AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I lean to reply in Willow’s ear. “Until you produce two parents of your own, Lynch, I couldn’t give less of a shit what you think of mine.”
“You’ll be waiting a while,” Willow whispers back. “I don’t have a dad, and my mother’s dead.”
Of all the times she could have chosen to reveal that particular morsel of information. I turn to look at her, eager to catch any glimpse of emotion on her face.
“Did you kill her?”
Her smile doesn’t falter. “She killed herself.”
40
Closest Friends
Luca
I don’t have timeto process this revelation. Willow, her smile fixed on her face, leads us firmly up the stairs to stand face-to-face with my parents.
“Good evening, dearest,” my mother says, taking me by the elbows and rising up to kiss me on both cheeks. Willow’s nails dig into my arm, and I already know I’m going to be made the recipient of a thousand incest jokes to come. “Are you going to introduce us to your lovely companion?”
Willow doesn’t bother waiting for me to do the honours. She presents my mother with a sweet smile. This sweetness is a different shade, though. It’s soft and harmless; it suggests compliance and joy.
“Willow Lynch,” she says. “I’m so pleased to finally meet you, Mrs Fletcher-Lowe, Mr Fletcher-Lowe.” She flashes her smileover my father, who answers it with a nod. “Luca has told me so much about you, Mrs Fletcher-Lowe. I can’t help but feel as though I’m meeting a real-life celebrity.”
She’s laying it on thick, maybe too thick. My mother’s eyebrow shoots up, and her smile takes on a sardonic edge.
“And what exactly has my son been telling you—Willow, is it?”
Willow taps my arm in a familiar, affectionate gesture, a perfect charade of a loving couple.
“He simply doesn’t stop. You’d think every one of your achievements is one of his own! The new wing at the Margarita Museum, the fundraising event for the Emiliani Foundation, and of course all the work you’ve done over the years for the Royal London Children’s Hospital—I suppose if you weremymother, I could not resist showing you off.”
I narrow my eyes at her as she speaks. Not only have I not mentioned any of those things to her, but I’m also not even aware of half of them.
The change in my mother’s expression is immediate. She’s not convinced—but sheisflattered and tries to hide her pride behind a modest smile. “Oh, not at all. Aren’t we all trying to make a difference in this world?”
“Some make more of a difference than others,” Willow says. She leans forward conspiratorially and stage-whispers to my mother, “Us women are always made to feel as though we should downplay our achievements, but why should we?”
My mother tilts her head. “You’re absolutely correct.”
The line behind us is growing, and Willow glances over her shoulder. “We’re keeping you from your guests. So sorry.”
“Not at all, not at all!” My mother waves a hand. “Please, go in, drink, mingle. We’re table companions tonight, so I look forward to getting to know you better.”
It’s a threat disguised as politeness, but I doubt Willow realises. She leads me away by my arm, and I catch my mother’seyes on me as I turn to follow her. A quick look that seems to saySo far, so good—but only so far. My father’s face remains stony but his eyes flick, almost imperceptibly, to the curve of Willow’s hips, accentuated by the tight bodice of her dress.
My father has a natural disdain for women he considers to be fortune-chasers, but that doesn’t stop him from taking whatever they offer. I’m reminded of my bet with Willow, and I vow to keep her away from my father for the rest of the night.
Inside the halls ofthe manor, we’re greeted with an extravagance of gilded candelabras, a glimmering ocean of candlelight amongst the pillars and archways. The rich green tiling of the floor creates a murky pool underneath our feet, and austere figures in ruffs and curly wigs stare down at us from the walls. Willow, impervious to the magnificence of the decor, makes a beeline for the servers carrying trays of delicate flutes.
She takes a sip of champagne, smacks her lips, smiles. “Props to Lady Fletch. She didn’t skimp out on the good shit.”
“How would you know what the good shit is? I’ve seen what you eat—you have the palate of a teenage boy.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t be making fun of anybody.” She winks at me over the rim of her glass. “I just watched you make out with your own mum.”
“You’re vile.” I pull her closer by her arm. “But since you’ve brought up my mother yet again, how about you—”
“Oh look!” Willow’s eyes light up as she scans the room. “It’s that couple from your serial killer board!”
