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My fury subsides. “I’m sorry, Mary. After your brother and Paul left, I didn’t know what to do.”
“It’s Jezebel.”
“What?”
“My name.” She squares her shoulders. “I’ve decided to go by my hacker name instead of Mary.”
“Since when are you a hacker?”
“If you’d read your damn texts, you’d know.”
“Ma—” I hesitate when she glares at me. “Jezebel,” I correct. “What have you gotten yourself into?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit.”
She takes a deep breath and locks her eyes on mine. “Since the night of the fire, I’ve been putting my…” Her hands freeze midair for a moment before she continues. “... talents to use.”
I arch a brow. “How?”
Jezebel’s forehead wrinkles, and I know she’s close to shutting down. “Well…”
Closing the distance between us, I settle my hands on her shoulders and mouth, “How are you using your talents?”
She averts her gaze before settling it back on me. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell Matt.”
“Fine.”
“And you have to promise never to ignore me again? If I let you in on this, I need to know I can count on you.”
Something tells me I’m going to regret this, but I nod anyway.
“Promise?”
I nod.
She extends her pinky, and I link mine with it, effectively changing the course of my life forever.
CHAPTER7
VIOLET
“Areyou ready to go dress shopping tomorrow with our mothers?” Brad asks before taking a bite of pot roast.
I stare at him, sure that he’s here for more than just dinner. He’s eaten here the last several nights, and I can’t help but worry about when the mind games are going to start.
True to her word, my mother had my dad talk to Brad about his behavior. Of course, Dad made me seem more unschooled and shy about sex and explained to Brad that he would have to ‘slowly break me inafterwe’re married’.
Mom told me that Brad apologized to my father for his behavior, but he has yet to say he’s sorry to me. Things got better for a couple days, but then he started criticizing me for every little thing I did or said.
A loud crack on the dining room table startles me out of my trance, and I look up from my fork to see Brad’s fist next to his plate.
“I’m talking to you!” he yells.
“I-I-I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I was thinking about how much closer we are to the wedding date, and my mind wandered.” My answer must satisfy him because he smiles and repeats his question. “Oh yes, I think we’re leaving around ten in the morning.”
“I told my mother I don’t want you getting a dress in Vegas.”
