My friend doesn’t even have the chance to take a step in that direction when Sylvia’s mask falls off.
She grabs me by the elbow, spins me to her, and almost spits on my mouth when she speaks.
“Listen to me. It’s not up to you what you do with your life. You were born into this family, whether you like it or not, and you need to follow our rules. There’s no way around it unless you want to end up dead like your mother.”
A few moments of silence float in the air, the sharp blade of an accidentally revealed truth moving slowly over my awareness.
“She couldn’t give a damn about your rules,” I retort.
“Exactly. And where is she today?”
A spiteful grin arches her lips.
“She’s not here to see her daughter celebrating her twenty-first birthday, is she? I thought you were smarter than her.”
“I am. That’s why I want to make my own decisions.”
She stops, sucks in some air, and pushes out a strained exhale.
“You can’t, Leilani. I thought these two years had taught you a lesson.”
Disdain tickles my lips, making them move into a sneering grin.
“They only taught me that I couldn’t rely on you. And you just proved it to me now. It’s one thing to ask me to meet new men, and it’s quite the other to dictate to me what to drink or eat. You want me to show up and shake hands with those men? Then fuck off and wait for me. I’ll be there whenever I finish my drink.”
Her eyebrows slide up in disbelief.
She’s never had anyone in her life talk to her like that. No one dared to disregard her wishes.
She ponders the best course of action before gracing me with a clipped dismissive gesture.
“Fine, have your damn drink. We’re waiting for you in the dining room inside. The one in the back,” she adds, and without looking at me, walks away holding her skirt up to avoid her heels getting caught in the hem.
Rory and I look at each other. Her eyes glimmer with indignation and admiration.
“Wow. That was something,” she murmurs. “Is she always that nasty and demanding?”
I shake my head in response.
“No. They’ve ignored me my entire life,” I say, running a hand over my abdomen to smooth my dress and calm down. “This must be really important,” I murmur, mostly to myself.
“You handled yourself well,” she says, gently stroking my forearm to soothe my nerves.
Her touch helps me deal with my panic, but even in my cool-headedness, I realize that things are dire.
Yeah… My grandmother’s energy was dark and vile.
I’ve never seen her more determined to force me into something I don’t want.
Whatever they had planned for me can’t be good, or she wouldn’t be so unhinged and so against me.
“If you say so,” I say quietly, looking for the waiter.
The man brings me a glass of water.
I take it and down the water, my hand held high in warning, making him wait for my next order.
I hand him the empty glass and ask him to fill it with grappa.
