Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
Charlie
L illian looks down at the pink box of cupcakes in her lap like she doesn’t know what to do with them. Every so often, she looks over at me, and when I still don’t say anything, she goes back to looking at the box. She’s at a loss. I could help her out, but I think watching her flounder at Mom’s house will be more entertaining.
That’s the reason I won’t talk to her. Nothing else.
Today marks the first time Lillian’s been out of her room in three days. I’ve kept her fed and watered, all her stuff’s been moved, so she doesn’t have reason to complain. And she hasn’t. She’s been in this scared little mood since I unlocked her door myself and told her to get ready to meet my mom and sister. She simply nodded and dutifully sprang into action.
I can’t gauge whether this sudden easy compliance is her way of playing mind games with me or if her submission was really just a matter of dicking her down. Whatever’s going through her mind, she’s in the mood to please.
Today, Lillian’s blonde hair is loose and wavy about her shoulders. Draped in silk, she looks light and approachable with her white top and beige high-waisted skirt. A thin gold chain and a pair of flat gold sandals complete the look. She looks good.
But it doesn’t matter. They’ll never approve of her.
The effort hasn’t been wasted, though. The paparazzi at the bakery loved her. They made her blush prettily after tossing compliments out about her manicured fingers and toes. She really is a doll, from her head to her feet.
What’s lurking beneath that perfect surface?
A fucking mine about to go off.
That’s why I can’t be taken in by her. She’s hiding something, yeah, and Tommy will find out. I’ve got him digging into her past. If the blackmailer found it, he can, too.
If there’s anything to find.
Lillian suddenly looks at me, and I accidentally catch her eye.
“Is something wrong?” she whispers.
There it is again.
I hear her voice after a while and get a funny feeling in my chest.
It’s annoying.
“You made a sound,” she explains.
“Think you’re ready to meet my mom and sister?” I say after a heavy sigh. I’m not even ready to meet with them. But I won’t be the one on trial.
Regardless, I’m tired of sitting with my thoughts, stressing about the blackmailer and what Lillian may or may not be hiding. It’s time to switch gears.
“Yes? Is there something I should do?” she asks, confused. “I didn’t know we were?—”
“Make sure you give that box directly to my mom.” I point at the box in her lap, and her hands protectively encircle it.
“Is that all?”
“Do you know how to dance? They’ll keep you on your toes.”
Lillian’s brows furrow in thought, and I look away.
When she’s soft like this, willing to take my direction, she’s cute.
No.
Actually, I want to shake her until all her secrets spill out, make her sorry for keeping anything from me.
“Your dad won’t be there?”
“He goes fishing on Sundays.”
“So I won’t meet him?”
“Eventually you will,” I reply shortly and clear my throat. “He shows up for important events when he needs to. He’ll come to the…” I trail off as I think about the future. With just a card in the mail, the future is more uncertain than it’s been in years. I’ve had it all tightly under control, didn’t think twice about whether it was possible to get into politics.
I just knew I could.
And I still can.
It’s too late to switch girlfriends.
I’m going to use all my power to shut this blackmailer down, and I’m keeping Lillian.
They don’t want me to have her.
I look back at her. She’s waiting patiently for me to continue, eyebrows raised. By looking at her now, you wouldn’t think I snatched her virginity away.
You’d think she gave it to me in repentance.
What have you done wrong, Lillian?
“He’ll be there when I win the vote in November,” I finish. “Before that, we gotta throw you to the dogs.”
I knock sharply on the door three times and hear Lillian take a deep breath beside me. She holds the box of cupcakes in front of her chest, ready to offer it up, and that clear, open look settles on her face. I don’t bother trying to look more pleasant. Neutral is enough.
The door swings open, and Sadie stands there with a forced smile on her lips. There’s no reason for her to be upset this Sunday—we came at the agreed time, 2 p.m. sharp. But somehow, nothing is ever satisfactory, not if I’m involved.
“Charlie! And you brought…?” Sadie’s hand jerks out, ready to take the box of cupcakes from my hand. But I’m not holding it. She falters briefly before swinging her hand over to grab it from Lillian, who angles her body toward me, away from Sadie.
“You didn’t tell them you were bringing me?” Lillian asks playfully, pretending she didn’t notice Sadie reaching for the box.
“Of course I did! Maybe Sadie forgot your name. Hope you’re not getting too forgetful.”
“Ha ha,” Sadie replies flatly.
Seeing that Lillian won’t hand the box over, Sadie drops her hand after an awkward moment, and I step forward, forcing her out of the way. Looking sour, Sadie sweeps her hand out in welcome.
“Please, come right in.”
“Thank you!” Lillian says brightly, ignoring the sarcasm. She sticks close to me as I walk toward the living room.
“Don’t you look nice? And what do you have there?”
I glance back to see Sadie falling into step beside her and pointing at the pink box. Her hands are poised again to take it from her.
“We stopped to get you a little treat,” Lillian replies simply.
“Isn’t that nice? Here, let me?—”
“Don’t let me trouble you!”
“It wouldn’t be any trouble.”
“You must have a sweet tooth!” Lillian jokes with a laugh, and I join her, pressuring Sadie to laugh weakly as well.
“She does. Getting that one to share has never been easy.”
“Don’t bad-mouth me to your girlfriend, Charlie, really.”
“Lillian is my fiancé.” I reach back and wrap an arm around Lillian, tugging her to my side. She looks up at me shyly, still clutching the cupcakes.
“How long’s it been, a couple of months?” Sadie drops the pretense as we enter the living room.
Mom is waiting in the same spot as usual. If her clothes weren’t different, I’d question whether she left her perch at all. Stiffly, she offers us a slight smile, her indifferent eyes appraising Lillian from head to toe.
“So, you’ve finally decided to show me the girl you’re marrying?” Mom says, aloof. Sadie brushes past us to stand by the couch, and Mom stands with her.
“Hello, Mrs. Carter. It’s nice to meet you,” Lillian greets, stepping forward. “We brought you cupcakes!” She extends the box, but Mom just holds her gaze steadily. The two of them are both a little taller than Lillian and seem to enjoy looking down on her, Sadie more obvious about it than Mom.
“You didn’t want to pay your respects to me sooner? Or has my son deliberately kept you away from me?”
Lillian makes a sound like she’s caught off guard. When I look, her face is frozen, eyes and smile wide, made grotesque by the lack of movement.
Then she snaps back into action.
“The campaign has required all of his time,” she explains, voice level despite my mom trying to trip her up. “I’ve only just settled in at his place this week, and we came as soon as we could. Didn’t you fly back to the city on Wednesday?”
“Yeah, so this is the soonest we could come, Mom,” I say patiently, but she still has barely acknowledged me. Lillian’s still offering the box.
“I suppose it would have been impossible to arrange a meeting before the proposal?” Mom arches a brow, now openly studying every inch of Lillian.
“I think Anne can take the heat for that one. Her job is to smooth out these issues, and since the moment she noticed me, we’ve been speeding toward the?—”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard the excuses.” Mom dismisses Lillian’s explanation with a wave of her hand and turns away to sit back down. “Sadie, serve up the dessert.”
With a child’s triumph, Sadie grabs the box, and the old routine is back on track. She disappears into the kitchen while Mom preens on the couch, getting herself perfect before continuing her passive-aggressive attack.
“You were noticed, were you? If it was so easy to pluck you from the streets, why didn’t Anne just do it sooner?”
I settle on the couch facing Mom, mirroring her refusal to relax, and Lillian sits to my right. She smoothes out her skirt, ensuring it’s draping over her knees, no doubt using the time to gather her thoughts. I can’t catch any agitation from her, and she’s all patience when she meets my mom’s unimpressed gaze.
“An average-looking girl like me can be found anywhere. Part of my value lies there. I also think Anne felt like she could approach me and rely on me, and fortunately, our goals are compatible.”
My ears perk up, and I turn my head toward Lillian. This is the first I’ve heard of her desires. It occurs to me that I’ve never asked, but before, it didn’t matter.
Mom asks what I want to know.
“Your goals? What do you want from my family?”
Her family? I close my eyes briefly and take a deep breath.
“I want to send my sister to college.”
“Is that all?” she asks doubtfully. Sadie enters with two small plates, a towering cupcake at each center. Her mocking eyes fix to Lillian’s face as she sits next to Mom.
“That’s enough,” Lillian replies.
“My brother’s mansion, fame, and money are just little bonuses, I guess?” my sister cuts in. “They didn’t factor into your decision?”
“His possessions have nothing to do with me,” Lillian answers quietly.
“You don’t sleep outside. And I doubt you bought this flashy little outfit for yourself. You can’t deny that you’ll benefit from my brother.”
I expect Lillian to cover herself up self-consciously. There’s nothing wrong with her outfit. My sister and mom are just prudes who’re allergic to color. But she takes the comments without moving, her eyes trained on the vase on the coffee table.
“Your brother does have a lot to offer. I intend to do my best to help him reach his goals?—”
“What about your parents? They don’t have the money to send your sister to college?” Mom interrupts.
“Mom—” I start.
“They’re dead.”
Mom doesn’t flinch. Sadie, finding her appetite, starts picking at the frosting with her fingers, unperturbed by this revelation.
“Less variables to account for, I guess,” is her assessment.
We only hear the sticky wet sounds of Sadie polishing off the frosting as her careless comment is allowed to weigh heavily in the air. I don’t expect Mom to chastise her golden child. In fact, their thinking is probably aligned. Mom isn’t the type to spare feelings for others.
“With Charlie, you’re gaining fame, financial security, and a family,” Mom sums up, not missing the opportunity to indebt Lillian to herself as well. “We can hardly expect you to muck things up willingly. I hope, for your sake, that you’re capable of rising to the challenge.”
Mom begins to preen some more, an indication that the conversation topic has been exhausted. I’m sure no human part of her wonders what happened to Lillian’s parents, how old the two girls were when they were left on their own, or even if Lillian has other siblings. What matters most to her is the confirmation that Lillian is wholly dependent on me—and on Mom by extension.
Mom just wanted to secure control.
Beside me, Lillian doesn’t seem to feel the need to respond to my mom’s doubt in her. The pleasant facade she gave her energy to earlier is nowhere to be seen. We’re both settling for neutrality.
“I could go for some coffee. Sadie?” Mom asks, raising her eyebrows at my sister, who’s chomping into the sweet. “Mm. While you’re busy with that, I’ll go and fix some—” Sadie starts to protest, mouth full, but Mom waves her away. “Come, Charles. You can help me serve.”
I rise, briefly shooting a glance at Lillian. She hasn’t moved. She’s still just staring through the vase on the table. I leave her to it.
How can I help her when I’m subjected to the same bullshit?
They may not notice or care about her response to mentioning her parents, but I do. She’s closed herself off. Does it hurt to think about them? How long has she been caring for Amber? In this context, her reaction with Lou makes more sense.
It’s about time I look into the information Anne gathered on her. I need to know Lillian inside and out if she’s going to be this close to me.
When we get to the kitchen, I realize Mom’s been talking this whole time. She continues, not noticing I’ve been disengaged, so it must not be important. The space is spotless, like no one does any cooking here. I wouldn’t put it past her. Mom puts all her efforts into interior design and maintaining respectable hobbies.
“When I entertain,” she goes on, “I could use a bigger kitchen. Don’t you think we have a small kitchen? For the family, I guess it’s fine.”
Time to tune back out. I lean against the counter, my hands flat on either side of the cool marble, and she sets a couple of mugs beside me.
“What do you think of Lillian?” I interject when she takes a breath.
“Aren’t you listening to me at all? I’m talking about the kitchen. When are you going to—no!!”
As I instinctively reach up to grip the bridge of my nose, bracing myself for an argument I’ve had countless times before, my finger catches the handle of the mug and sends it crashing to the floor. Mom leaps back, aghast.
“Charles Carter!!”
“Shit, Mom, I’m sor?—”
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve had that mug?! You clumsy?—!!”
She stamps her foot for emphasis, and I know it’s coming. She raises her hand into the air, fast as a whip, and bites into her lip with rage. It’s an action I’ve seen too many times. In the past, fear would paralyze me, and I’d take the hit to my little ears, my head, as many as she needed to give to vent her anger.
This time, I catch her wrist, stilling her. Mom takes a breath in, affronted.
“You little—” She tries to pull out of my grasp.
I don’t let her.
Adrenaline courses through me. I want to squeeze until I break her wrist, see the pain in her face.
“You think you’re still in control, don’t you?” I give her wrist a shake. I tighten my grip. She winces.
“You want to know who’s really in control?”
“Charles—!”
“Call me Charlie.”