Page 46 of Souls and Sorrows
I haven’t wanted to tell them, because the division of money—especially family money—changes things when it isn’t equally disbursed.
Annoyance swims in my bloodstream, and my grip on my mother’s fingers tightens even more. They shift under the weight, trying to create space for themselves as my hold grows punishing.
Her eyebrows draw in, and she glances down at our joined hands, over the gold band on my left hand that I picked up during lunch, then back at me. Back to detachment and calculation, as if the sliver of bitterness from before never even existed.
“So, it’s true,” she says, scoffing. “You married the spoiled little Ricci girl. I do hope you were smart enough to get tested. They say she’s been with more men than most prostitutes—”
Turning my hands over, I flip her wrists out, pushing the flat of my thumbs against her pulse point. She grimaces, buckling forward as she tries to lean in to the movement to lessen its discomfort.
“You will not speak about her that way.” Pausing, I watch as crimson colors her pale face, a mix of embarrassment and pain radiating through her as a couple of other people turn to gawk at the situation. “And you will not get anything more from me.”
She narrows her eyes. “Are you reneging on the terms?”
“I’m telling you, I won’t be giving you a goddamn cent you haven’t earned. Do with that information what you will.”
Releasing her, I stand up, avoiding looking at Palmer despite the heat from his gaze boring into my head.
“The estate attorney won’t like that you married her,” my mother says as I turn to leave. “That family is part of the reason your father was in so much hot water at the time of his death. You could lose everything.”
I roll my eyes and head to the front of the restaurant. It’s a threat—an obvious one at that. One she evidently thought would hold more weight if she hurled it in person.
But in order to feel threatened, you have to care about what’s at stake, and my goal here isn’t to give anythingtothe Riccis, but to take it away.
Starting with my little nightmare.
When I get back to the apartment, the rage I felt at my mother’s presence has all but dissipated. Palmer’s called me a couple of times, likely to talk about the bombshell the bitch dropped, but I’m in no mood to discuss it after all the way it was revealed.
I don’t really know what I’d tell him, anyway. I feel bad enough that I got the money—explaining that a quarter billion of it went to purchasing my new wife, rather than either sibling, might not go over so well.
Heading around to the front of my building with one hand massaging the ache in my temple, I turn toward the post office just off the lobby, intending to retrieve my mail when I spot two figures on the sidewalk.
Immediately, I recognize the chestnut hair, braided and hanging off a bare shoulder. She’s in a leotard with a sheer pink skirt wrapped around her waist, and her long legs are on display as she tugs at the end of her hair, kicking one foot back.
Idon’trecognize the tall, deeply tanned man before her. He’s in a pair of joggers and a muscle tee, leaning with one forearm on the building above her.
Smiling.
At something that does not belong to him.
Rage claws at my chest, making it difficult for me to catch my breath. I curl my hands inside my pockets, nostrils flaring with the urge to go over and drag her away.
But then I remember how she acted out earlier today, blatantly trying to goad me into a reaction like the goddamn brat she is. And I realize that this—flirting with someone right outside our building—is probably more of the same, and she wants my fury.
Something tells me that perhaps she thinks she needs it.
So, instead of indulging the little nightmare in her tantrum, I turn on my heels and head around back, taking the elevator up to the penthouse.
I’ll wait for her to repent there.
14
“So,you know, you should totally come to the wrap party tonight.” Emile flashes his million-dollar smile down at me, likely recalling the things we got up to at the last party we attended together.
Part of my former corps, I’ve known the heartbreaker for at least a decade, though we only occasionally exchanged words outside rehearsals. Partly because it was always difficult for me to get away from prying eyes and ears, but also because I could tell he was far more interested in me than I ever would be in him.
My affection for Emile, like my affection for most people, only lasted as long as autumn herself; in the blink of an eye, as the leaves changed color and fell from their branches, so did my feelings drift away.
It’s easier this way. If I leave first, it’s harder for others to hurt me.
