Page 22 of Savage Stalkers
“We’ve met,” I say, not taking his hand. “And it’s Ellington.”
Mom’s jaw tightens at my correction, but she doesn’t say anything.
Kain’s lips curve into the same smirk as previously. “My mistake.”
Mom looks between us with confusion. “You two know each other?”
“We met at the library,” I explain. “Mr. Lawson was... memorable.”
Mrs. Brown gestures for me to step onto the small platform she has set up in front of the mirror.
“Arms out, dear. Let me see how this fits through the bodice.”
I raise my arms, trying to focus on Mrs. Brown rather than the fact that the guy who insulted me is now watching me during a dress fitting. I catch his reflection in the mirror, and unlike in the library where he seemed bored, his attention is now completely focused on me.
“The neckline is perfect,” Mrs. Brown murmurs, making a small mark with her chalk. “You have beautiful shoulders, dear.”
“She gets that from her father,” Mom says. “Harrison always did photograph well.”
“Turn slightly to the right,” Mrs. Brown instructs, and I do, while trying to ignore the tension.
“Mr. Lawson,” Mom continues, “you’ll want to pay special attention to the garden entrance. We’re expecting several city council members, and the mayor himself might attend.”
“Already noted,” Kain replies. “I’ll have coverage on all access points. Your guests won’t even notice the security presence.”
“Excellent. I can’t have anything disrupt the evening. This fundraiser is crucial for maintaining my standing at the country club.”
Of course it is.
“Arms down now,” Mrs. Brown says gently. “Let me check the length.”
I lower my arms, and she kneels to examine the hem. In the mirror, I catch Kain watching me again. This time, when our eyes meet, he doesn’t look away.
“The dress is lovely, but we’ll need to do something about that hair,” Mom says, studying me like I’m a project that needs work. “And perhaps different jewelry. Something better than those studs.”
“I like my earrings,” I say.
“Skye, darling, this isn’t about what you like. This is about representing the family in an appropriate manner. You can’t show up to a dinner worth five thousand dollars a plate looking like a college student.”
The familiar sting of her criticism hits exactly as it always does. I’m never quite right, never quite enough.
“Maybe some pearls,” she continues, oblivious. “The ones I gave you for graduation would be perfect.”
“I don’t wear those anymore.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. They’re a family heirloom.”
“No, they’re not from my family,” I snap. “They’re from yours.”
The room goes silent, and Mom’s face blushes red.
“How dare you speak to me like that!” she snaps. “After everything I’ve given you, everything I’ve sacrificed to make sure you had such opportunities?—”
“Opportunities you chose,” I interrupt her. “A life you designed. I never asked for any of this.”
“You ungrateful little?—”
“Mom, please?—”
