Page 7 of Ruling Scar
Yelena Zimin, Lev’s wife and Mom’s nemesis, pulled out all the stops. Cars wind around the driveway, stopping before thegrand front entry allowing people to get out before valet whisks away their cars.
I can tell by Nat’s twitching, she’d rather get out and walk the rest of the way, but the car slowly inches forward.
Dad is texting up front, completely oblivious to us girls. I think this is his defense mechanism, not because he doesn’t love us. It’s just that we terrify him.
I can’t blame him when Adeline shouts, “Holy shit, she actually brought the pool boy as her date!”
“Adeline,” Mom chides, pulling her back from the window with more force. She taps her nose. “Best behavior tonight.”
She points the same threatening finger at Nat.
“What?” she defends.
“No talking politics.”
“My rights as a woman are under constant threat,” Nat mutters.
We all know Mom agrees, but she can’t say it while scolding. Instead, she ignores her oldest and turns to me, waving a finger. “And you. . .”
The car remains silent as she tries to think of something.
She ends up fixing my hair, running a finger through the dark brown locks. My hair isn’t as beautiful as Nat’s or as shiny as Adeline’s. It runs down my back and Mom subtly fixes it, the locks skimming my left cheek.
Covering my scar.
I don’t think my mom even does it on purpose. It’s just the norm after almost twenty years of dealing with the facial scar.
Adeline perks up in her seat. We’re only one car away and she has a clear shot of the open front door. She leans into Mom, whispering conspiratorially, “Last year’s Givenchy.”
I know who she’s referencing without having to look out the window. Yelena.
Just like I know who must be next to her when my mother scoffs under her breath.
Yelena might annoy the shit out of her, but there’s only one person who gets this disgusted reaction from her.
Elijah Zimin.
“That boy,” she bites under her breath. “What’s he doing here?”
Nat sounds bored when she answers, but we all know she’s being careful. “It is a party celebrating his brother’s marriage.”
Mom rolls her eyes again. She hates Marissa too, so the whole affair is a triple whammy.
For the first time, Dad looks up from his phone. “Gia, you know it always does something to me when you wear that dress.”
Adeline gags, her hand fumbling with the door.
Nat agrees. “Absolutely not. No.”
“Girls!” Mom calls after them as they hop out despite not being at the front yet.
I slide to follow them, but not before I hear Mom say, “I’ve never worn this dress before, Boris, so what do you mean it does things to you?”
“Because I know you’re not wearing any underwear.”
I slam the door behind me—more scarred than I was before.
I scurry after my sisters who strut forward not caring about jumping the line.
