Page 2 of Brutal King

I smiled at the sound of my mother’s displeased grunt as she walked away. She was a hard and, at times, harsh, woman. Stepping out of line was never permitted unless there was just cause.

Not wanting to displease her more, I hurried to my large walk-in closet to get dressed. Filled with classic and trendy designer clothes, it was a difficult decision to find the perfect outfit. The night before, I’d carefully picked out three potential outfits for my first day at I.I.C.A.A.; a cream-colored sweater dress, a pair of deep blue slacks paired with a pale-yellow blouse and a Chanel miniskirt and jacket in soft, powdery pink.

On the first day of school and I felt the need to make a good impression. I immediately put the slacks and blouse away; far too mature and sedate. The choice after that was obvious. Pink miniskirt it was.

I quickly got dressed, pulled my long black hair into a ponytail, and slipped into comfy three-inch pink suede boots. The final touch; a brush of pink lip gloss.

Finally ready, I headed down to the breakfast room. I took my time, breathing in every inch of the long hallway, listening carefully to every click of my heels on the wooden steps and reveling in the delicious smells and aroma that guided me to my breakfast.

“You know I don’t like it when you keep me waiting, Kat,” Mom said as I entered the breakfast room.

The early morning sun poured into the room that was already bright with its yellow walls and white furnishings.

“Sorry.” I sat down across from her. I smiled at the maid as she poured me coffee. “Thank you.”

“I know you must be nervous and excited about your first day in college, but that’s no reason to keep me waiting, dear.”

“You’re absolutely right, Mom.”

She smiled and reached for my hand. “That said, I completely understand your excitement, dear. I guess with your father away on business, I find myself having to deal with your departure all by myself.”

“I’ll only be an hour away, Mom.”

“No, sweetie. You will be one long hour away from me. You’ll no longer be here to have breakfast with me and, with your father on the other side of the planet, as he is now, I’ll have to have dinner alone.”

“Isn’t Dad supposed to come back in a day or two?”

She shrugged. “You know how things go when he goes off to ensure his restaurants are running as per his wishes... and you know how he loves Singapore. I wouldn’t be the least surprised if he called to tell me he wanted to extend his stay.”

I laughed at her exaggeration of the situation. No matter how much my father enjoyed Singapore, he would never dare stay longer than necessary.

“Miss Mona,” the cook said as she entered the breakfast room and came to stand by my mother. “This morning I’ve prepared a lovely and savory quiche as well as eggs Benedict, and on the sweet side, we have French toasts with raspberry jam, fluffy pancakes with real maple syrup and a fresh fruit cup.”

“Oh, Dana,” Mom said. “I’m starving and could really go for a big slice of that quiche.”

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it,” Dana said. “And for you Miss Katrina?”

“I think a fresh fruit cup is the only thing I can handle this morning.”

“Oh, honey,” Mom said. “You have a big day ahead of you. You really should have something that will fill you more than just fresh fruit.”

“Okay.” I looked up at the young cook who’d been with us for just over four years. With the ability to turn the simplest meal into something spectacular, she had a magic touch that was enviable. “I’ll have one little pancake.”

She nodded and smiled as she walked out.

“My little girl,” Mom said as she looked at me with that nostalgic look she’d been carrying the past few days. “I thought I was ready for this, after all, I’m the one who has always pressed you to go to college. And now that the time has come... well... I am so proud of you, honey, but I do hate to see you go.”

“The day after I leave, you’ll find something to fill your time, Mom. I won’t be too far away.”

“Thank God you chose to go to school nearby, instead of on the East Coast. That would be inconvenient,” Mom said.

“It’s the best culinary school in America,” I said. “And it happens to be closer to home.”

“You’re like your father,” Mom said, “very practical. I was lucky that my daughter was born with a good head on her shoulders.”

I turned to Mom, “Aww, Mom, I just have good genes, thanks to my parents.”

Mom laughed. “We taught you well.”

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