Page 122 of The Last De Loughrey Dynasty

Valantina turned to me with a sweet smile. “Do you have any attractive younger brothers, Dorothee?”

“Valantina, sweetheart, that’s really inappropriate to ask.” A woman who looked almost identical to the three girls appeared behind them with pursed lips. She held out a hand to me. “Amelia Alderidge. I apologise for my daughter’s very forward question.” Oh, so that’s Maisie’s mother.

I shook her hand with a friendly smile on my lips, which was difficult to maintain when I thought about my friends’ stories of this woman.

“Dorothee De Loughrey. It’s a pleasure to meet you. And no worries, your daughter’s question was more than fine.” I looked past her to Maisie’s younger sister. “But sadly, I don’t have brothers, I’m an only child.”

Amelia let go of my hand, taking a step back with a broken laugh. “Thank the lord for that, I wouldn’t want one of my daughters marrying a De Loughrey.”

My smile suddenly dropped. “I’m sorry?”

“Mum!” Maisie scolded her, thrown off by the statement as well.

Amelia waved her daughter off, taking a glass of champagne from a waiter that walked by with a tray of glasses. “It’s nothing against you, my child. I’m sure you’re a sweet girl if you’re friends with my Mairead. But I’m certainly not a fan of your mother, and I’m sure you’ll understand. She’s a poor excuse for a woman with that temperament of hers.”

While I wasn’t the biggest fan of my mother, I surprisingly felt anger boiling in my blood. But instead of defending her, I smiled sweetly at the woman. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll search for the poor excuse for a woman to join her company for Headmaster Shaw’s speech,” I said, hoping she heard the sarcasm in my voice. “I’ll see you later, Maisie.”

Maisie looked at me apologetically as I walked away, but I shook my head to let her know it wasn’t her fault. And perhaps she was right with what she said, but it was still very forward. That’s precisely why Maisie struggles to have a relationship with her mother.

I noticed my mum standing next to one of the tables, looking around with a glass of champagne in her hand. Her golden hair was up in a sleek bun, and she wore a tight black dress combined with a silver belt, trying to fit the motto of tonight somewhat.

“Hi Mum, you look good,” I greeted her with a small smile, looking around to find my father somewhere.

Mum eyed my dress and then returned my smile politely. “Thank you, Dorothee. Your dress is…”

“Pretty,” my father finished for her, returning to the standing table. He wore a black suit, and for once, I noticed that he had no phone in hand.

“Thank you, Dad.” He pulled me into a hug, and I tried not to let my surprise show too much. When I was younger, I vividlyremember that he did that often, but then he moved to America and the hugs and cuddles were no more.

“Welcome to the ball of Aquila,” the voice of my headmaster echoed through the room. We broke our embrace and turned to look at Headmaster Shaw, who stood in the middle of the room with a microphone in hand.

Light shone on him from the ceiling, which was decorated with lights that resembled the Aquila constellation, seemingly making someone feel as if they were right beneath the stars.

“It’s an honour to welcome you to the three hundredth Ball of Aquila Hall.” Everyone started clapping at that. “Thank you to our students for this beautiful opening dance. As you may know, this year’s ball is celestial themed to honour the star constellation the academy was named after. Now, I won’t hold you up for long. I hope you’ll enjoy tonight beneath the stars of Aquila.” Headmaster Shaw stepped back, and everyone applauded again before they returned to their conversations.

I turned to my parents. “Thank you for coming.”

“We didn’t really have a choice, did we? I mean, the invitation was pretty forward. Basically telling us we’d be terrible parents if we didn’t come to watch our child twirl around in some ridiculous glittery dress,” Mum shot back, sounding annoyed, looking around as if she searched for something or someone.

“I think if you decided to come just so others wouldn’t think I’m irrelevant to you and assume you’re terrible parents, then this indeed makes you look even more terrible,” I muttered to myself, but my mother must have seemingly heard me because she gaped at me in anger.

Dad opened his mouth before she could, “can you, for once in your life, actually care for your daughter, than just pretend like you do, so others won’t think some daft thoughts about you, Cordelia?”

Mum slammed her glass down on the table, answering in a low voice, “I care about my daughter, but you wouldn’t know, so don’t think you can talk on this topic.”

Care is a big word.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dad frowned at her.

“Oh, don’t act so innocent, you know exactly what I mean. You’re never even there to know anything about her. You’re basically a deadbeat, Aaron.”

He pointed at her, anger crossing his features, but their fight was entertainingly quiet. “I’m away because of work, not because I want to. I care about Dorothee. I’m the polar opposite of a deadbeat.”

Mum lifted her eyebrows, looking at him challengingly. “Is that so? What’s our daughter’s favourite colour then?”

Dad was quiet for a moment. “Then tell me, Cordelia, what is our daughter’s favourite colour?”

“Green,” she said so confidently that it was almost funny.

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