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"Luna. Aren't you looking lovely?" I spin around to see Kingsley's mother standing there.
And any feeling of safety I might have had left in my body immediately flees.
"Mrs..." I stop. I have no idea what her name is.
"You can call me Elise, dear,” she suggests. I'd rather go with Wicked Witch, but I should probably heed a little of Alex's advice. "Where is Kingsley?"
"He's on his way."
She raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Oh, he left you to come alone? That doesn't seem like him. He might still be lacking in some traits but consummate gentleman isn't one of those things. I must talk to him about that. I taught him better than that.
You assume my mother taught me anything.
The words still ring bitter in my head. And I'm not likely to remember the way she's spoken to me either.
"Actually, I came with a friend."
"Oh, that's right, I heard that. It must've simply escaped my mind." As soon as she says the words, I realize that she hasn't forgotten that fact at all. So, what's her game here? "You came with dear AlexHamilton. I hear he's introducing you as Luna Hamilton. Well, that's quite the surprise. I see you're settlinginto your new life quite well. At Baxterandat Hamilton. Such exciting times in your life."
Every word sounds like a curated insult. She's good. If pure evil was good.
"Well, Elise"—I lean into her first name, she doesn't deserve the respect of being called by her last name, and not because I haven't a clue what it is these days—"I've had some losses as well."
"Well, yes. Perhaps. But every closed door, right?"
"Perhaps I liked the direction that closed door was leading to."
Her face takes on a sharp, catty air. "But then you wouldn't be here, would you? Perched oh so comfortably between my sonandErnest's."
There's really no reason for me to keep talking to her.
"You know what? There's a wall over there that looks like it needs someone to stare at it. I think I'll go over there."
"Careful, Luna. I'm very protective of my son. And I know what's best for him whether he knows it or now."
"I assume then that you'll be staying away from him then." Catty begets catty apparently, and my claws are out.
Whatever was left of her mask slips like bad plastic surgery off her face and she digs her nails into my arm. "You're quite the little bitch, aren't you? Careful what you say to me. I'm still his mother. And I always will be. A year from now... who will you be to him? Don't you wonder why he's not married yet?"
I yank my arm out of her vicious grip and storm away. And not for the first time, wonder how she didn't do even worse damage to Kingsley.
I park myself by the far wall, my back to it, making sure I have a good view, not really looking forward to any more ambushes.
And I wait for him.
Ten, twenty, thirty minutes tick on.
And he doesn't appear.
And the butterflies come back.
Dark, ominous.
My text messages to him go unanswered, calls unanswered.
And excitement sours to disappointment.
Mr. Punctuality.
