Page 25 of Worth the Trouble

Lili

Momfrowns.Andwhileher disappointment should be disheartening, it’s a relief. Coming from her, a silent reaction is better than a vocal one because then I can interpret it however I want to.

Her lips press into a thin line as she stands with her arms crossed over her chest and waits for me to finish my routine. It doesn’t matter how hard I practice, or if I hit every mark, she’ll find something wrong, as she always does.

It’s never good enough—I’mnever good enough.

Each crease on her face makes me miss my father. How he was the only one with the ability to soften her. Not that he was particularly warm toward either of us. But he at least acted like there was love behind his actions instead of burying everything in cool indifference as she does.

Both my parents were raised with money and status, even if from very different worlds. And they tried to ingrain in me the same beliefs they shared. Children are to uphold generations of legacy. Love is unimportant.

Which is why, to them, I’ve never been more than a tool used like their wallets to demonstrate their class and power. As long as I could dance, I had worth, and if I wasn’t going to get their love, I was going to get their respect.

After all, I was built to dance and molded to be successful with it. Give a girl enough practice, a strict diet, and specific admiration and it becomes all she’ll live for.

I wasn’t raised to be soft and warm. I was raised to put on a show.

Arching my back one final time and kicking my leg straight in the air, I feel my entire body burn. I’m tired, hungry, and drained, but Mom showed up insisting on“checking in”before tonight’s rehearsal, so I have no choice but to let her see how I’m doing.

As I swivel and plant both feet back on the ground, I fan my arms out and come to a stop in the center of the living room, once more facing her frown.

“Hmph.” She narrows her eyes.

“I’m ready,” I say, straightening the hem on my cropped tank top. “See?”

“You’ll be ready when Pauline says you’re ready.” Mom’s tone is clipped, dropping her gaze to scan me once more before straightening her expression. “At least you’re following Milano’s diet.”

Hence why I’m always starving.

But I don’t dare say that, instead responding with a single nod.

My updated diet is even worse than my last one. Barely any calories, much less carbs. I’m honestly not sure how I’m functioning. My body aches and my stomach twists like it’s curling in on itself.

It’s nothing new. I’ve been conditioned to handle restriction since I was seven, so I’m a professional at pretending I’m unaffected. I wasn’t allowed food, so I thrived on Mom’s acceptance instead.

The corner of her mouth ticks up in approval, and I take it as the only crumb of appreciation she’ll offer.

“Be there early tonight. I don’t want any more mishaps like at the gala,” Mom says, turning to leave.

“My car broke down.”

Mom looks over her shoulder and narrows her eyes at me. She didn’t ask a question, so I shouldn’t have bothered trying to respond, but it flew out without thinking. Something that’s been happening more and more recently.

“Early.” She punctuates her statement as she turns and walks away, and I follow her to the front door, opening it for her.

“Oh, and Lili, Rico will be your date to dinner with the Jacobsons on Friday. It’s already been arranged.”

“I don’t need a date.”

Mom doesn’t bother looking at me or addressing my comment. “The Jacobsons have invested a fortune in this show, and nothing looks better than their star performers getting along.”

Getting along, as in, she wants them to think there’s more happening between us. Nothing sells tickets like whispers of love blooming.

At least if she’s going to pimp me out to anyone, it’s Rico. He’s just a friend and we enjoy spending time with each other. She doesn’t need to know there’s no chemistry, except for what we have on stage. If it makes her happy to think there’s more, and it keeps her from setting me up with guys who might expect something, I’ll take it. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that Rico comes from an equally prestigious family, so we understand the pressure each other is constantly under.

“Rico’s father—” Mom stops short at the sound of an engine rumbling toward us.

The air might as well fill with static at the familiar sound sending shivers through me. I close my eyes and feel it, wishing it’s all in my head because of all the times Rome could pull up to the house on his motorcycle, he had to choose the moment my mother is standing at the front door.

---