I enter the dining room, staged to perfection, a tableau of wealth and luxury. My mother is fussing with the flower arrangements. She looks like she’s ready for a magazine shoot. Tall and wispy thin, she’s wearing a sheath dress that is black elegance, and her ears drip with diamonds. Her dark bob is immaculately styled, and her makeup is flawless. She glances across the room, her blue gaze sweeping over me. Her lips pursea moment, then she forces a smile that’s too affected to be genuine.
“Alexandra, darling.” She clicks forward on her Louboutins and places a perfunctory kiss on each of my cheeks. The familiar scent of her expensive perfume carries with it a rush of unpleasant memories. “I’ll have Tatianna get you scheduled for a cut and style, a manicure too, of course. And a hot body wrap. You’ll feel so much better.”
“I feel perfectly fine. I don’t want any of those things.”
“This is a new look, then?” she asks, her slender hand fluttering to her chest.
I know what she meant. She’d calculated the added pounds with the accuracy of a scale and disapproved of my scant makeup, short unpainted nails, and wavy hair. But I like this version of myself—and so does Chaz.
“Yes, it’s my preference. I think it suits me.”
She sighs, long-suffering, and pours a glass of wine. “I don’t understand why you’ve suddenly become someone we don’t recognize.”
“This is me, Mother. The real me. Not the doll you dressed up to parade around. I’m making my own choices now. Finally.”
She recoils on a sharp inhale. “What a horrible and ungrateful thing to say.”
“I’m not doing this with you. I’m not playing along while you make yourself the victim in your delusion of perfect parenthood.”
“Then why did you even come for dinner?”
“I shouldn’t have, but I need to speak to my father. Where is he?”
“In his office. You’ve ruined the lovely evening I had planned.” She presses a hand to her temple. “This uncouth, brashness smacks of Jordyn Sinclair. I told your father we should never have tolerated that association.”
“Tolerated?” I let out a mocking laugh. “I’m a grown woman. You cannot choose my friends. Jordyn is an incredible person. I wish I had half her brashness.”
“I can see there’s no reasoning with you. Your father was right. You’re going through another stage of rebellion to hurt us.”
I shake my head. “It’s not always about you two. It’s about me, and I’m not going to explain myself further.”
She’s fanning herself as if I’ve caused her physical distress when I hear my father’s voice approaching. I turn, ready to face him. But he’s not alone.
“Alexandra,” my father greets me, his tone as measured as if we were in a boardroom. His gaze flickers over myimproperappearance, his expression tightening.
But it’s not he who’s caught my attention; it’s Richard. Polished as ever in a crisp navy blazer and shiny wingtips, his smile falters when he sees me. Anger boils beneath my skin. Their singular focus on how I look is infuriating.
Richard recovers from the shock and crosses to me, his voice monotone and rehearsed. “It’s nice to see you, Alexandra. How was your trip?”
“It was fantastic. I learned so much about myself.”
“Sounds productive. I look forward to catching up and getting reacquainted.”
Was I really with this man for two years? A man who moved and spoke like an emotionless robot? Who scheduled sex on a calendar? Who said romantic love was a fool’s notion? I can’t even fathom how I allowed myself to go along with this. The contrasts between him and Chaz couldn’t be more striking.
“There will be no getting reacquainted, Richard,” I say bluntly. “My father clearly orchestrated this charade. I’m sure he promised you I’d fall back in line. But while a loveless marriage may be acceptable to you, it’s not acceptable to me.”
“Alexandra!” My father’s voice sharpens, outrage coloring his face. “We’re going to sit down for a civilized dinner, and you will regain your deportment. You’re upsetting your mother.”
I feel like I’m in the middle of bad reality TV. Richard looks aghast, and my mother dramatically sways as if a strong wind is blowing her.
“I won’t be staying for dinner.” I level my gaze at him. “I have important information on Drew Marshall. Do you want to discuss it here or in your office?”
His eyes narrow. “I will not discuss such matters in my home. Make an appointment to see me during the week.”
“Sure. If you’d rather risk being blindsided by a scandal, we can do it your way.”
He scowls but gestures me toward his office. Once seated behind his ornate desk, his eyes narrow, and he impatiently demands, “Well? What is so urgent?”
