throat as I scrolled through the fake images of someone’s legs apart, exposing every little gynaecological detail. I would never do that. Maybe for Drake, but no one else.
Drake would hate me, and I couldn’t blame him. I looked like a complete money-grubbing skank.
Mygrandmothersatbythe pool with Cary. They were having their breakfast, and while she read a magazine, he was with a book. What a picture they made, looking content and peaceful.
Could that be me in thirty years? Nothing would have pleased me more than to see me there with Drake, sharing tea and in comfortable silence while soaking up a sunny life.
She must have sensed me close because she looked up and gave me one of her welcoming smiles, which instantly put me at ease.
Around my mother, I always felt like an intruder. Particularly in the mornings, when some lover walked around in his briefs or with a towel wrapped around him after a night of noisy fucking. There was never a smile.
“Sorry to interrupt. Um… can I talk to you?” I asked, biting my cheek.
My leg stung with a fresh cut, and a trickle of blood embarrassingly ran down my inner thigh. I squeezed my legs together, which only added to the pain.
At least it took my mind off the ache in my heart.
“Give me ten minutes,” she said. “We can talk in my office. Okay?”
Another smile, and I returned a quivery one, hoping she didn’t notice the blood.
Drake refused to answer my calls, and with each call he ignored, I razored into my skin and was running out of hiding spots on my leg.
After cleaning myself up and dressing in a long skirt to hide my wounds, I went off to meet my grandmother.
She pointed at the seat, and I fell into it like someone doomed to an ugly future. I couldn’t even straighten my back.
“I suppose this is about your upcoming marriage to Rey?”
I nodded. “I don’t want this, Grandmother.” My voice cracked.
“Quite. I’m surprised he’s even taking this path. He’s never been the marrying kind. I spoke to him afterwards, and he’s determined, Manon. He explained how you’d been the one to initiate a commitment by enticing him.”
I stared down at my nails and flicked at them. “Yeah… well… that was my mother’s doing. She was on my back to marry someone rich. And to be honest, it was my only way out of a shitty—sorry, I mean, terrible—life. It wasn’t fun growing up with Beth.”
“No. I can’t imagine what you went through.” She had a distant look in her eyes, as though she’d had a tough time growing up too.
I didn’t know who my grandfather was, and my mother never spoke about him. My grandmother’s past remained a mystery, as Savvie had alluded after I asked her whether she knew of my grandfather. My mother just told me he’d died and had nothing to add. Like it was a stain that needed to be removed.
“What can I do?” I asked.
“You can start by telling me what he’s got over you.”
I told her everything. Blushing as I tried to skim over the finer details of those smutty images. I even admitted to shoplifting.
She shook her head. “Bethany had you doing that as a seven-year-old?”
“We were hungry.” I stared down at my feet.
I’d distressed her.
She wore a look of alarm. Or was that guilt? Her hand even trembled. “I’m sorry,” she said in almost a whisper, as though it hurt to talk.
“You gave my mother life. Something I’d often remind her.”
“Her response?” Her unblinking stare made me shift in my seat.
