Page 16 of Filthy Elites

The first thing Mom does is look at her watch. “You’re late.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Your watch must be running fast.”

Grandpa and Uncle Florian walk into the room, but I get a warm greeting only from Grandpa.

He pulls me into a hug. “Jason, my boy. It’s good to see you.”

“Hi, Grandpa.”

He pulls back but keeps his hands fastened on my arms. “You’ve grown since the last time I saw you.”

“I doubt that.”

“So, tell me what’s new with you? Did you join any teams this year?”

I open my mouth to reply, but Mom beats me to it. “Jason doesn’t have time for sports. God knows he needs to spend all his free time in the music room.”

And so it begins.

Uncle Florian snorts. “That’s exactly what we need. A Novak in the performing arts. My brother must be twitching in his grave.”

“Unlike you, Joseph didn’t think less of my profession.”

“And yet, didn’t you give up playing the piano when you married him?” He brings his glass to his lips, but I can still see his cruel smile.

As much as I like seeing someone stand up to my mother when the subject is me, this is the last place I want to be. “I’m going to check on Finn,” I say.

“Not so fast, Jason. I want to talk to you about a disturbing email I received from Mrs. Simpson. Instead of a solo, it seems you’re playing a duet with a new student at the recital. How in the world did you let that happen?”

Let that happen. As if I had a choice in the matter.

It’s true that my actions put Isabelle on Mrs. Simpson's radar, so in a way, it’s my fault she joined the group. When I set the trap for her, I wanted to confirm my suspicions that she was Isabelle Maldonaro. I didn’t plan for Mrs. Simpson to barge into the room.

“I don’t see the problem,” I reply.

My mother’s eyes flash. “You’ve been the solo violinist for the past three years. Now you’re going to let a nobody take away the spotlight? Just like you let that insipid girl take away the apprenticeship with Carlos Ferrera all those years ago.”

I curl my hands into fists, but it does nothing to keep the rage from taking control. That was my chance to prove to my mother I was as talented as her. She only ever seemed to care about that. But I choked, played like shit, and not only lost that opportunity, but was never considered for anything important again. I became a joke.

“She’s not taking away the spotlight. We’re sharing it,” I grit out.

“Great artists don’t share anything.” She seethes.

My uncle laughs. “When is it going to dawn on you that your son isn’t a prodigy, Victoria?”

Her eyes glare. The walls in this room are caving in, and everything is getting ready to blow. Fuck me. I need to get out of here.

“I think Jason is very talented,” Aunt Marissa pipes up.

“I agree,” Finn says as he joins the war zone.

“Where the hell have you been?” his father asks.

“I was upstairs changing clothes.”

Uncle Florian drains his drink, and not missing a beat, refills the glass almost to the brim.

“I’d like to meet this girl while I’m in town,” Mom pipes up. “Bring her to the house tomorrow, Jason.”

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