Page 57 of Velvet Chains
“It’s a really good book,” James offers weakly. “The, uh, the thing with the stuff is really compelling.”
Victor leans forward, sudden interest sparking in his eyes. “You’re a writer, Serena?”
Ser blinks, clearly thrown by the question. “Uh, yeah. I write paranormal romance. You know, werewolves and vampires and… Why are you looking at me like that?”
Victor’s gaze flicks to me, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Laura never mentioned that her best friend was a writer.”
“Well, you, we… didn’t exactly have time for a heart-to-heart about my social circle, did we?”
Wait! You freaking used my best friend to threaten me into marrying you, you bastard! Of course I didn’t give you her life story!
But I bite my tongue. No need to air that particular grievance in front of Ser and James.
“James is a writer, too!” I blurt out, desperate to steer the conversation away from the glaring elephant in the room.
As if on cue, the servers choose that moment to start bringing out the food. James’ eyes widen as a plate is set in front of him, piled high with something that looks like it belongs in a modern art museum rather than on a dinner table.
“Uh, what exactly am I looking at here?” he asks, poking at a delicate swirl of foam with his fork.
Sergei, who has apparently materialized out of thin air, launches into a detailed description. “That, sir, is a deconstructed lobster bisque, topped with a saffron foam and served with a side of liquid nitrogen-frozen caviar pearls.”
James blinks. “Of course it is. Silly me.”
I have to press my lips together to keep from laughing at the look on his face. It’s the same expression he wore when Ser tried to convince him that kale smoothies were delicious.
Victor, seemingly oblivious to James’ culinary confusion, leans forward with interest. “So, James, you’re a writer as well? Is that how you and Serena met?”
I don’t miss the way his gaze flicks to me as he asks the question. It’s not just idle curiosity. He’s trying to piece together the puzzle of my life, one friend at a time.
Don’t fall for his tricks, Laur.
But even so, there’s no denying that I’m enjoying every moment right now, thinking back to those long nights in college, hunched over laptops with Ser and James, our eyes bleary from staring at screens and our veins buzzing with caffeine. We’d talk for hours about our dreams, our plans, the stories we wanted to tell.
But that was a long time ago. Before my dad made it clear that writing was a “frivolous waste of time.” Before I put away those dreams and resigned myself to a life of practicality.
“Laura used to write too,” Ser says softly as if reading my mind. “She’s brilliant. Her children’s stories… I’ve never read anything like them.”
I duck my head, sudden tears pricking at my eyes. “That was a long time ago,” I mumble. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“Of course it matters,” Victor says, his voice unexpectedly gentle. “Talent like that should be nurtured, not squandered.”
I look up at him, startled. Is he really encouraging me to write? The man who just casually threatened murder over appetizers?
But as I search his face, I see nothing but sincerity. And maybe, just maybe… a glimmer of understanding.
“Laura’s father didn’t approve of her writing,” Ser says, a hard edge creeping into her voice. “He thought it was a waste of time. Just like he thought pretty much everything Laura did was a waste of time.”
Victor’s jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “I’ve met George; he’s a real piece of work.”
I flinch at the mention of my father, my fingers tightening around my fork.
Images flash through my mind—my mother’s tear-stained face, the bruises on her arms, the way she’d flinch at the sound of my father’s voice. The way he’d sneer at me, telling me I was worthless, that I’d never amount to anything.
“Writing? Don’t make me laugh, Laura. You really think you’ve got what it takes to make it as a writer? You’re nothing special. Just a silly little girl with her head in the clouds.”
His words echo in my head, as sharp and cutting as they were the day he said them.
I take a shuddering breath.
