Page 14 of Vicious Little Snakes

The waiter approaches the table, quieting the cackling as our drink orders are taken. It’s no surprise that my mother orders champagne. She’ll have plenty more throughout the morning until she’ll need a nap.

“Great,” Donovan whispers as her mother requests the same. She rolls her eyes and then turns in her seat, all her attention on me. “So, what was boarding school like? Please say it was a little likeHarry Potterbut without the magic. Although the magic would make it better. Right?”

I can’t speak. I’m staring at her. She’s so bubbly, bright—everything I’m not. And suddenly, I feel mean.

“Mieux qu'ici.”Better than here.

Her eyes blink, and she giggles before rubbing her glossy lips together. If Donovan asked me, instead of blankly staring at me, I’d explain that at least with the mean girls, I knew why they hated me. But at home, with my mother, the reasons change like the seasons.

“I don’t speak French. I chose Mandarin.” She lets out a groan. “Or my father chose it. So dumb, right? I’m never going to use it. Business is gross. I want to grow up and write a column for one of our newspapers. Or be a photographer. Or maybe a zoologist. What do you want to be?”

Oh my God. She won’t stop. Is it possible to dislike someone because they’re too nice?

I give a shrug and look away. I don’t know why I’m mean. Maybe it’s because Donovan laughed too when my mom made her critique. Or perhaps because she didn’t have to do anything to gain all my mother’s interest. Either way, disliking her feels better than wishing for her to be my friend.

“Donovan, what adorable bracelets,” my mother coos. “Miles, your daughter is just so stunning.”

My mother’s voice is saccharine, and I wish I could scream.We get it, Mother. Donovan is the daughter you’ve always wished for. Just take some pills and shut up.

“Thank you.” Donovan smiles, her impossibly perfect white teeth shining brightly as she fiddles with braided string bracelets cluttered on her arm.

Something inside me snaps, and I turn toward her, reaching out and touching the clutter on her wrist.

“They’reSweet Valley HighmeetsBabysitter’s Clubchic. Very Greenwich of you. Bold choice,” I add, keeping my smile.

“Thanks?” she answers quietly with a furrowed brow, and I almost feel bad, but I bet this is the first time anyone’s ever said something that isn’t a five-star rating.

Our parents begin speaking, but Donovan and I sit side by side, quietly.

“Donnie,” her father interjects quietly, patting her hand.

Of course, he calls her a boy’s name. As if anyone would ever confuse her for anything but a damn angel. Donovan smiles at her father as he points across the room, then he looks at me. “The dessert cart is out if you girls would like to have that first look. It’s brunch, after all. No rules.”

My stomach involuntarily growls over the idea.

Donovan grabs my hand, pulling me up. “Come on. Let’s go. The meringues are delicious. I could eat a hundred.”

But my mother halts my movement, gently patting my stomach. “Peut-être des fruits, petit cochon.”Maybe some fruit, little pig.

I don’t answer her as I walk away with Donovan, letting my smile fade now that my mother can’t see me. Donovan glances at me as my hand slips from hers and begins playing with her dumb bracelets. “What did she say to you? You look sad.”

My face stills, all the well-placed barriers I’ve perfected slipping into place.

“If you weren’t such a primitive, maybe you’d actually speak another language, and then you’d know without having to be so nosey.”

Her eyes grow wide, then narrow.

“Excuse me. You don’t have to be so nasty. I was just trying to be nice.”

She turns away, picking a cube of fudge to place gently on a dessert plate before looking back at me.

“That was me being polite. But you stay precious, Donnie.” My finger lifts, tipping the plate and knocking the fudge onto her pristine white dress. Fuck your vintage.

Liam

Iwalk out of my room, dressed in my uniform, head still damp, orgasm relaxing my shoulders as I trot down the hallway and toward the red-bricked chef’s kitchen. Our home has a private kitchen for the staff, which has a great room attached. It’s like a regular house inside our brownstone. It’s also where I spend most of my time, not in my bedroom, because it has the most life.

I may have parents that resemble the most normal roles parents play, especially in this world, but they’re still busy with benefits, galas, and running companies. So while they love me, in our family, it’s definitely quality over quantity of time.