Page 39 of Vicious Little Snakes

“I see we should stick to English too.”

My lips press together, damning the words I’d like to say from escaping.

“I’m calling because your father and I just landed.”

“Evan’s not my father.”

“Faites attention à vos manières, petite salope.”Pay attention to your manners, little bitch.“Evan puts a roof over your head, clothes over your wide ass, and too much food in your belly. And he also paid for that extravagant fucking party you’re throwing tonight. You should be begging to call him papa.”

I hate her, and it gets the best of me, despite years of training to shut up and be pretty.

“You know, Maman, if you’d released my inheritance early, I could pay for everything myself. Even a diet program for my super fat ass.”

When my father left, he disowned us to start a new family. It was quiet, discreet, but my mother found herself thrown out like the trash. It was very “full circle” for her, I’m sure, except this time she was stuck with me.

Frankly, the only thing that saved her, elevating her back into this cult of society, was marrying Evan McCallister. And although my father is a bastard who’s never acknowledged my existence, he was decent enough to put money aside for me. However, my mother has control of it until I’m twenty-one.

“Enough of this uncouth talk. Have the house ready. I’ve already given clear instructions to the staff. However, I requested you for a particular matter that’s more delicate. Evan wants our rooms joined, but I think it’s best they stay separate. As you can imagine, this is delicate. Handle it, Caroline. It doesn’t come from me.Comprendre?”Understand?

Unbelievable.

“Yes, Mother. I completely understand.”

But what I really want to say is,“Does Evan need you to hold him while he sobs at night? I’m sure losing your status, credibility, and a company can be emotional. Almost as emotional as the idea that you may have to put out for your dinner now.”

“Caroline. Are you there? Caroline.”

I nod. “Yes, sorry. When should Grey and I expect you… Today?”

“Please try to not be completely stupid. Of course not. You know things are tense between Grey and Evan. Evan has an important dinner tonight with Miles Kennedy and a few others. We’ll be by tomorrow after brunch—make those arrangements and make sure Grey joins us. Oh, and I hear Donovan was invited by the Deb Committee to interview. Take notes, Caroline. She is what a debutante looks like.”

“I’m writing it all down.”

I don’t even attempt to hold my fucking sarcasm back this time, but it would feel better to deliver if my chance encounter with that damn personal assistant had gone better. I was dismissed politely before I’d made much of a case for myself.

“Always such a disappointment. It’s a pity to have such an opportunity wasted on you. Try not to cause more trouble and ensure my items are completed before I walk through the door, Caroline. I mean it.”

Her voice is sharp. It’s always sharpest when she’s speaking with me.

“See you Sunday, Mother.”

The line disconnects without a goodbye, and my eyes lower. As much as I wish it didn’t bother me or that I was used to this treatment—my mother’s words always sear my flesh. She excels at placing them in the perfect position to cut so that you bleed long after she’s left the room.

Bradley clears his throat. “Miss Whitmore. I’m sorry to interrupt, but Miss Laura is here for you.”

I hang the phone up and turn to face him, my smile gliding into place.

“Bradley, Mrs. McCallister has requested that you join her room with the senior McCallister, and also, if you could make it ‘romantic,’ that would be amazing. She’d like this to stay as private as possible, which is why she entrusted the task to me, and I’m charging it to you, Bradley.”

The look on his face is nothing past surprised, but I shrug innocently, adding, “It’s like another honeymoon for those two. They’re just so in love. I’d like it to be special.”

I should feel bad…and I do, just not about what I’m doing.

Bradley gives a tight nod as I walk past, retracing my steps back out to the house. I slide my hair over my shoulder, feeling its softness, trying to shed her hatred. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch my reflection. I stop in the middle of the entry, staring at myself in the oversized Victorian mirror.

Why is it that a hundred people can tell you that you’re beautiful, but you’ll only hear the one voice that says you’re less? I run my hand over my flat stomach, sucking it in more.

I haven’t been watching what I eat or working out. I’ve been so busy with school and planning my birthday—my thought morphs into something uglier—my mother’s right. None of that’s an excuse to let myself slip. I can be better, just like the girls chosen before me for the Deb’s.