Page 38 of Formula Dreams
Vivienne blinks.Once.Twice.
I blink.Once.Twice.
But Vivienne recovers, waving us both off like a bad dream.“Oh, you’re just like him.Righteous.Cold.Self-important.”
I take a slow step forward—not to argue, not to plead.To draw my line in the sand.
“You can take your shots at me,” I say, low and even.“But you don’t speak to her like that.”
Vivienne arches a brow.“Touched a nerve, have I?”
“No,” I reply.“Simply setting a boundary you’d be wise to respect.”
She studies me over the rim of her glass, then hums thoughtfully.“How noble.That’s new too.”
I stare at her, waiting for her to acknowledge she understands that mistreating my company is off-limits.Her face tilts toward mine, mock innocent.“I was just being welcoming, darling.”
“You don’t know how.”
She pouts.“That’s not fair.”
“It’s true.”
She scoffs, then swings her legs over the edge of the chaise to rise.She rakes her fingers through her tangled platinum hair.“You’ve always been ungrateful, Ronan.You think I wanted this life?All those boring charity events, pretending I gave a damn about your father’s empire, pretending to be some doting wife?And you—off playing boy racer while I wasted away in a London mausoleum.”
“This isn’t about me,” I snap.
“Oh, isn’t it always?”she says, then turns to Francesca, eyes narrowing with a cruel glee.“And you, sweetheart.How long do you think that little spotlight of yours will last?Another few races before someone younger, prettier, more obedient comes along?”
Francesca straightens, arms still at her sides, calm but firm.“You don’t intimidate me.”
Vivienne grins.“Oh, I’m sure you think you’re so clever.But believe me, darling—men like my son?They’ll take what they want from you and leave you to rot the second it gets complicated.Isn’t that right, Ronan?Like father, like son?”
Francesca’s features tighten.She doesn’t respond, but there is a shift in her posture, like she’s bracing for more.
And that’s when I step between them.
My voice is cold.Final.“Perhaps you should go to bed.I can have the staff bring your evening meal up to you.”
Vivienne blinks, her eyes clearing a bit as if she was in a daze.As is her habit after she expends energy on her spitefulness, she turns docile.“Yes… I am quite tired.You should show your friend the gardens.They’re lovely at sunset.”
Francesca cocks an eyebrow at the abrupt change in personality.It’s par for the course, and I’ve learned to never drop my guard.
Not for a second.
Vivienne moves to me, and I stiffen as she cups my cheek with her clammy hand.I pretend I see some piece of a real mother inside the move, but there’s nothing there.“Good night, darling.Make sure to lock up.”
She turns away, ignoring Francesca as she shuffles out, glass in hand, muttering to herself.
The silence she leaves behind is suffocating.
Francesca turns to me.“You okay?”
I bark a laugh.“That was a normal day.”
She walks to the fireplace and stares at the unlit logs.
“She’s not always like that,” I say.
