Page 113 of Queen of Nothing

That isn’t a look often shared between them.

That isn’t their relationship.

Even when they quarrel, it isn’t like this.

Father makes no move to go inside.

He waits.

Oliver and Dray, too.

As though they have no faith that I won’t go running down the driveway in another escape attempt, and so they must follow behind.

Like I didn’t return home willingly…

I could roll my eyes.

But Amelia moves for me with a smile on her lovely face. She slides her arm around mine, hooking us together, and starts for the doors.

“You are just in time for the summer season. It is my own favourite of the year,” she says, and Mother agrees with a hum as she comes to my other side and takes my arm in hers. “Oh, the weddings are just delightful, and of course graduations, and the trips—”

The second I notice the other silhouette in the doorway, I tune Amelia out.

I bristle.

Next to Grandmother Ethel, a smaller woman appears. Her wandering steps to the doorway are nervous, cautious, and she peers out into the courtyard.

Smaller than grandmother in height, but that round belly looks rather odd next to grandmother’s stretched willowy figure.

Asta is with child, like Dray said.

And the years have been fair to her.

There is no change in that perfect, sharp face of hers. No change in the icy pale hair that’s coiled up and held in place with a gold clip. Her cheeks and lips might be a little fuller, but since that pregnant belly of hers looks about ready to pop, I dismiss that as baby weight.

Serena gained a bit, and never lost it, not in her hips.

I don’t know if it’s the memory of that pregnancy or the sight of Asta Ström that sours me, but either way, I know my mood is darkening as I climb the steps.

Suppose it’s Sinclair now, not Ström.

Amelia must have brought her over from Thornbury Park when she got the message that I’m returning home.

Their estate isn’t far from here.

And I guess that means Asta is my neighbour.

I’m not thrilled about it.

I look at her, and I see her face twisted with rage and tears, it’s blotchy and feral.

But it isn’t.

That’s just how I remember her from when she beat me senseless in the phone booth corridor at Bluestone.

Now, she is utterly calm.

Put together in a way I’ve never been.