Page 52 of Revere
“Because—” Mom scoffs, turning away so I have to follow her down the long marble hallway. “We’re a family. A unit.”
“Then where are Dad and Alex?”
Mom’s disappointed glare spears me. “Busy.”
Of course they are. As a female, Mom expects me to play homemaker with her, hosting Dad’s friends even though I’m only sixteen and should be focusing on school more than trophy-wife training. But serving Sigma House and its members is all she cares about. While my brother slowly learns the ropes that will eventually hang his soul.
The doorbell rings, and Mom shoves me into the library. It’s rare she answers the door because in her mind,there are people for that. An entire staff that waits on my family hand and foot, morning to night. It’s as helpful as it is suffocating. I’m somehow never physically alone but surrounded by people who don’t actually care.
I take a seat in the sitting chair beside my mother and wait while the deacon is greeted and led to the library. It’s one of the largest and most ridiculous rooms in my parents’ house, so it’s where she generally chooses to host visitors.
A reminder to anyone who steps foot on the Lancaster property of their influence and wealth.
The library door swings open, and a man steps through.
He looks nothing like I’d expect of a deacon, late twenties at most. His dark hair is brushed back, and his piercing blue eyes skip between me and my mother. He’s handsome in a traditional sense, but his smile sends a chill up my spine.
There’s something about how it grows when he sees me. How something flares in his eyes.
Mom stands to greet him, holding her hands clasped in front of her. Always appropriate when guests are around.
“Deacon Beech.”
“Ian.” His gaze moves from her to me again. “Please call me Ian when we aren’t in church.”
Another whisper of doubt sweeps me as I push to standing to greet him. He doesn’t take his eyes off me.
Eyes that stare too long and hard, given I’m only sixteen. And when Mom shoves me forward to say hello, my palm sweats as he reaches for my hand.
Ian smiles. “You must be the daughter Gideon speaks so highly of.”
I doubt my father says anything nice about me at all. He rarely even mentions me to his associates. Mom is the onewho parades me around. But for the sake of not insulting the deacon, I force a smile.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
When I try to release the handshake, he doesn’t let go. The slightest tug has me stumbling slightly closer. Until there’s no escaping his wicked smile as his eyes skim me.
“The pleasure is all mine.”
When we arrive at my parents’ estate, Dad whisks Alex away almost immediately, leaving Mila and me at the mercy of my mother.
She sits stiff as a board across the library with her ankles crossed. Her martini is balanced on one knee while she toys with the stem of her glass. My mother is all about appearances. Her expression never falters. Her posture never deflates. And she never has more than one drink.
While most people think my father runs the Lancaster household because he’s the Sigma House legacy, it’s really my mother making the demands between these walls. She’s a snake slithering through the grass. Watching everything, waiting to strike.
Mom passes me over with a disappointed sweep of her stare when Mila and I stop beside the couch. “Patience.”
My name, coming from her, never sounds loving. It’s like she’s reminding herself what a disappointment I am.
I don’t break under her stare, burying the discomfort of her focusing on me sitting directly in front of her. Pulling my shoulder blades tighter, I match Mom’s posture and throw up the ice-cold walls I learned from the best.
Mom taps her nails against the stem of her glass, focusing on my feet until I cross my ankles. Only then does she meet my gaze again.
“I see you managed to make time for us after all.” Mom’s attention moves to Mila. “And you brought a friend.”
“Alex brought a friend,” I correct her.
She hates when I do that.Children shouldn’t talk back.It was drilled into me. Yet, Alex never had to play by those same rules. In fact, they encouraged him not to.
