“Another trip?” I scoff. “Oh, wait — is it the Maldives this time?”
“Mon chou…” Mum’s eyes fall downwards, and I wish I could somehow stab myself in the balls. The jab was supposed to be at Dad, not her. He’s the one who’s always whisking her off somewhere.
“Ronan,” Dad scolds.
I stand up. “I’m not interested in your destinations, Dad. Lars needs the details.”
“Don’t you need the dates, though?” Dad snaps back. “So you can throw your endless parties.”
“Lars…” I stare at him incredulously. “You bloody traitor.”
“Language,” Dad scolds. “And I’m speaking to you, not Lars. You really thought something could go on under my roof and I would know nothing about it?”
Yes, Dad. It already fucking happened.
It takes everything in me not to stare at Eduard. I’m trying to erase him from existence.
“What are you trying to prove with all those parties, Ronan? The drinking? The weed? The alcohol?” Dad’s voice turns more lethal with every word. “Do you think you’re a kid?”
“Not anymore,” I say, and this time, my eyes slide to Eduard. He squirms in his seat, smoothing out his tie.
“Take it easy, Edric.” He smiles, as if trying to alleviate the tension.
Fuck him.
And fuck Dad.
And even Lars, the fucking traitor.
“Stop it.” Mum’s voice turns brittle. “Please.”
In a second, Dad is by her side, grabbing her by the shoulder.
I turn to leave. I have no time for family drama, and if I spend one more second in the same room as Eduard the fucker, I’ll jam a knife in his throat, and once again, murder is frowned upon in ninety-nine per cent of cultures.
“Mon chou, don’t go,” Mum pleads.
“I’ll speak to you later, Mother.”
“There’s no later.” Dad’s booming voice stops me in my tracks. “She’s dying.”
I whirl around so fast I’m surprised I don’t fall on my face. The words he said echo like doom in the asphyxiating silence.
I see them in a different light now.
Dad placing his hands on my mother’s shoulders…her pale face and the tears gathering in her eyes…Lars staring at me with sorrow…
He knew.
He fucking knew.
“What did you just say?” I whisper.
“Your mother has uterine cancer, and she has always suffered from immunodeficiency disorder. The cancer relapsed a year ago, and the surgeries failed.”
“What do you mean they’ve failed? And why am I just learning about this now?”
“It was me.” Mum stands up and nearly drops back down. Fuck. When did she become this weak? Why haven’t I noticed that she usually only speaks to me while sitting or in her bed?