Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
ANDREA
“Like, how hard is it to type out a reply and hit send?”
Something clatters to the floor. I cringe at the cracked remains of Lilly’s powder compact strewn across the pristine tile.
“Dang it, I liked that one,” she pouts, squatting as best she can in a chiffon gown to gingerly collect the salvageable pieces.
We’re expected in the ballroom in ten minutes, but neither of us is in a rush to leave the Bayshore’s outrageously luxurious bathroom.
Every summer, St. Gemma’s Church hosts a Charity Gala Fundraiser where donors and leaders of the congregation auction off art, jewelry, and a whole bunch of other shit to fund scholarships, events and who knows what else.
To my sister and me, it’s a chore.
“He just so happens to live next door. You could always stop by,” Lilly shrugs.
I lean over the counter, inches from the mirror, to reapply a coat of red lipstick. “And say what? Hey Cade, my bestie saw you at the psychiatrist and now I’m…”
Worried God is punishing you like he punished Remy.
The rest sticks in my throat. I’ve told myself over and over that I no longer believe in Him, but in the back of my mind, a nagging voice whispers that His wrath is coming for me.
“Have you asked Sebastian about it?” Her tone is gentle now. Looking at my reflection, I see why. Anxiety doesn’t blend well with my makeup. I blow out a sigh.
“Of course not.”
She rests against the countertop next to me. “Does he even know you’re pissed at him?”
I don’t want to hash this out with her again.
“He should,” I snap, snatching my beaded purse and tucking it under my arm as I march out the door. Lilly’s hurried footsteps chase me, the click of our heels bouncing off the excessively tall ceilings.
“How would he? You’re the one who said boys have the emotional intelligence of gnats,” she counters.
He wasn’t supposed to be like the rest of them.
We round the corner, headed for the ballroom where couples in suits and floor-length dresses file through a set of double doors. Lilly’s hand slips into mine as we cut the line.
“‘Scuse us,” I mutter, squeezing past annoyed glares. Someone calls my name, but I don’t stop.
If we’re late, my father will lose his shit.
As tempting as it is to piss him off, I’m not in the mood to get burned at the stake.
Not that he’d put me on blast in front of everyone— he’d wait until we got home, then tie me to a pyre in the backyard.
More than ever, I’ve become the outlet for his frustrations.
His fuse is non-existent. Meetings with Dr. Larson and Dr. Aldrich have been running well into the night.
They tripled their donations this year. His phone blows up at all hours.
They’re up to something and I don’t have a good feeling about any of it.
From across the ballroom, I spot the agitated flat line of my father’s mouth as his dark eyes scan the mingling attendees like a hawk. His mask is slipping. As much as I want them all to witness the monster beneath, I’m terrified of the aftermath.
The balls of my feet protest in my stilettos as I lead the way to Donor’s Row.
The usual suspects are gathered around the long table, huddled in small groups while they gossip and lord over everyone else.
Dr. Larson leans in to whisper something to his newest wife (Melinda?) before stepping aside to join Dr. Aldrich and my father, who throws a warning glare in my direction as the three of them disappear behind the auction stage.
“Where have you been?” Mama hisses through her teeth as she makes a show of kissing our cheeks.
I ignore her and scan the table. There’s an extra seat beside mine. Please stay empty.
“Incoming,” Lilly whispers.
I’m slapped in the face with a nauseating amount of cologne. Lilly shifts from one foot to the other, her fingers strangling mine as I glare up at Fort Manor’s token asshole.
Grant’s gaze sweeps me, then my sister, from head to toe. “Not looking like the Pastor’s daughters tonight, huh?”
I don’t have the patience for this condescending prick.
“You smell like a prepubescent boy who just discovered body spray.”
He sucks his teeth. “Still a bitch, I see.”
“And you’re still irrelevant,” I sneer, snatching a glass of champagne from one of the servers floating around and pouring it down the hatch.
Grant’s brow lowers. “We’re supposed to be on our best behavior.”
With a simper, I shove the empty glass at his chest. “I don’t give a fuck.”
He spits insults at my back as I brush past, but I’m not listening to him anymore.
Dragging Lilly along, I strain to overhear anything and everything useful.
Alcohol is flowing; surely, someone will spill their secrets.
Knowledge is currency and I use these events to gather as much of it as I can.
Who knows when I’ll need to cash in? I’m smiling and nodding along as Kevin, the Youth Director, gushes about the new program when my father returns.
“There he is!” He exclaims with too much enthusiasm. “The man of the hour!”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
I slowly turn.
My God, no. You were supposed to keep him away from these people. He can’t be involved with them. Anyone but him. Of all the prayers I’ve sent up, I needed you to answer this one.
Silence rings in the chorus of excited chatter.
My father raises his glass, beaming as he ushers the newcomer forward.
“Please give a warm welcome to our new Leader of the Youth Warriors of Christ, Sebastian Holt!”
I was wrong. God did hear me.
And he’s laughing in my face.