Page 48 of I Don't Need Your Romance

Mom wants me to go not because I have a connection to my grandmother, but because she’d be super embarrassed if her own flesh and blood chose not to attend this event.

I wish I could honor my grandma in a different way, though. I know she’d be a little disappointed in me if I didn’t go. So that’s why I find myself standing in front of the mirror in my room wearing a pressed white shirt, black slacks, my leather jacket instead of a suit jacket, a blue tie, and nice shiny shoes.

Mom stands in the doorway of my room, frowning as she takes in the leather jacket. We went back and forth arguing about it. She claims I’m not allowed to leave the house unless I change into the suit jacket. I told her that’s not happening.

“Can’t you dispose of that jacket for one night?” she says. “It’s not even an entire night. It’s only a few hours. You can handle a few hours, can’t you?”

I look at her through the reflection in the mirror. “No.” The leather jacket is like my armor. Without it, I feel vulnerable, weak, and exposed.

She sighs as though the world is coming to an end. I guess in her world, with all those rules, it might as well be. “You’re disgracing your grandmother.”

“Am not.” Grandma always told me to pave my own path and be my own person. I think deep down, she understood that I’ll never fit into this world.

Mom checks the time on her designer watch. “We don’t have much time before Chandler arrives to drive us to the event.”

I lift my brow. “Chandler? What happened to Oscar?”

She plucks some invisible dirt off her suit jacket. “I fired him today. He was late too many times.”

“Wasn’t his wife sick or something?”

“His wife’s mother was sick and she left the country to help take care of her. Oscar neglected his duties here.”

I give her a look. “Yeah, because he probably had his personal duties to take care of. Geez, Mom.”

Her lips twist in annoyance. “That’s why firing him benefits both of us. I need my chauffeur to drive me to wherever I need to go and he’s free to take care of whatever he needs to take care of.”

“Right. And the fact that he has no source of income means nothing to you.”

She purses her lips. “I won’t stand here and be judged by a teenager who knows nothing about life. Change your jacket and let’s go.” Whirling around, she walks out of my room.

“Not happening,” I mutter to my reflection as I try to make my hair as neat as I can. I put whatever I needed to put on it to help it stay in place, but it’s still messy. Oh well.

I stuff my phone into my pants pocket and go downstairs. Mom’s already wearing her fur coat and gestures for me to get going, frowning at my leather jacket. After grabbing my coat from the closet, we leave the house.

A black limousine is parked out front. We only take the limo for fancy events, like tonight’s. A man stands outside the limo. He’s young, short, and his cheeks are red from being out in the cold for so long.

He must be Chandler, the new chauffeur. He bows his head as we approach the car. “Ms. Harrington, Mr. Harrington.” He opens the door to the back of the limo.

Mom lets me slide in first before folding herself inside in a way that some rich women do, all proper and royalty-like. Chandler shuts the door before rushing to the other side and getting in the car.

I stare out the window as we drive to the venue, thinking about Oscar and how he has no job now. I remember Dad having a hard time finding work after he and Mom divorced. He went from job to job until he started a construction business that did pretty well. We weren’t rich, but we were happy.

The drive to the event isn’t a long one. Chandler stops before a large building that hosts events such as these. He runs around to our side of the limo and opens the door for us. He just stands there as Mom glances up at him expectantly. He looks at her, completely lost, like he’s not sure what he’s doing wrong. His gaze flits to me for help.

I hold out my hand, trying to demonstrate what she expects of him. Like a light bulb goes off in his head, he holds out a hand to Mom to help her climb out of the limo.

“Thank you, Chandler,” Mom says as she steps out. The guy is only a few years older than me, and it’s obvious he hasn’t been doing this for long.

When I get out of the limo and pass him, he whispers, “Thanks, man.”

“No problem.”

Chandler drives off to park the car where the rest of the cars are parked. Mom and I make our way toward the building’s entrance.

“Don’t embarrass me tonight, Damian,” Mom mutters under her breath. “This event is honoring your grandmother, and I won’t have any problems. Do you understand me?”

“I think it’s best we stay out of each other’s way.”