As if driven by its own train of thought, my free hand finds the small of Lenny’s back, and I hook a finger in the hem of her shirt. She doesn’t relax, exactly, but she leans into the gesture, as if she needs the support.
Then her father steps outside, holding the flaps of his plaid robe closed. He frowns as he inspects the injured creep, and then freezes altogether when his gaze swings around to me.
A grin threatens at my mouth for a brief second, before breaking free.
“Thomas. Long time, no see.”
12
Mama paces across the room, and each time she turns to walk in the opposite direction, I wring my hands together, ignoring the way my stomach growls. Not because I’m hungry, but because my body wants a different kind of discomfort.
By the time Preston comes out of Daddy’s office, my fingers are turning purple, and I rub my hands together as I shoot to my feet.
“Helene,” Daddy calls, and I avoid looking at my ex, even as he pauses at the threshold of the door.
Waiting.
For what, I can’t be sure. Maybe an escort, in case Jonas—who was ignored after the initial shock of his presence wore off—assaults him again.
My eyes stay fixed on the grandfather clock just visible in the office, and eventually Preston gives up, turning on his heel and disappearing down the hall. I watch as he goes, my stomach flipping with delight when I notice his swollen ear and the bandage just above the cartilage.
His footsteps echo as he gets farther away, and Mama puts a hand on my bicep, squeezing tight. One of the pink curlers falls from where it’s pinned to her scalp, but she ignores it as she tries to comfort me.
“Everything will be fine, dear.”
I don’t believe her, but then again, I knew there would be absolute hell to pay for my actions.
In truth, that was a major part of the appeal.
“We can’t help who we love,” she continues, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The sympathetic smile on her face tempts me; the truth teases the back of my throat like vomit, but I swallow it down because Mama can’t keep secrets.
Probably why she doesn’t know what really happened with Preston and Daddy.
Once upon a time, I thought she’d want to be included. The night I found Daddy bleeding out in the kitchen, I ran and told her immediately, seeking some sort of comfort from her. When they took him away in an ambulance, though, she only complained about the inconvenience.
As if his attempted assassination was a given, and she was just upset she had to acknowledge it.
To this day, I’m not sure what Daddy could’ve done to warrant an execution, but I suppose I’m past the point of getting answers.
Besides, it’s much easier to enjoy life when you’ve got your head buried in the sand.
“Helene. Now, please.”
Mama gives me a gentle push in the direction of the office, and I walk in with my fingers interlocked. Wishing like hell that I had a bagel or something sweet in my palm, so I could distract myself from the anxiety knotting in my internal organs.
He’s seated in one of the oversized armchairs across the room from his desk. Bookshelves line the wall behind them, collecting dust like most of the things in this house that no one’s ever around to use. The only difference is that housekeeping isn’t allowed in here.
With a sweep of his hand, Daddy gestures for me to take the chair in front of him. He crosses one leg over the other and drinks from a crystal tumbler I got him for Father’s Day when we lived in Savannah; a fake bullet pierces one side, and mine and the twins’ names are engraved on the opposite.
Swirling the dark liquid in the glass, he studies the detailing silently.
My face heats, my unease notching higher with every tick of the grandfather clock. Mama comes in after me and takes her usual spot behind Daddy, rubbing his shoulders as she attempts an encouraging smile.
When Daddy speaks, it’s like a whip cracks through the air, lashing against my skin.
“Are you trying to ruin me, Helene?”
I swallow, folding my hands in my lap. My stomach rumbles, and I realize that it’s almost five a.m., and most people will be waking up for breakfast soon. God, I could really go for a jelly-filled donut or two right now.
Or maybe an omelet. There’s a restaurant on the boardwalk that serves theirs with grilled chives and sour cream, and they always overdo their portions, so there are leftovers no matter what.
That would be good right now. Better than sitting here, for sure.
“…not even fucking listening.” Sitting forward, Daddy shakes Mama off and snaps his fingers directly in front of my face. I jerk back to reality, and he lets out an angry huff.
“I’m listening,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “Not everything is about you, Daddy. Least of all my dating life.”
“Dating life,” he scoffs, setting his tumbler on the coffee table between us. “You don’t even have a dating life. Or you didn’t, which was the decision you made when you chose not to reconnect with Preston after Vermont.”
“I don’t want to date Preston.”
“Well, that’s just too damn bad.” His fist comes down on the arm of his chair, and Mama jumps. “You’re a goddamn Primrose, Helene, and you’ll do what I tell you.”
“Thomas,” Mama chides gently, the way you might try to calm a spooked horse. “She’s an adult. We can’t control every aspect of her life.”
“Oh, spare me, sweetheart. An adult who’s never paid for a damn thing in her entire life. Never had a job, or a real friend. Just sits in her room painting and stuffing her face, thinking people won’t notice the way her weight fluctuates every time she’s pictured in the papers.”
He pauses as if checking to see if the blow landed, and I hate the way his words slice my skin wide open.
Clearing my throat, I push to my feet. “If that’s all you wanted to say, I think I’ll be going.”
Daddy springs from his chair, his big hand wrapping around my arm. His grip is harsh, a lot like it was months ago, and I have a sudden flashback to that night. The anger on his red, ruddy face and the agony ripping me apart inside.
The circumstances now are slightly different, but I feel no less miserable.
“I’ll have him arrested again,” Daddy says when I manage to wriggle out of his hold. He’s right behind me as I exit the office, and I can feel each swipe of his hand as he tries to grab me.
“For god’s sake, Thomas.” Mama trails close, like she’s afraid to leave him alone with me.
As she should be.
When I reach the front door, I pull it open right before Daddy fists my hair, yanking me back. Jonas is leaning against one of the pillars just outside, seemingly relaxed as he waits.
I don’t miss the way his gaze snaps to me, though, and then slides slowly to where my father holds me close.
Or the way his jaw clenches, the muscle beneath thumping like a pulse point.
“If you leave right now,” Daddy says, his face by my ear, “I’m cutting you off. No allowance, no connections, no inheritance. Your association with the Primrose family leaves the second you go with that criminal.”
Takes one to know one, my insides scream.
“Ah, still not averse to using threats to exploit the people in your life.” Jonas shakes his head, taking a step in our direction. “Glad to see you don’t change, Tom.”