Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
THEA
I hate meals with my mother. Absolutely loathe them. Her critical gaze bounces over me, and I stare down at my meal to avoid the sneer I know she’s wearing on her inflated lips.
I’ve somehow managed to spend the day avoiding her. After returning from the warehouse with Massio, I spent the rest of the day creating designs for Miko.
Now, as I sit here under her scrutiny, it’s a bitter reminder of why I wanted to leave in the first place.
My father clears his throat. “I won’t be around during the party your mother has planned for tomorrow. But I expect you to behave, Theodora.”
Jesus. Does he think I’m five?
“Where were you this morning?” she asks, stunning me. My fork stills and, suddenly, the appetizer seems more appealing than answering her.
“Theodora, I’m talking to you.”
I snap my head to the side to face her. “I went out with Posy.”
She stares back at me, and it feels like she’s pulling my soul apart. Jesus, I hate that look. The feeling of inadequacy scurries up my spine.
“Hmm,” she muses.
Unable to hold her lingering gaze any longer, I turn my attention to the salad that stares back at me and grimace. Why the hell do people enjoy eating salads so much anyway? There’s barely anything to it, just leaves and lots of dressing.
“Eat your meal, Theodora,” my mother snaps. “She’s so ungrateful.” She clucks her tongue, and I close my eyes to rein in my snarky response; it’ll only anger her further.
Massio is sitting opposite me, and I’m grateful.
Though I’m sure with the way my mother has eyed him up and down like he’s her next meal, she was wishing he sat closer to her.
She always insists on sitting at the opposite end of the table to my father, calling it the head of the table when, really, she’s anything but the head of the household.
Massio clears his throat, and my eyes dart up to meet his. “Thea doesn’t like salad laced with ranch. Isn’t that right?”
I scan his face.
He’s been watching me, analyzing me without me realizing.
He’s taken notice of the way I interact with my food. He sees me.
“Since when?” my father asks.
“Always,” I whisper, feeling insignificant. Then I clear my throat and sit taller. “I’ve never liked salad, especially with ranch dressing and cucumber mixed in.”
My father’s gaze snaps to my mother, and his jaw locks before his eyes land back on me. “Very well. Leave the salad. Let the cook know what you’d like served next time.”
“Ford!” my mother admonishes. “She’s going to pile on weight again.”
I roll my eyes. She’s talking about when I was too scared to leave my room after the incident we’re not allowed to discuss, and I sure as hell didn’t pile weight on; if anything, I lost it. Not that she cared.
My father waves his hand, dismissing her concerns, and the anger emanating from her practically vibrates over the table.
“Well, when nobody wants her at all, I’ll blame you!” she snipes out. “Like father, like daughter.”
Massio’s shoulders flex beneath his shirt, his nostrils flare, and the veins bulge in his tattooed hands. He’s seconds away from detonating, and that’s the last thing I want.
I turn my attention toward my mother, opting to discuss something I know she’s going to love. “Are you excited for the Garratt event?”
Her eyes light up, and her enhanced breasts bounce as she claps. “You have no idea!” she declares. “Mr. Garratt might even make an appearance at the pool party tomorrow.”
“Oh, goody,” I chirp back. Massio chokes on his drink, and when I glance at him, he throws me a cheeky wink, giving me the confidence I need to continue with this charade my mother insists on me living.
“Before the event, I need to have my stylist do something with your hair. I can’t possibly let you represent me looking like a trashy cotton candy whore.”
Fuck my life, this is going to be a long night.