Page 37 of The Good Girl

“Because you are Elena Montgomery, and no one stands in your way.” She hands me a glass, her eyes narrowed as she watches me. “Why do you seem so forlorn?”

“I lost control,” I sigh before taking a gulp of the golden-colored liquid. My room is bright and airy, painted in a pastel pink with gold accents and white furniture. It’s not the room of someone who had blood on their hands yesterday. It’s gentle and dainty, not something an angry psychopath would choose, and I feel my stomach tighten with guilt as my mother stands before me, proud expression clear.

“What’s wrong with that?”

I bow my head. “Father will be angry.”

She scoffs. “Your father doesn’t need to know.”

While The Society was based upon wealth and power, there were still levels within, and while we didn’t talk about it, I knew my mother was from a more prominent family than my father. Her family tree went back to the founders, while my father’s only went back a few generations, and while I assumed that gave her a little more sway, I’d never actually thought about it until now. She was able to keep this a secret from the town mayor, her husband, and a fellow member of The Society. Looking at her carefully, I see the way the corner of her mouth pulls into a slight smile. Her cards were always held so close to her chest, but this felt like another weird bonding moment, just like the one we’d had when I was practicing my yoga by the pool.

She pours herself a second glass and lays down on my bed, propping herself up on her elbow. Her black dress is fitted and her hair perfect as always as she gives off major femme fatale vibes.

“Did you ever think that if you embraced who you are instead of trying to be perfect, you might have more control over your life, not less?”

I almost snort champagne from my nostrils with that one. “That's rich coming from you. You’re Silvercrest’s ultimate trophy wife.”

She bites the inside of her cheek before answering. “They only see what I want them to see, and if your father wants me to smile and pretend to be the perfect housewife, I will because out of the limelight, I do what I want.”

Standing again, she smooths down her dress in my mirror. Twirling a strand of dyed gold-colored hair around her fingers, she’s fixated on her reflection as she laughs. “It’s a veneer, a mask, darling. You don’t actually have to be perfect; you just have to make them think that you are. All the men in this town seem to underestimate us, but it’s their mistake in the end.”

I don’t think I’ve ever really seen my mother until this moment. I’d had glimpses here and there, increasingly so, but she wasn’t the airhead my father thought her to be, instead she was calculating and ruthless—a true daughter of The Society.

She tops up my glass with a sneaky grin. “Quit the squad. Get drunk. Skip a class or three. Fuck Tristan Radcliffe. There is nothing you can do, that The Society cannot fix.”

Was my mother encouraging a rebellion? Why had it taken her this long to talk to me like this? “Father—”

Rolling her eyes, she finishes off her second glass. “Your father wouldn’t know real power if it bit him on that enormous nose of his. Stop treating his words as gospel, you’re only forcing yourself into a box you don’t belong in. The Hawthorne blood in you is too strong for you to be this weak.”

Her eyes assess me as I sit there with my violin in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other. I have been struggling for weeks, trying to do everything that was expected of me, where was she then? This must be a trick.

“I am not—” I try to reassure her. This must be a test. I can do this. I can be Elena Montgomery, captain of the cheer squad, class president, accomplished musician, talented ballet dancer, and daughter of the mayor. I can.

“You are weak like this.” Her face almost looks sad as she sighs. “You’re pulling yourself in too many directions, and instead of embracing the potential you have, you’re letting it float by. Pick something and commit to it. Fight tooth and nail for it. Get your hands bloody.”

I sit for a moment with my mouth open. Fuck Tristan? Is she crazy? Had she been drinking before she came here? What she was suggesting was that I just do whatever I wanted? That would be...chaos. My mind flits back to Tristan’s words that echoed the same sentiment before I shake away the thoughts. “How can you be encouraging that?”

Shrugging, she moves towards the door. “This is the life we live and only the strong survive.” There’s a soft, sad note to her voice, and I wonder who made her feel this way.

“Mother—”

It’s almost like her mask has fallen back into place as she gives me a 1,000-watt grin, even though her eyes are cold. “Well, I’ve enjoyed our little mother-daughter chat. Let’s do it again sometime.”

With that, she leaves the room, and I’m left confused about the conversation I’ve just had with my mother. A woman, it turns out, I barely know at all.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Tristan

Silence. That’s all I get, all weekend. The woman rubs herself all over me, then runs out of my house and won’t take my calls. I spend my free time avoiding Blythe’s texts, Serena’s friend requests on almost every social media platform, getting high, and painting. I paint all weekend, from dusk until dawn and again when I get up for a few hours in the afternoon. It’s like that kiss consumed me because she’s all that I see as the colors bleed into one another. I paint until it’s like I can no longer remember her face, and I need the canvas to remind me. That’s why I’m already agitated when I get to school on Monday. I thought we’d finally been making progress, but the lack of response was saying something else.

“Hey, where did you go on Friday? I looked all over for you,” Serena purrs as she comes up to me in the hallway, linking her arm through mine.

“I went home,” I reply, shrugging her off. I can’t see Lena at her locker, which means she’s either late or already in class. If she thought she could avoid me today, she had another thing coming.

“Alone?” Serena says, suspicion in her voice. Still trying to cling to me.

“What’s it to do with you?” I stop in front of my locker, take a quick look at the timetable stuck to the inside, and see that Elena has free period right after lunch, which means she’ll be practicing her stupid violin again.

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