Page 132 of Mercy (The Sins Trilogy 3)
Chapter Forty-Four
Anthony
I try to rein in my impatience as all of us move toward the formal dining room. It seems ridiculous to go through the motions when I know damn well we’ll be lucky to finish one course. My phone sits in my jacket pocket like a radioactive device, what Caleb said in the recording playing in my head on an infinite loop.
Still, I put on a smile and follow everyone in. I want Mother comfortable and relaxed, so when Caleb’s words hit her, she can’t throw out a line she’s been rehearsing. I need to see her reaction, and I pray—foolishly—that it will be shock or outrage, even though the possibility that she’s truly innocent is virtually nil.
The formal dining room is set impeccably and elegantly with crystal candlesticks, real silverware and elegant bone china. Fresh white orchids form the centerpiece. Mother’s selection, undoubtedly. Formal events are under her purview. And the multi-course meal is something she does at least twice a year—Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Although six thirty is a bit early, we always start at around that time for formal dinners. The dishes come slowly, and if we start later than seven, it doesn’t end until well past ten.
Father sits at the head of the table, Mother next to him, her gaze straight ahead and never flicking my way, even for a second. Edgar takes the other side, and Harry flanks Mother, probably to soothe her temper. None of us are foolish enough to believe she’s truly okay with me being here. She hasn’t forgiven me for what happened to Katherine, and until she does, she’ll never be okay.
Bobbi and I sit on either side of Ivy, making sure she’s surrounded and beyond anybody’s immediate reach, even though I can’t shield her from any emotional fallout. I swing back and forth between hoping she remembers something nice from her years in Tempérane and hoping that there was nothing nice to remember. The latter would make whatever betrayal she has to face less brutal.
I check to make sure the menu doesn’t have mushrooms. Ivy is allergic. If Mother has any nefarious purpose, that would be the thing to do.
As though he read my mind, Harry says, “No mushrooms. Mom knows Ivy’s allergic.”
I glance at him, a bit of pity stirring. Once I drop the bomb, he’ll be one of the few cleaning up the mess.
“I wouldn’t want anybody hurt under my roof,” Mother says. Now that she’s back home, her voice holds more of Louisiana, making her words slower and more lilting. “We should toast your engagement and upcoming wedding.”
Galling she can say that so smoothly. Like she had nothing whatsoever to do with the event nine years ago that ruined a huge portion of Ivy’s life…and mine.
Ivy reaches over and links our hands as trays of champagne arrive.
Bobbi shakes her head. “On duty,” she says.
“Then you should have some ginger ale,” Mother says, not missing a beat, always a perfect and gracious hostess. She would make Emily Post proud.
Jonas himself brings a flute of ginger ale for Bobbi. Her mouth tightens, but she takes it when I nod at her.
“To the happy couple,” Father says, lifting his glass.
Irritation gnaws at me. This is phonier than a B-movie, the lines more hackneyed than a 1930s script. Still, everyone clinks and drinks. I take a perfunctory swallow of bubbly, then put it down, not interested in food or drink. Ivy takes a small sip, then places her glass back on the table.
“Is it not to your liking?” Mother asks, looking at Ivy.
“We’re a little tired from the trip,” I say, hating Mother’s attention on Ivy. If she thinks she can go back to being Ivy’s mother figure now, she has another think coming.
“If she wants, she can take some aspirin,” Mother offers.
There’s no way I’m letting Ivy take anything from Mother. But before I can decline, Ivy says, “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I don’t like medicine. If it gets too bad, I’ll just go back and rest at Edgar’s place.”
“I wish you’d chosen to stay with us,” Father says. “Or would at least hold the wedding at the mansion. It’s something of a Blackwood tradition.”
Is this a joke?“You disowned me,” I say, since there’s no pretty way to point it out.
“I did.” Father’s ready acknowledgment surprises me, especially because it doesn’t hold any of the anger and recrimination from before. “But I’m proud of what you’ve accomplished on your own. A parent is allowed that.”
A parent. The words hit me like a slap. Ugly laughter bubbles as my gaze slides to Mother, who is still wearing that same serenely smiling mask on her face. Did she have the same expression when she thought of Ivy, alone at the hospital, under Sam’s care? “Perhaps, but it’s too late to change the venue,” I say coolly. “We’re getting married at the Pryce Family Grove, if you haven’t heard.” And there’s no way they haven’t heard. Edgar and Harry certainly wouldn’t have hidden it.
“We have. I suppose you made up with Ryder,” Father says.
“Yes.” I turn to face him fully. “He suggested it.”
Regret fleets through Father’s eyes. “I should’ve reached out sooner.”
