Page 67 of House of Ruin
The Weirs’ house was as staged as every cover of their magazines.
Blaze stopped a Crahen floating past their group, snatching a frosted glass of elderberry wine. He only knew it was elderberry wine because he’d already had a glass before.
Like most foods and drinks tonight, it was enchanted to be a frosty-blue hue.
As Blaze brought his glass to his lips, he scanned the living room. In the corner by the bay window facing the street, his father stood with a few of his business associates. They were in the middle of a conversation that looked important yet dull.
Blaze quickly moved on.
Dean Gondalez was also there, Professor Namiad by his side as they chatted with Rufus and Alatar next to the large firepit built into the wall, its beige edges melting into the matching beige of the concrete walls.
There were dozens of people streaming through the round archways in and out the dining room on the left and the home library on the right. Neither Jolene nor Alecto was there yet.
Val laughed at something Octavia said, and that drew Blaze’s attention back to their group.
As always, Val was dressed to impress with a daring red silk dress hugging her petite frame. Her usual pixie cut was pushed back, looking sleek and celebratory with red and silver glitter weaved in.
The glitter didn’t stop in her hair, though, raining down her neck and face onto her lean shoulders.
What they were talking about, Blaze didn’t know.
Frankly, he barely listened to any conversations happening tonight, letting his mind wander everywhere.
And somehow, Blaze had missed his mother joining their circle.
For the very first time, Blaze watched his mother with intent as Auburn stood next to him—so, so close for the first time in what felt like forever—cheerfully chatting away with Octavia.
As always her gown was handmade out of gerberry silk, the deep forest green complementing her deep chestnut hair perfectly.
While the gown was revealing at the top, showcasing Auburn’s elegant neck and lean shoulders, emerald silk covered her arms all the way to her knuckles, the skirt of the gown weaving down her body all the way to the floor.
Now that Blaze was actually thinking about it, it had been a long time since he had seen his mother in anything with an open back or short sleeves.
Anything that would reveal her waist or legs.
While his mother was not in her youth, she was a good-looking woman, just like Octavia next to her. And Octavia liked to show off her long muscular legs with dresses that had large slits in them or short skirts.
It could be a coincidence.
Or it could be something else entirely.
Blaze knew firsthand that Galliermo knew how to be discreet.
You’re going to beat me like your father beats your mother, huh?
Against his will, Blaze’s heart pounded heavily in his chest, yet he still refused to accept the truth.
Val couldn’t have been right.
How the Hel could she know something like that? Something even Blaze didn’t know—
A realization rushed over him. Did he truly not know, or was it that he refused to pay enough attention, so wrapped up in his own misery, he didn’t care for anyone else’s?
There was only one way to find out.
Slowly, as if Blaze weren’t even in control of his own body, he reached out a hand towards his mother.
He hadn’t touched her for years—maybe even a whole decade at this point already.
