Page 81 of Royally Bad

Polished shoes clicked over the paved stones that led to our table on the grass. Seeing the servers, I endured a brief blast of fear.Great, did Jameson or Brick or whatever his name is give me PTSD over waiters?Going out to a restaurant was going to suck, if so. I decided that, when this was all over, I was going to mail that bastard a bill for my therapy.

As plates of tiny beet salads and candied walnuts were placed in front of us, Mama Badd said, “I’m really sorry, Lulabelle. I wish we could have done more. If we’d known you were coming—”

“No. It’s fine.” Looking down at the food, she poked it with a half smile. “I, uh, didn’t want you to make a big deal. Even this is a little much.”

“Please,” Francesca scoffed. “There isn’t even any live music. It’s a poor excuse for a celebration.”

Hawthorne tilted back a big gulp of wine. “I did my best, okay? I’m the only one who even bothered making a shopping trip.”

“The food is fine,” Lulabelle insisted.

Fran rolled her eyes several times. “The food is whatever. I’m talking about entertainment.”

“I said,” Lulabelle whispered, “that it’sfine.”

“It’s not!”Fran shouted, slamming her palms onto the table. The silverware shook with a miniquake.

“Frannie—”

“Don’tFrannieme, Costello!” She stabbed her eyes at her brother viciously. Beside me, I felt him twitch. “This is your fault!”

Kain and I shared a look. He started to half stand. “Fran, no, it’s no one’s fucking fault that we’re on lockdown. No one but the Deep Shots, anyway.”

She said, “You know I’m not talking about that! I’m talking about how he drove Lula away!”

Large and heavy, Maverick’s fist came down on his untouched plate. Beets splattered all over, a few sticking to Lula’s cheek. “That’senough!Everyone needs to sit down and be quiet so we can have this damn celebration in peace!”

“Peace,” Hawthorne mused.

Mama Badd put her hand by her lips, like she could block her voice. “Fran, shut up and listen to your father.”

“I won’t! This family is a stupid mess, and no one wants to talk about the tall fucking elephant in the room!” Her polished nail flashed, indicating Costello.

Still, he hadn’t moved.

“Go ahead,” Fran said. Her body shook with her fast breathing. “Apologize to her for what you did. For what you did to this whole family.”

Costello lifted his eyes just enough to watch his younger sister. Slowly, subtly, I scooted my chair away from him. It was as if the air was crackling around him. Was he going to flip out? Attack Fran? What the hell was happening?

His voice was a mere ghost of his emotions. “I’ve apologized before, it didn’t matter back then. Why would it now?”

In a flurry of orange sequins and too much boob, Francesca tried to leap over the whole damn table. Kain moved faster, knocking his chair upside down as he rushed to hook his arms around her middle. “Holy fuck, Fran! Relax!”

In a crescendo of voices, the table exploded. Everyone shouted at one another, hands waving or fingers jabbing in the air. Some of it was aimed at Costello, who, through it all, sat beside me in silence.

His hands were in his lap; I saw how bone-white his knuckles were. Who was his quiet fury aimed at?

Over all the mess, Lulabelle’s voice rang the truest. “This is exactly what I didn’t want. Maybe I shouldn’t have come back, I’ve made it all worse.” Wiping purple stains from her cheek, she jumped to her feet.

“Lula!” Maverick shouted.

She wiped her hands on a napkin, throwing it down. “Thanks for the food. I’m going to bed.” Sidestepping the table, she walked toward the mansion with her head held high.

It amazed me to see Maverick put his face in his hands, hang his chin, and go still.

Thorne was shielding his mother from Fran’s furiously flailing elbows. Kain was struggling to hold her back; she was intent on getting at Costello, who finally walked off in silence.

Across the table, Kain met my eyes. His lips parted, silently mouthing “Sorry” at me. I smiled partially, hoping he understood I didn’t blame him. He wasn’t responsible for this drama—I didn’t think so, anyway.

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