Angie whirled on me, looking me over and I was surprised her eyes weren’t glowing red. “Don’t tell me you’re wearing that.” She waved a hand at me, tsking her tongue in disgust at my shorts and T-shirt.
“I’m wearing it right now.” I looked down at myself, then up at her.
“Guests are arriving in less than an hour, Josie. Please, go change. I can’t handle any additional stress.” She sighed dramatically, picking up her martini. She stormed into the kitchen to yell at the cook and a small catering team she hired for the night.
I followed behind. “You don’t really want me around tonight, do you?” I was asking sincerely, not to be a pain. I just didn’t relish in the idea of spending my night with Elmwood’s blue bloods.
She shot me a withering look before grumbling her approval over the hors d’oeuvres being prepared. “You’re my daughter, and you’re Steven’s daughter.”
“Stepdaughter,” I corrected.
She ignored me. “Everyone will expect to see you here. Your brother will be there.”
All the more reason for me not to be. I wanted to be nowhere near Carter. “I don’t have a brother. I have a stepbrother. And frankly, I don’t care if he’s going or not.”
She pressed a hand to her temple. “Don’t do this to me. Not today.”
“I don’t see what the big deal is. None of these people care about me.”
She slammed her glass down on the counter hard enough that I thought she might’ve broken it and cut herself. Alcohol sloshed over the rim. The wild rage in her eyes was a hurricane of anger building up inside. Hurricane Angie. She wanted to tear into me, to yell, but we weren’t alone.
“Upstairs,” she hissed through her teeth, marching out of the kitchen with her fists clenched at her sides. The witch actually forgot her drink. She must be pissed. I stared at the door she went through and then at the one on the other side of the kitchen. Two doors. Two choices. I wanted nothing more than to make my escape, but for some stupid reason, I followed Mom upstairs to my room.
Honestly, it wasn’t just the people I was dreading, but the poofy dress as well.
The dress in question lay on my bed. I tried not to release the gagging sound that came up my throat. Flashy. Gaudy. And sparkly. Just like my mother.
No way in hell I was putting that on.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
Never.
In my room, no one was around to hear or see us. Mom was quick to tell me of her displeasure. “Why do you always have to be so difficult? I am at my wit’s end, Josephine. I had hoped this would be a fresh start for both of us. Do I need to send you away to boarding school?” she threatened.
“I’m not being difficult,” I retorted, crossing my arms over my chest. “Would it really be that big of a deal if I hung out in my room?”
“It is a big deal to me and it would make me happy to have you there.”
I snorted. “You don’t want me there. You just want people to see me there. Your perfectly groomed daughter.”
“You make it sound like that is a bad thing. I am proud of you. You can’t fault a mother for wanting to show off her daughter.”
It was pointless to deny I was still angry at her for everything. The move. The divorce. The new marriage. All of it still stung, and I didn’t know how long I would go on feeling this burning anger. I didn’t want her approval and couldn’t care less how proud she was of me, even if it had been sincere.
But I didn’t buy the act she was portraying.
I glared at her. “If you really cared then you would let me go live with dad.” The words flew out of my mouth, hurtling across to my mother.
She blinked, her lips tightening and forming a hard line of disapproval. Fury leaped into her eyes. This might not have been the appropriate time to rehash this old argument, but I couldn’t take it back now.
The next thing I knew, pain exploded along the side of my face. My head whipped to the side, strands of hair falling over my eyes. I breathed through the pain before turning back to face my bitch of a mother.
Right at that moment, I hated her. I trembled with the force of that hatred, my arms shaking at my sides, fingers curled into fists.
Still, I looked her dead in the eyes. If she thought I would break down or fall into place, she was sadly mistaken. This might be the first time she’d actually laid a hand on me, but I’d had plenty of practice at being hurt by her.