That might sound strange to someone else, but my mother isn’t a normal mom. She’s one of the most famous faces in America. And now that she’s getting remarried, she’s become a household name. People follow her around daily; the paparazzi never leave her alone. There are times I’m fearful of her life being endangered, but she loves it. Every moment is like a godsend for her, even when she receives stalker mail. I’ve seen some sordid messages from people who call themselves fans, but they’re more deranged from what they’ve said.
Each time she opens one of those envelopes, a cold shiver takes hold of me because I half expect them to walk in any second and I’ll be an orphan. Without a dad, losing my mother would more than likely hurt like hell. Not that we’ve ever been close. We’ve always had a volatile relationship.
But I’ve learned that behind the Botox and pearly white smile lies the depression she struggles with behind closed doors. That’s how I’ve grown up, knowing that when you’re in public, you fake a smile, giggle when you’re asked personal questions, and air-kiss people you don’t know but act as if you love them dearly.
“Nesrin Anne Ellington,” my mother’s voice calls to me from the other side of the door. Whenever she uses my full name, I know shit’s about to go down. Groaning, I push my blankets off and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. It’s not even sunrise yet, but I know summer will be here soon, and we’ll be drenched in the sticky heat.
I wanted to move to Washington State, or farther north, maybe Canada, where it’s cooler, but Mommy Dearest loves to be baked under the hot California sun.
“If you don’t—”
I swing my door open, interrupting the angry tirade I know she was about to spew at me. Arching a dark eyebrow, I meet her steely gaze. I look nothing like her, taking after my father—olive skin, pitch-black hair, and gentle hazel eyes.
“I’m awake,” I tell her nonchalantly because I enjoy fucking with her pristine, polished appearance. Nobody knows what she’s really like. Only I’ve seen the ugly bits, the parts she doesn’t show to anyone else.
“We’ll be leaving for the church in an hour,” she huffs. “I’ve had the biggest fight with your father,” she sighs.
“He is not my father,” I bite out, anger raging through me at her inconsiderate words. She’s convinced I’ll accept Bradford Thorne as my father, but what she doesn’t know is that nothing she can do will ever make me want to call him Dad. And that’s what she can’t understand. I mean—he’s wealthy, influential, and he has connections—her words not mine. I’ve heard rumors of Bradford, the man who owns the world.
Okay, maybe not the world, but he does own half of America, and from what I’ve garnered, he also has Europe, Britain, and most of Southern America in his pocket. A man who knows that money can buy anything, and the next item on his list is my mother.
“You need to learn about respect,” Mother bites out, and I know she’s talking about me actually accepting some asshole as my new father. She didn’t even wait for Dad’s corpse to go cold before she was diving onto Bradford’s dick. I shudder at the thought. At least I know for sure I won’t have any surprise siblings because my mother had her tubes tied after she had me. And I only know this because I overheard a fight between my mom and Dad when I was younger; she was adamant one child was enough; whereas, he wanted another.
“I’ll respect the man, but I will not call him Dad. He is not my father,” I retort. Anger sizzles through my veins, and I’m ready for another one of our infamous arguments when Jeannine, our maid, nears us.
“Ms Ellington, the car is on its way.” Her voice is low, and I know she’s scared of my mother. Everyone in this house is afraid of the wrath that Marcia Ellington spews.
“Thank you, Jeannine.” Mom doesn’t look at her. Those luminous green eyes are still pinned on me. “Get ready.” She spins on her heel and leaves me glaring daggers at her back. If only one would pierce her, just to show her how much it hurts.
“Are you alright?” Jeannine asks, regarding me with her gentle smile. I wish so much she was my mother. If only.
“I am.” I nod. “I have to get ready, you heard the queen,” I bite out, causing Jeannine to grin. More like an evil queen.
“Take care of yourself today, don’t let her upset you.”
The warning in her voice sends a cold shiver down my spine. She’s seen me broken by my mother’s cold words, by her constant berating comments. Her time spent in this house has led her to learn just how my mother loves me.