Page 11 of Heir

“Ah, yes. You’ve always had an artistic eye ever since you were little. Just like your dad.”

And sure enough, like every time someone pointed out how closely I resembled my late father, my mother’s lips thinned. I didn’t need to look at her to know that was the case.

I smiled politely.

Uncle Frank frowned at the duck on my plate. “Is it to your liking?”

I didn’t know what to say without being rude.

“Gemma’s on a diet,” Mom said, speaking up for the first time.

Uncle Frank nodded as if that was a totally acceptable answer.

“Ah, yes. Girls your age are always on a diet. I suppose it’s normal, but let me just say, you look absolutely stunning the way you are.” His gaze moved over my chest under the cardigan, and I shifted uncomfortably, sure I wasn’t really seeing what I was seeing.

I usually misinterpreted social situations, so this must have been one of those times.

“Yes,” Kenton chimed in for the first time since we sat down. I would have forgotten he was there if he didn’t take up so much of the energy in the room.

Uncle Frank shot Kenton a sharp look, and Mom elbowed him in the side, which would have made me happy to see if things didn’t feel so off with this whole dinner.

I looked back down at the duck on my plate, picking at it before I gave up and ate the salad instead, something I was sure my mom loved.

This wasn’t my favorite food.

It was Mom’s favorite meal. I was sure she had done that on purpose, trying to get me to eat less.

I was mostly quiet, which was how I was during most situations, and Mom and Uncle Frank held up most of the conversation.

When we’d arrived, I had thought Uncle Frank was a social outcast like me.

That wasn’t the case at all.

I didn’t remember most of the dinner, just a heavy feeling in my heart that something was wrong, yet I couldn’t pinpoint what it might be.

By the time we were set to go home, which wasn’t long after we arrived, Mom was halfway drunk and looking so deliriously happy, I didn’t know what to make of it.

They had not talked about money. The conversation had centered on me, and I was nothing more than an observer. I hadn’t said much—only talked when I was spoken to, the way she’d trained me—yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that this whole thing felt wrong.

I stood to the side and watched Mom and Uncle Frank interact. I felt like a child. Kenton hadn’t said much either, but at least he was standing next to her.

A shadow fell over me, and I turned to see Henry standing there, a serious look on his face.

I smiled at him.

He didn’t smile back.

Instead, he looked over at where Mom and Uncle Frank were before he held out his hand. I frowned, not knowing what he wanted, but he shook it and slipped something in my palm—paper—and I wrapped it in my fist, glancing subtly over my shoulder. I got the feeling he didn’t want anyone to know he had slipped the paper to me, and when I turned back to him, he was gone.

“Gemma. Let’s go home.”

I swallowed and nodded, following her to the door. Uncle Frank reached out and grasped my shoulder, squeezing.

“It was so nice to see you again,” he said, smiling, and for some reason, his smile reminded me of Uncle William’s.

Not the shape of it, but the feeling behind it that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

I didn’t respond to him because I didn’t have a good time, and I didn’t think I would want to come back here again.

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