“Thank you,” I whisper, swallowing the ache in the back of my throat that threatens to drown me. What the fuck is happening right now? She studies me for a long moment. Before I can think of what else to say, a waitress in jeans and a ruffled blouse arrives, asking if she can bring us something to drink. I ask for a Dr Pepper, and my mother raises her eyebrows at me.
“My taste in junk food has evolved.” I shrug.
“Fine. Two Dr Peppers, please,” she tells the waitress, and it’s my turn to raise my eyebrows. “And a sparkling water with lemon,” she adds, and I duck my head to hide my smile.
While we wait for our drinks, she goes back to studying me.
“I know your father and I haven’t approved of all your choices recently,” she says, breaking the silence.
“Recently? You mean since you actually started letting me make my own?”
“Gia,” she sighs. “You must understand that all we’ve ever wanted is for you to excel and be passionate about your gifts.” She leans forward, taking my hands in hers. “Because you aresogifted, my darling, and it caused us such pain to see it go to waste.”
I shift in my seat. “Constant pressure and criticism tend to be a little hard on the passion, Mom.”
“Pressure and critique are the discipline, Gia. Guy and I were trained that way and were much stronger aerialists for it. Our career would never have been what it was if our coaches had indulged us during the rebellious teenage years.”
“You’re not my coaches, Mom. You’re my parents.” To my surprise, tears start to well in her pale-blue eyes.
“You’re right, darling. Of course you’re right.”
Our drinks arrive before she can continue. To apologize or make excuses, I couldn’t guess.
I order the grilled cheese sandwich with pickled jalapeños I selected while waiting on my mom, continuing the junk food theme. She orders a Cobb salad, and I ask for an extra side of ranch, just to see her wrinkle her nose. By the time the waitress leaves again, my mother’s eyes are dry.
“Where is Elliot these days?” she asks. “I expected to see him at the show last night. I’m not sure he’s ever missed a performance of yours before.” She tries to keep her voice casual, but her curiosity is evident.
“Lyot is good, Mom,” I assure her, grateful that it’s no longer a lie. “He wanted to be there. Something came up that couldn’t be helped.”
“And Gale Shepard?”
I bury my face in my Dr Pepper, trying not to blush. “Lyot likes him too, Mom. They get along fine.”
She blinks at me. “Well, I’m glad to hear that, but it’s not what I was asking.”
Shit. I can’t hide the color rushing to my cheeks. She coughs, smothering a chuckle.
“You and Gale seemed very well-matched last night,” she says. “It’s obvious you have excellent working chemistry.”
I don’t miss the slight emphasis on “working.”
“We do.” I narrow my eyes at her.
“I wonder what Celeste Sullivan thinks of that,” she muses, eyes sparkling with devious amusement.
“I don’t really give a fuck.”
“I’m sure you don’t. Does he?”
“No,” I lie, and change the subject. I don’t want to think about Celeste, let alone discuss her and Gale with my mother. The bitch has more or less left me alone since making her pointat Beauty and Essex, but I doubt the same is true for Gale. He still refuses to talk about her or the twisted details of their arrangement, but every time I trace the half-finished tattoo on his back, another layer of anger wraps itself around my heart. There has to be a way to get him free of her without sacrificing his place at ACCA. Maybe now that Lyot is involved, he’ll think of a way to help.
Lyot and Gale. That is definitely not a direction I need my mind going while sitting across the table from my mother. Holy hell, I could give up circus and spend the rest of my life in bed with them, treasured and tormented. I can’t keep a grin from breaking across my face.
Vaya is going to throw a fucking party when she finds out.
31
Gale
