Page 11 of Royally Hacked Belle & Flame
“I’m not wet,” I argue gloomily. I’m not—at least not anymore. My hair totally dried in the car. Mostly.
I expect a hug or at least a perfunctory pat on the arm, but instead she circles me like a bomb-sniffing dog. I brace for impact.
“I texted you,” she says, brandishing her phone as evidence. “Several times. Some of us plan ahead, you know.”
“I know,” I say, but she steamrolls right over it.
“I rearranged the entire weekend thinking he’d be here. I even set an extra place at the table. You could have told me sooner if he wasn’t coming.”
I wring my hands. “Sorry. Complications with the wedding, and he’s got responsibilities at home, so…”
Mom’s eyes narrow. “Well, if he doesn’t get his priorities straight now, he never will.” She turns on her heel and marches toward the dining room.
Nana catches my eye and holds out her mug. “Want some?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. I need to be sober for this interrogation.”
Nana shrugs. “More for me, then.”
We both trail after my mother into the living room.
“Where’s Kevin?” I ask, trying to take the focus off me. “Did I hear him say there’s a blizzard?”
My mom scowls. “He had a business trip last week, but the weather has been so bad he’s still stuck in Boston. I told him he should have driven.”
“I’m sorry,” I say honestly. “So he won’t be home for Christmas?”
Her lips tighten into a thin line. “No. So, I guess we’ll both be single this week.”
“Mmm,” I give her a noncommittal hum. It doesn’t feel like the best moment to tell her I’m not staying all week, just tonight…and maybe not even that long.
The rest of the afternoon passes by almost normally. After her initial disappointment that Daemon isn’t here my mother calmed down. Even so, dinner is a stilted affair. The table is set for six, even though there are only four of us, and Mom keeps glancing at the empty chairs and scowling.
She interrogates me about the wedding—dates, colors, whether Daemon’s family has “noble blood”—and every answer I give seems to offend her more. Nana attempts to deflect, but Mom’s resolve is ironclad. Ruby and the rabbit—-which my mother doesn’t even seem to notice is sitting in Kevin’s empty chair—-eat silently, occasionally exchanging glances like they’re plotting a prison break.
After dessert, Mom follows me into the living room and lowers herself dramatically onto the couch, patting the cushion next to her. I sit. She takes my hand in hers. “Alixandrea,” she says, “I am your mother.”
“Oh, I am well aware, Mom.”It’s not like I had any choice in the matter.
“Are you? I’m not sure.”
I sigh and pull my hands from her grip. “What do you mean?”
“You are eloping. Fine. It’s not my preference, but you’re an adult.”
“Am I? Because this conversation feels like you think I’m still fifteen.”
“I know you’re a grown woman, but it’s still my right—no, my duty—as your mother to ensure your wedding is not a disaster. You didn’t even ask if you could wear my dress.”
I blink. “Mom, we don’t exactly have the same style. It honestly didn’t occur to me to ask. Are we even the same size?”
“We could have it altered to fit you. I’m sure they could let it out in the waist.”
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t stick. “Which dress do you mean? The one you wore to marry dad or to marry Kevin?”
“Your father, obviously.” Her tone is wounded. “God, Alixandrea, the way you talk to me you’d think I was a monster.”
I take a deep breath, readying for the annual family martyrdom parade. “You’re not a monster, Mom. You’re just…” I reach for a finish line that isn’t a land mine.
