Nothing about this is funny.
We make our way downstairs and into the dining room. I expect to be bombarded by the smell of all the lilies around the room, like in the entrance hall, but the air is only thick with the scent of expensive perfume. Then I remember they specifically put non-perfuming flowers in the dining room because it’s considered unappetizing to smell flowers during meals.
I’m back in their world.
Miranda, the friend Mother mentioned during our phone call, smiles at me when we step in. She’s a striking woman in her early fifties. Her fitted and stylish emerald-green dress accentuates her hourglass figure.
Daniel, her son, who’s a couple of years older than me, stands beside her. He’s tall and athletic, with neatly styled, sandy blond hair and piercing blue eyes that scan the room with an air of disinterest. He wears a tailored navy-blue suit, the crisp white shirt underneath adding to his polished appearance.
He’s very good-looking but also so damn arrogant.
My father barely acknowledges my presence, his eyes skimming over me as if I were part of the furniture. But Mother eyes me disapprovingly, her gaze raking over my outfit with barely concealed disdain as we come to stand beside her.
My mother, despite being in her early sixties, has a perfectly slim but curvy figure that she maintains meticulously.
“This is what you’re wearing?” she asks, her voice dripping with disappointment.
Wow, she didn’t take long.
“It’s what the maid laid out for me.“
“I’ll call the stylist tomorrow for a new haircut and clothes. It’s a shame you haven’t filled out a little more, but that stylist can do wonders.” Her words cut through me like a knife, and my cheeks flush with embarrassment as I look over to Daniel, whose gaze seems to skip over my body to see what I’m lacking.
Miranda laughs, a tinkling sound that grates on my nerves, but quickly adds, “Oh, don’t be silly. Your daughter is beautiful.”
Daniel nods in agreement, his blue eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. I should probably feel grateful for their intervention, but the attention makes me even more uncomfortable.
We’re seated, and I find myself between August and Daniel, feeling like a fish out of water. The dining room is a whirlwind of chatter and clinking silverware. Daniel glances at me before he attempts to small talk. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Amelia Charlotte.”
“Just Amelia, please. And yes. It’s been a while,” I reply, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.
“You were in Seattle for work, I’ve heard.”
Why does he ask that if he knows it already?
God, I hate small talk.
“True,” I respond curtly, hoping to end the conversation there.
“How’s the weather over there?” he asks. His question is bland, but it sends a chill down my spine as a memory of a much happier voice fills my mind.
“How’s the weather inside you, Amelia?”
My heart tightens, and a lump forms in my throat.
“You’re amazing. You’re someone I want to be like when I grow up.”
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the ache in my chest only deepens.
“See how life gets brighter if you’re just willing to sit through the darkness long enough?”
My hands clench into fists under the table, nails digging into my palms as I fight to maintain my composure, fight not to let them move to the back of my head.
No, Misha, I don’t see it. Even if mine got a little brighter, thanks to you, I’m back in the dark.
Daniel’s eyes search mine for a response, but I can’t bring myself to offer more than a hollow, “It’s rainy, as usual.”
“So, you probably felt just at home.”
