Page 2 of Claimed By my Stepbrother
A formally dressed chauffeur opens the door for us, helping mom into the low seat, but I give him a wide berth, hesitant to allow another stranger so close to me tonight.
Once we're settled into the plush leather, the tinted partition between the back seat and the chauffeur rises silently, effectively enclosing us in our own little world.
Mom leans forward, reaching into a hidden compartment and withdrawing a small, chilled bottle of wine.She's awfully familiar with the layout of this car.
"I'm engaged!" Her squeal is nearly deafening in the small space, and my eyes widen in shock as she bounces up and down excitedly in her seat. "Rowan proposed tonight before my set, and I just couldn't wait to tell you!"
"W-wow! Congratulations, Mom." I can't effuse over this news, no matter how much I love my mom, but I want to support her. I want her to be happy, like she was when my dad was still alive, but from the one time I met him, I don't think Rowan Valenti is the way for her to find happiness.
It's hard to see it now, but once upon a time, Mom was reserved and practical—something I inherited from her. Our lives changed the day Dad died. He was on an extraction mission in Afghanistan when his platoon was ambushed. At ten years old, my childhood ended.
Mom was unable to function for a long time, so I had to step up and make sure things got done. After a while, it seemed like she was finding a way to move on, but she only found relief in alcohol and valium.
Dad had made her a mixtape for their first date when they were in high school, and for months after his death, she played it on a loop, belting out the lyrics until one day, she emerged from their bedroom singing a new song. She got a gig at the lounge the next day.
Over the years, Mom dated, trying to once again find that spark she had with Dad. With each break up, her depression would return, sending her into a cycle of booze, pills, and music.
Watching her struggle has made me realize that I don't want to make her mistakes. So, I've avoided things like dating, alcohol, and drugs. My classmates party often, and most of them have fake ids, but the only bar I've been near is the one in the ballet studio. I'm usually at home reading or spending my time with my best friend, Ivy.
"...next week." Mom is beaming beside me, her hands clasped together in front of her chest, displaying a comically large diamond that hadn't been there a few moments ago, and I realize she's been talking while I was daydreaming.
"I'm sorry, Mom. What's happening next week?" I shake my head to clear it, realizing we're driving through downtown toward the Olympus Casino, and a feeling of foreboding takes over, knowing what family owns it.
"Oh, Sirena," she chuckles, sweeping her hair back with one delicate hand. “Always with your mind wandering. Isaid,we're moving into Olympus next week! Rowan and I don't want to have a long engagement, and he's asked us to move in."
“Mom, I—”
“This is agoodthing, Sirena. Rowan can give us the life we’ve always dreamed of. He’s a good man, and he’s ready to take that step with both of us—he’s ready to be a father figure for you.”
“Mom, I—”
“Besides,” she interrupts, again, as we come to a stop. She holds up a finger for me to wait, rolling down the partition a few inches to speak quietly to the driver. As the partition closes with a quietsnick, she puts her finger down and focuses on me again. “Rena, you’re eighteen, and you're going to be graduating soon. Then, when you go off to college, I’m gonna be all alone. Just give it a chance, huh? For me?” She pouts her lips and bats her lashes at me, every bit the performer she was destined to be.
I nod my head, already regretting agreeing so quickly. She claps her hands excitedly, like a toy monkey with cymbals, and leans forward to hug me tightly. I chuckle and return the embrace, unable to resist her. “Mo-mom! Too. Tight. Can’t. Breathe,” I choke out, causing her to lean backward and knock on the partition.
She watches me, grinning, as we drive away from the Strip and toward the small ranch house we shared with my dad. “This’ll be good. You’ll see,” she says quietly, almost to herself, as if she needs to be convinced. “Movers are coming in three days, so pack quickly.”
I can’t help the gasp that escapes my lips. “Three days?”My question comes out more like a shriek. “Three days? You said next week!”
“Well…” she starts, hesitantly. “Technically, three daysisnext week. It’s Monday, so…”
I glare at her, the darkness of the car obscuring my frustrated ire.
“Mom.” I pause, waiting to see if she’d interrupt me for a third time. When she remains silent, watching me, I continue. “This is all moving a little fast for me. What about school? I don’t want to change so close to graduation. I don’t even think it’s possible.” I breathe deeply, afraid that her answer to my next question might destroy me completely. “And what about… dance?”
She sighs dramatically, her hands twisting in her lap. “Sirena, it’ll all work out. Rowan offered to have his driver,” she pauses and gestures toward the front of the car, “take you to school and dance and pick you up. Nothing will change. Well,thatwon’t change. Everything else will only get a million times better.” Her megawatt smile could illuminate Allegiant Stadium.
Chapter two
Staying Alive
Sirena
Well,today’stheday.Another day in my short life that I can pinpoint as one of the top five worst. Today, we are moving into Rowan Valenti’s penthouse, and nothing is ever going to be the same again.
Rowan's driver, whom I've learned is a sweet man named Giuseppe, opens the door for me as I walk out the front door of the place I've called home since the day my parents brought me home from the hospital nearly eighteen years ago.
Tears threaten to escape my eyes as I think about leaving it behind, even temporarily. Mom promised not to sell it, and I'm working on a plan to convince her to let me move back when I graduate.
