Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Austin’s eyes sparked fire. His hand found the small of my back, guiding me forward. Under his breath, I barely heard him whisper, “We’ll see about this mood.”
“Just kill him,” Ivy House said. “You could snap his neck like a twig. End him.”
But even if I’d be fine with killing my son’s father, this wasn’t that kind of battle. It wasn’t a fistfight, or a magical attack to be thwarted.
No, this was a mental battle—the kind of fight I’d never learned how to protect myself from. At the time, I hadn’t even thought it necessary. Other moms in my circle had seemed happy in similar situations. They’d seemed well adjusted.
Or maybe they were just better actors…
I took a deep breath.
“It’s fine,” I said for no reason as we walked through a formal dining room with the place settings perfectly laid out, the napkins matching the table runner in the middle. Two tapered candles waited to be lit on either side of a basket of fresh flowers.
I’d laid out a very similar table, picking the pieces out of a catalog so I was sure they’d go together. I remembered agonizing over the flowers, knowing Matt would point out my lack of etiquette if I got it wrong. He’d never helped me learn, though, if there was even a guide.
I hadn’t thought about that since the divorce. The supposed need for “proper” flowers and place settings had never once crossed my mind since our parting. If I hadn’t come to this space and seen the same thing play out with a different actor, I never would’ve remembered.
My grip was tight on Austin’s hand where it rested on my hip as we entered the kitchen. Matt was just around the edge of the island, leaning down into Camila’s space, murmuring to her.
Her face was drawn, her knuckles white from grasping her hands in front of her. I knew the sort of “pep talk” she was getting. He was taking out his frustrations over how it was going with Austin and me on her. He was blaming her for any number of things that were not her fault, but that she would feel responsible for.
My stomach knotted at the sight. At the memory of what it had felt like. During those moments, I’d wanted so desperately to cry and give up, but doing so would only have ended with his taunting me over my “hysterics.” He would cite how emotional women were, ineffective at even the simplest of tasks. He’d tell me to stop sniveling or, worse, ask why I couldn’t be more like Charlie’s wife, with her perfect taste and beauty, or John’s wife, with her amicable chatter and exceptional cooking prowess. He’d then flirt with those women, usually in front of me, shedding his charm on them while I struggled to fix the many things that had somehow been my fault.
“I would’ve gotten that account if the dinner party had gone more smoothly. Why did you have to tell that joke? Why didn’t you get along with his wife a little better? I swear, you weigh this family down. If it weren’t for me, I don’t know how you’d ever survive, Jacinta.”
Once again, I felt steeped in memories of the past. Why had I agreed to come at all?
Keep your head above the bullshit.
I shrugged off the memories, feeling my anger kindle as Matt straightened up and stepped away from Camila. His smile was charming.
“We were just finalizing our dinner plans,” he said, walking away from the island a little.
“Where’s Jimmy?” I asked. “I saw him come in here.”
“I sent him up to his room for the time being,” Matt replied. “I figured it would give the adults a chance to talk. He’ll meet us back down here for dinner.”
“You sent…” I swallowed my irritation and tried to steady my anger. He would stonewall me if I seemed cross. “Forget for a moment that he’s an adult now, not a child you can send to his room. He’s only home from college for a short time. The whole point of having this dinner was to present a united front as a family. Sending him away doesn’t do much to promote that ideal. Don’t you want to visit with him?”
“Jacinta, please.” Matt’s smile tightened. “You don’t need to make this into an argument. Let’s just try to have a good time for once, can’t we?” He shifted his focus to Austin without skipping a beat. “Austin, would you care for a glass of scotch?” He put one hand on his stomach and lifted the other, motioning in the direction we’d just come from. “I’d love to hear more about your business while the girls finish up in the kitchen.”
“A glass of wine would be fine, thanks,” Austin said, pulling his arm from around me and unbuttoning his shirt sleeves. “Camila, I can give you a hand. What do you need?”