Page 94 of Dead Serious with Benefits
“Sorry,” Matilda said, covering her mouth to get rid of the smile still fighting to show itself. “Ward, behave yourself. You’re at the dinner table, and get that smirk off your face, just because I laughed doesn’t mean what you said was right...or appropriate.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said softly, and while I knew he wasn’t sorry, I also knew Matilda had controlled Ward more than Amelia ever had with that one chastisement.
The same realization seemed to have occurred to Amelia, and I watched the fury flash over her face before it was covered with a thin mask of disapproval. “I see...what a fascinating family you have. I’m glad that such a hands-off approach and acceptance of things that most people would have frowned upon has worked out for you and your family.”
“Oh for the love of…” Ward began, practically seething as he leaned forward. “Mother.”
“I hate when you call me that.”
“Then I’ll stick with Mommy Dearest because you’re being a?—”
“It’s alright,” Matilda said softly, and Ward stopped, jerking back from the gentleness of her words. “You don’t have to defend me or my family, Ward. I know what kind of family I have, and I wouldn’t trade them for the world. On the other hand, Mrs. Reddington, if you’re going to cast judgment on my family, or mychildren, then perhaps you could do it in the way you’re so proud of.”
Amelia’s nostrils flared. “Meaning?”
“You were once asked how you prefer to handle things in an interview, and you said something to the effect of preferring to handle things in the most direct way possible. So far, I haven’t seen much of that throughout this dinner. All I’ve seen is passive aggression and the occasional double entendre thrown in the direction of your son,” Matilda said with a forced smile. “So if you’re going to speak ill, do so directly. Or do you need a camera in your face to live up to your word?”
Ward choked on his drink, spitting a few droplets on the tablecloth before covering his mouth with his cloth napkin. The rest of the table was more subdued in their reactions, but not one person was untouched. Eric looked like he hoped a hole would open up in the floor for him to jump into. Marcus looked as though he were torn between being proud of Matilda and wanting to reach over and calm her. Me? I had been more or less expecting something like this to happen from the moment Amelia’s pointed comments had started.
Matilda and Amelia? They were engaged in a staring contest so heated I was surprised a fire didn’t break out on the table between them.
“I think,” Amelia said, clicking her tongue against her teeth, “perhaps dinner might wait. I think we all need a momentto collect ourselves. I wouldn’t want this friendly and well-intentioned dinner to be spoiled by a misunderstanding.”
“Only if you can leave your insinuations and unspoken comments outside the room,” Matilda said with a smile I didn’t trust for a minute. Gorillas smiled moments before they attacked in a blind, ferocious rage to tear the perceived threat apart. “Or you can simply say what you keep holding back under the false banner of politeness.”
“A break would do us all good,” Marcus said, squeezing Matilda’s hand.
“Agreed,” Eric piped up, keeping his eyes on my parents rather than his wife, probably fearing the daggers she would shoot him with for speaking up.
“Don’t,” Ward said to his mother as her mouth opened. “You invited that onto your own plate, so eat the serving. Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you show Matilda and Marcus your conservatory? It’ll be the best kind of fresh air anyone can hope for unless they want it choked with the smell of salt and brine,” Ward said as he stood up, calling a temporary end to the dinner. “Arlo, how about I show you the grounds? I can show you some of the places I used to hide from my tutors and parents.”
“That sounds nice,” I said, standing beside him, not hesitating to look across the table. First to my mother, who was fighting to rein in the temper dragged to the surface by Amelia’s pointed coldness. Marcus winked at me, the corner of his mouth twitching, and I knew the two of them would be fine. I had warned them that Amelia could be...difficult, but neither seemed worried. Now I could see that although Matilda was furious, Marcus was amused, perhaps even affectionate, as he held her hand and talked softly.
“Dad,” Ward repeated, waiting until his father looked at him. Ward gave him a soft look and then jerked his head toward the wall, probably in the direction of the conservatory.
There was a moment of hesitation as Amelia stared at Ward, and Ward stared at his father. I waited patiently, and Marcus convinced Matilda to take a breath and a drink. It was a battle of wills, not between Eric and Ward, because it was clear, to me at least, that Eric had long since given up fighting for his voice. No, it was a fight between mother and son, done through Eric as a proxy. I felt bad for the man, torn between his wife and son, but I kept silent, not wanting to add to the tension.
“Of course,” Eric said after a minute, glancing at Amelia as he stood up, but she only had eyes for Ward, her nostrils flaring again when Eric stood up. “Shall we?”
“Yes, yes, I would love that,” Matilda said, rallying her indignant anger and showing Eric a grateful smile. “Please lead the way.”
The three of them left the room, and while the heat left along with my mother’s fury, the tension was still thicker than mud between Ward and Amelia. She leaned back in her seat, and while I could see anger, there was something else in her eyes as she watched her son. Then she moved to look at me, her eyes sweeping from head to toe, to head again, and her lip twitched.
“You keep your father at heel quite well,” she said coolly. “And here both of us fight so hard to pretend we aren’t alike.”
Ward flinched. I saw the horror in his eyes and cleared my throat, taking hold of him and drawing him away from the table. Once he was a few steps away, I stepped between mother and son and looked her straight in the eyes. It was rare that I dealt with someone I outright didn’t like. Even in some of the rudest, meanest, most demanding people, there was usually a thread I could hold onto. Be it a shred of compassion for the situation they were in. A thread of understanding for how life had treatedthem, chipping away at their goodness and gentleness, or just the simple fact that some people were plain mean, and there was no sense rising to the bait.
But her? She was cruel, and all for the sake of maintaining a sense of control over her life, even and perhaps especially if that meant hammering and cutting away at the people around her to ensure that her grip was never lost.
“Your son has taken everything from you that you have weaponized against the world, even against the people you’re supposed to love, and he’s turned them into a far superior version,” I told her calmly, never removing my eyes from her.
“And what would you know of my son? You’ve known him for three weeks,” she said, the polite mask disappearing in a flash to be replaced by a sneer.
“How sad it must be then, for you to realize that in three weeks I have come to know your son better than you have in almost thirty years,” I said, keeping my hand behind me, wrapped around Ward’s forearm. “What can you tell me about his likes and dislikes? What can you tell me about his dreams and goals? What can you tell me about his heart?”
