Page 49 of Free to Judge (Amaryllis Heritage #2)

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

After the makeup artist finishes painting my lower lip a deep crimson shade, I wait patiently while my face is spritzed with makeup setter. Next to me, my mother is in her final stages of transformation. Checking out my appearance, I nod, accepting the woman in the reflection.

“I just want to say this before the makeup people leave.”

I brace, causing my mother to chuckle as she comes up behind me. “You are stronger than you are beautiful.” My mother’s hands land on my shoulders.

I turn around to face her. “I come by it naturally.”

Her face softens in the same manner it used to whenever she used to tell me stories about her childhood, her escape from her personal nightmare, and finding and falling for my father. Speaking of which, “Where’s Dad?”

She mumbles something I can’t quite understand. “Excuse me?”

Her lips curve upward. “He’s on his way.”

My jaw flops open. “He’s going to be late to the Fair Harvard Reunion?”

Her brow raises gracefully. “There are some things more important than a party.”

“Yes. You,” I retort firmly, indignant on my mother’s behalf.

She doesn’t appear to be half as disturbed as I am. Instead, she pats my cheek. “He promised to meet us there.”

I’m still sputtering when she blithely continues, “I hope you don’t mind sharing your ‘date’ long enough to get inside the Plaza.”

The idea of sharing Peter causes my lips to curve as I think about the paparazzi shooting pictures of him with multiple women—almost always family—hanging off both arms in the past. What’s one more night? I think with a touch of amusement. “ Of course not, Mama,”

“Good. With the dress Em designed, I need to wear these killer heels or I’m going to trip in this dress.” Our eyes connect and we burst into laughter.

Amid the moment of levity, Declan’s ringtone interrupts us. Mama curses. “If I didn’t know your father as well as I do, I’d swear the man has someone watching us. That foolish asshole is interrupting us at all our fun parts today.”

Instead of comforting me, her words send a shiver of fear down my spine. “You don’t think Dad has the place rigged, do you?”

Mama picks up my phone, reads the messages, before shaking her head confidently. “No. I think your young man—”

Bitterly, I interrupt, “He’s not exclusively mine, remember?”

Her hand runs up my back, smoothing away the harsh edges. “Apparently Declan is determined you know he’s ready to crawl to get back in your good graces.” She hands me my phone.

Warily, I take it from her.

Declan:

I mean it, Kalie.

I need you to know I’m not hiding how I feel about you.

I’ll crawl across that damn ballroom floor on my knees if that’s what it takes to get five minutes with you.

“I don’t think he’s dramatizing his intentions, sweetheart. Prepare yourself.” She wraps an arm around me until I’m steady enough to get ready.