"Are we ready to resume—" Dewi's gasp interrupts us. "I'm so?—"
"No, it's okay." Grace pushes me off of her gently and goes back to sitting in the position Dewi had us in before. "We're ready."
Dewi glances at me, uncomfortable, but I sit and gesture for her to continue. I don't hear anything she says, though, focused only on Grace, the taste of her still lingering on my lips.
Grace tried her best to convince me that she's fine, but that doesn't stop me from marching over to my parents’ suite the second we're done with our couple’s session.
Luckily, my father is out, so it's just my mother and her little blonde mini-me assistant, Calla.
"Can we have a minute?"
Calla smiles sweetly but looks at Celeste before she gets up, smoothing her hands over her pink dress and leaving us.
My mother moves over to the table and pours two glasses of water, gesturing for me to sit. For most of my life, I wondered if my mother wasfor real.I was used to her dichotomies, the speaking like a hippy while wearing a ten-thousand-dollar outfit. But I remember watching others around her, trying to figure out if they believed her. Or if they thought she was one big fraud.
One big fraud that's the face of a multi-billion-dollar company.
"How was your couple’s session? I just love the sound bath therapy that Dewi does. Wasn't it delightful?"
"What did you say to Grace?" I ignore her pleasantries and go right to the real reason I'm here.
She tilts her head and sighs.
"Oh, Asher." I can tell from her tone that she's about to be dismissive.
Something rattles inside me, and I hate the feeling. I hate that two words from my mother’s lips can send me back to childhood in an instant. That I feel like a boy sitting in front of her while she waves her hand and tells me I'm being dramatic. That I need to calm down. That men don't cry. That it wasn't that bad. I can hear the words before she even says them.
"That girl just isn't the right fit for you." She squeezes a cut lemon into her water and takes a slow sip, watching me while I stew. If I shout, she'll call me emotional. Humorous, really. Considering how much her husband shouted at us throughout my entire childhood.
But I keep my lips sealed and let her continue.
"She's so… meek. Like a little mouse. You need a queen if you want to rule this kingdom, and trust me when I tell you, Grace is not it."
"Mother. Who I date, or choose to marry, is none of your business." I keep the words calm, collected.
She purses her lips and gives me a pointed look. "She's marrying into this family, so it is absolutely my business."
I scoff, and she tsks. "You're angry?"
"No," I say evenly, but she shakes her head, seeing through me. Only this woman can rile me up and push my boundaries and then shame me for having any reaction.
"Why are you so insistent on marrying her so soon? You hired your own wedding planner and set the day for May? Calla could have planned it; she's doing Dove's, after all."
"Calla's busy with Dove's wedding. I thought it'd be easier to have someone else. I hired the best in the city."
"And the date? Why are you set on May? So soon. Why don't we do end of summer? We can have it at the Hamptons house. I know how much you enjoy the gardens."
Coming too close to me, her hand rests on my shoulder. I try not to wince.
That familiar ache spreads through my chest—the hollow recognition of her game. Her fingers trace gentle circles on my shoulder, voice soft with manufactured concern, but I've learned to read the script beneath. The warmth only appears when she needs something. When I'm not useful, those same hands withdraw, leaving nothing but distance. I step away from her, jaw tight.
"We want to get married in the city."
Celeste tilts her head, lips pursing. "The city is beautiful in the summer."
I shake my head, knowing she won’t stop. "I'm not changing the date, Mother."
"That's not what I'm asking for." She feigns surprise, as if she's never told me to change the date. Appalled that I'd think as much.
