Chapter 75 #2
I’m sprawled on the couch reading and tip my head back for a kiss, but that’s when I process his grim expression. It scares me.
I sit up. “What’s going on?”
He picks up the remote and quickly sets up the TV to cast from his phone to the screen. Then he sits next to me, holds my hand, and hits play.
It’s a press event for my father.
My hand clenches tighter around Todd’s as my fear grows.
He’s smiling, giving his usual smarmy answers. My three brothers and two of their wives stand behind him on the dais, as does Mom. Thad’s wife is missing.
My brothers smile like assholes, David’s and Harrison’s wives wear expressions between bored and forced joviality—which looks just as awkward as it sounds—and Mom…
I swallow hard.
She stands behind my father, trying to melt into the backdrop, wearing a neutral expression and with both hands tightly gripping the clutch bag in front of her. Like a shield.
I can’t even focus on my father’s words because I stare at Mom, wishing I could reach into the screen and pull her out, bring her here to me.
Want to call her and tell her there is a safe place.
That she doesn’t have to live like that anymore.
Tears sting my eyes and roll down my cheeks. As bad as everything was…
I miss my mom.
Then I force my attention back to the screen because a familiar voice speaks. “Mr. Sterling, where is your other daughter-in-law today?”
My father’s smile tightens. To anyone else, it still looks right, but I can tell.
“She wasn’t feeling well this morning and, of course, I told her to stay home.”
“Bullshit,” I reflexively say.
But this isn’t finished. And before I can process the way Mom’s posture changes, nearly folding in on herself, the voice asks another question.
“Your other son, Malcolm, isn’t it? He hasn’t been spotted at your campaign events.
Our viewers would love to know where that eligible bachelor is. Apparently, his Insta is blowing up.”
Laughter ripples through the gathered throng. Most of them aren’t press. Campaign workers, maybe? Hard to say. It’s being held in some generic hotel ballroom.
My brothers’ smiles don’t hold.
And Mom…
Mom. I spot the way her chest hitches, how she closes her eyes and steps back like she’s about to bolt from the stage.
My father’s face, though—
Todd hits pause. “Morning sent me that a little while ago. It’s from yesterday.”
“That’s who’s asking those questions! Isn’t that risky? His getting in there like that?”
Todd shrugs. “Morning Caldwell is a well-known, high-priced attorney with his fingers in countless pies. It wouldn’t surprise me if he walked up to the White House, snapped his fingers, and got ushered inside without a second glance.
He’s also fae, and over 300 years old, meaning he can likely glamour himself so he isn’t recognized. ”
I stare at the frozen image on the TV. The micro-expression on the left side of my father’s upper lip, curling in a snarl he’s barely able to disguise.
“Do I want to hear the rest?” I ask. “Wait a minute. My Insta? I haven’t logged into that since before leaving Atlanta.”
“Hold that thought,” he says, hitting play.
My father’s almost-snarl fully transitions into a smile. “Malcolm is currently working on academic projects in Europe. He’s our youngest, and we obviously prefer he focus on his studies instead of being sucked into the whirlwind of politics.”
I jab my finger at the screen. “Bullshit!”
Todd hits pause. “That’s all that really matters,” he says. This freeze-frame catches my father’s brow creased vertically above his nose.
Which only happens when he’s enraged.
I mean, I am an expert at detecting and decoding his expressions and have been since I was little.
Deciphering my father’s moods was the best way to survive them.
Todd swipes out of the video and into the Insta account for the ranch. He types my user handle in the search box and, sure enough, I now have over 300k followers, when before I shut my phone off, I think I had 25, maybe? 24? And half of those were probably spam accounts.
My jaw drops. “Da fuuuuuuuq?”
“They’re making it look like you’re overseas.” He starts scrolling through my profile, past posts, and stops at a picture posted on the day after the mating hunt…
Well, it’s not me. I recognize the expression I’m wearing—kinda cute and pouty, if I say so myself—but it looks like AI’s been used to put me in a Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts.
The angle is from slightly below me, looking up—damn, that is a good angle for me—one hand’s in my pocket, and the other is flashing a peace sign at the camera.
Behind me is the Acropolis.
The caption reads: Know your history - save the future. Peace, baby loves. Followed by several cute emojis I didn’t even know were on a phone.
That, apparently, is the photo that first went viral.
I am… literally… speechless. Brain just…blown.
I try to say something a couple of times and give up, staring at the screen.
Todd chuckles. “Morning and Dahlia had a hand in making sure it quickly spread.”
“Has my father been sending me DMs there?”
“Yeah. I’ve seen them. And no, not letting you read them. You don’t need to. You can’t log in, anyway, because I asked them to change your password. It needs to look like you’re logging in from the places where the posts appear to originate.”
I take his phone, swipe down to refresh it, and there are an additional 32 followers I didn’t have only a moment ago.
Then I browse the new pictures, all styled with deliberately sexy poses, like one arm across my chest with my other elbow propped on that hand and my free hand holding my chin while wearing a sexy smirk, the tip of the Eiffel Tower just barely visible in the background; a mirror selfie where my face is visible from the nose up, showing off a “new haircut” while my aviator shades and the mirror clearly reflect signs in Italian; one taken on a beach, from the point of view of holding the camera pointed down my chest and showing my bare abs, my mustard yellow swim trunks, and in the background an azure sea kissing white sand that can’t be anywhere on this side of the Atlantic.
That caption reads: The thirst trap you keep begging me for, ladies. Enjoy! Peace, baby loves. Followed by several suggestive emojis.
“I don’t even have those abs anymore!” I ridiculously protest. “And I damn sure wouldn’t have worn those color trunks!”
Todd snorts. “Seriously? That’s your critique?”
“I… I…” I stare at him, at his sexy smirk. “Okay, so what’s the point of this?”
“I don’t know the deets,” he admits. “OPSEC. They’re obviously trying to rile your father.”
“And Mom,” I quietly say.
He nods. “And your mom.” He takes a deep breath. “Tomorrow night, late, we’re heading out.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jax said for us to be ready to leave at 11:00 pm.”
“How long? Do I need to pack?”
“Maybe a small backpack with a clean change of clothes for both of us. Toothbrushes. But it shouldn’t be long.”
Hope tentatively peeks out from where I’ve kept it carefully tucked away. “Mom?”
“I don’t know, baby. But you cannot talk about it to anyone—not even Shawn, definitely not to my mom. No one.”
Now that it seems I might be close to getting Mom back, I hope Alizée’s track record is as good as she thinks it is.
Because that look on her face at the press conference will likely haunt my nightmares.