Page 85 of Tru Blue
She glanced at her mother standing across the room with a group of younger men, her smile painted on as thickly as the makeup mask she wore, as she reveled in their feigned attention. She was the It Woman, the wife of one of the most renowned defense attorneys in the world, Warren Benzos, and she was perfect for the role.
“She looks radiant, doesn’t she?”
Gemma turned toward the familiar, rich voice of her stepfather. “Yes, she does parties well.”
Warren nodded, a wry smile on his thin lips. He was in his early sixties, a decade older than her mother. He had a long face and an angular nose that reminded Gemma of a weasel and puffy white hair that looked hard to tame. He wasn’t an unfriendly man. He wasn’t much of anything to Gemma. He’d married her mother and swept her away to one vacation and event after another, leaving Gemma behind. She couldn’t blame him, really. Who was she to him? Baggage of the woman he chose to have on his arm.
“Your mother is quite good at convincing people to part with their money.”
Something in his tone made Gemma’s stomach twist a little tighter, but she couldn’t get a read on what he really meant.
“Yes, well. At least she has some talents.”
“Mothering was never one of them,” he said more kindly.
Gemma glanced at him, his attention still on her mother across the room. He had the look of a contented man: a small smile that almost reached his eyes, deeply tanned skin, and no telltale signs of stress anywhere on his face. This never failed to surprise Gemma, given whom he was married to.
She chose to let his mothering comment go rather than ask the nagging questions it spurred. Namely, Why? Why wasn’t I enough for her?
“The dress was a nice touch.” He didn’t look at her as he said it, but his smile widened, like he was in on her little rebellious secret. “She noticed.”
Gemma smiled inwardly at her small triumph, though she wouldn’t have known her mother had noticed if he hadn’t told her. Her mother hadn’t said more than, Good to see you, Gemaline, before moving on to brownnose the guests.
“That’s a surprise,” she said evenly. Why did she put herself through this every year? She was unhappy here, and even though her stepfather wasn’t being unkind, just being in the presence of her mother made her unhappier by the second. Sadly, she always hoped her mother would change. That just once she’d show up at one of these events and her mother would actually be happy to see her. She should leave and go back home to Truman and the kids, where she was happiest. Where I belong.
“Is it?” Warren nodded toward a group of younger men who had been eyeing Gemma all evening and arched a thin brow.
A sarcastic laugh slipped out before she could stop it. “She noticed because attention was drawn away from her.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps because it’s the first time you’ve crossed her on her own turf.” He paused as his comment settled in like lead.
Her mother started across the floor in their direction. Jacqueline Benzos knew how to work a room. Her black silk gown clung to her curvaceous figure as she moved, blinking long, fake lashes and flashing practiced smiles.
Warren lowered his voice and said, “For what it’s worth, the dress suits you far better than this environment does. Thank you for making the effort and coming tonight.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, disappearing into the crowd before her mother reached them.
Her mother’s smile remained in place as she took up the space beside Gemma, sucking all the air from the room. “Darling.”
An asp. That’s what her mother’s voice reminded her of, a slithering creature full of poison.
“Mother.” She tried to hide her distaste but feared she’d failed.
“I’ve abided by your wishes and did not try to set you up with any of these gorgeous, wealthy men.”
Though she’d been visually devoured by many of the men here all night, Gemma had noticed the lack of direct come-ons. “Thank you. I appreciate you respecting my request.”
Her mother lifted her chin and her champagne glass to a woman passing in front of them and said under her breath, “Yes, well. We don’t need these people catching wind of the derelict you’re rebelling with, now, do we?”
