Page 192 of Poison Aches

I deadpan.

Is this lady serious right now?

It’s as if everything I just said went in one ear and quickly flew out the other ear weighed down by those huge diamond earrings, I’d be surprised if she heard me.

“Mrs. Hughes,” I start, the Westbrook Bluesput them in their placetraining kicking in. “Last night I got the opportunity to meet the man and woman who are supposedly responsible for my being here and that’s about it. I am not your child. You are not my mother and I don’t have a sister, let alone a twin. So, if you’d be amicable enough as to let me retrieve the items I forgot to collect when I left last night.”

My voice is steady and firm.

My shoulders are straight, chin up, and posture correct.

I’ve been around rich, uptight, and obnoxious people all my life, but I’ve also been around the very top of the top who taught me how to never back down.

“Well,” Beverly starts. “It seems you were raised very well.”

“Did you think I’m an uneducated, pathetic idiot?” I scoff. “Marie and Samuel Irving raised me very well.”

I watch her intently, waiting to see if she reacts to those names.

“You do remember Marie and Samuel Irving, right? Or are you too ashamed of your own parents that raised youandthe children you abandoned?”

“You’re getting a bit too emotional there, dear,” Beverly says, watching me. “We wouldn’t want another episode like last night.”

It’s as if gasoline has been poured over my already burning flesh and now I’m ablaze.

“An episode?”

“Your sickness or whatever it is that’s wrong with you.” At her words, my entire world halts. “James!”

A middle-aged man suddenly appears.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Let’s schedule an appointment with Dr. Kelly for tomorrow morning to get the girl checked.”

The girl? Is she talking about me?

“Excuse me?”

Beverly looks at me. “Oh, honey, did you not hear what I just said? We need to make sure you’re ready for the wedding in four days. Who knows if the Easton Family demands a bill of health?”

Is this woman serious?

“Oh and James, is the room ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, please show Ms. Ivy to her room,” Beverly says.

“I’m not staying here,” I snap.

“But it’s only a matter of time before the press and paparazzi get a hold of you,” Melissa says. “A small-town bumpkin like you has no idea what the limelight means.”

Small town.

I did tell her that I lived in a small town but never elaborated on which one.

Looking at Beverly, though, she obviously knows about Westbrook Blues.

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