Page 2 of Heir

God.

“Gemma. Gemma? Are you listening to me?”

I opened my eyes and looked up at my mom standing across from me, leaning her back on the counter by the stove, a mug of coffee wrapped in her delicate hands. Her dark-blond hair was done in a fancy updo, and her makeup was applied to perfection. Her brown eyes flashed, her sharp gaze taking me in that was both critical and cold.

It was this very look in her eyes that had stopped me from acting out when I was little. It wasn’t until I got a little older that I realized how wrong it was to think of my mom as cold.

She had on a pair of stylish white dress pants, nude heels, and a forest-green blouse that brought out the gold hue of her skin. She looked like she was getting ready to work a high-power corporate office job—an irony, really, considering my mom had never worked a day in her life.

“Yes,” I said dutifully. “I’m listening.”

I looked down at the plain bagel she had placed in front of me for breakfast, and when I reached over for the cream cheese set out artfully nearby, her eyes narrowed at me.

I quickly pulled my hand back, and her features relaxed back to their natural state.

“We’re going over to your uncle’s house for dinner tonight, and you know we need to make him happy.”

I didn’t know why, but I swore there was an odd note in her voice when she said “happy” that got my heart beating erratically in my chest.

My stepdad came into my line of sight, smiling at me and nodding in agreement with my mom. His short brown hair was slicked back away from his face, his green eyes glinting with something I didn’t like. His smile, encased by brown and white stubble, sent shivers down my spine.

My stepdad was a dick.

And a creep.

There was just something slippery about him that made me feel icky whenever I spent too long in his presence, and I tried to limit my time around him. I didn’t live in this fancy house with my mom and stepdad anymore. Not for eleven years, since I left for college at eighteen. I went to Smith College and lived in Boston, as far away from California as I could possibly get. When the economy got too expensive, and I got fired from my assistant job, I moved back home.

I nodded in agreement also, knowing that was what she wanted me to do.

It had been a while since I did things to placate my mom. We barely talked after I left for Smith College. After graduating and being lost in life, not knowing what I should orcoulddo, I returned to California and worked for Mayor William Gallagher, my dad’s eldest brother, after some prodding from my mom.

How wonderful she had made it sound to work for family. Mom was quite fond of the man, considering he had been funding her lifestyle for over a decade.

She would not hear a bad word about him—at least, when he was alive. After his death, I had heard her cussing him out loud many times.

My employment with the man ended pretty quickly two years ago when it was discovered that he had been working with a local gang and other corrupt figures in the government. He had been serving a twenty-year sentence when a dispute in prison ended his life.

I couldn’t say I was all that sad about that, and if it made me a terrible person to admit it, then so be it.

My uncle was a terrible man, and I wasn’t exactly surprised that, as mayor, he’d had shady dealings with shady people. But the move from Massachusetts to California was one of my life’s worst mistakes because now I was stuck.

I didn’t know how to leave my mom when she was like this. When she was on the verge of losing everything and was clinging to me.

A possible cancer scare earlier this year had made me feel guilty about distancing myself from her. We didn’t get along, but she was still my mom, and I didn’t want to lose her.

But she was healthy. And I should move on with my life. I didn’t think I would move back to Massachusetts, though. I had no one there.

At least there, I had Blue, my most favorite person in the world and my best friend.

I should be out doing all things women my age were doing, or even doing the things womenyoungerthan me were doing.

But my mother was holding onto me with both hands, and I didn’t know how to escape.

As if she thought by doing so, things would be better for her.

I had no skills I could put to good use that could possibly fund the lifestyle she was used to. Growing up, I had taken a little interest in art, but Mom had always looked down her nose at that.

And she was right.

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