Page 27 of Relentless (The Titans of Founder's Ridge 2)

“Ready?”

I look up and see Mom in a pretty canary yellow sundress. It compliments her tan and hair really well, and it is shockingly age appropriate, so I decide to compliment her. “I love that dress. The color looks great on you.”

“Yellow has always been my color.” She gives me a critical look before hitting me with her first dig, “You could wear yellow, too, if you weren’t so pale.”

I should have expected no less. “London was rainier than usual this summer. Most of my time was spent in the pool or sightseeing with Oliver.”

“How is Oliver?”

“Good. It was hard to say goodbye.”

“You can find someone better, you’re young still.” By better she means wealthier and more connected. It’s a fucking struggle not to roll my eyes. This should be an interesting shopping trip.

We get to Arbor Avenue, the street in Founder’s Ridge with all the high-end shops, and I find a spot right in front of one of our favorite shops. As soon as we walk in the store manager, Marie, hands my mom a glass of champagne. Two attendants shadow us through the store taking what we pull and putting them in fitting rooms for us. I have to admit shopping with my mom is the only time I find her tolerable, at least until we start trying clothes on. I pull enough dresses to get me through the weekend parties as well as casual, preppy clothes for Sunday brunches at the country club.

After we’ve stuffed our individual fitting rooms full of options, we start trying on clothes. I try to stay in my room to avoid the inevitable criticism that will leveled at me, but the door swings open, and my mom stands there in her curvy glory. She’s wearing a fuchsia halter jumpsuit with a deep V opening down to her navel. She’s had two boob jobs, so they defy gravity, perched perkily on her chest. She purses her lips as her eyes travel the length of my body. I’m wearing a hunter green long-sleeve backless minidress.

“Put your hair up, so I can see the back,” she instructs.

I toss my hair into a messy bun and spin for her, bracing myself for whatever she tells me next.

“Your thighs are looking thick. I think you need to wear longer dresses,” she says. “The back of the dress looks good, though.”

She did not mean my thighs look thick in the good way. “I can see your areola in that jumpsuit,” I snark back at her.

“That’s what double sided tape is for darling,” she replies coldly before turning and going back to her fitting room.

Luckily, she doesn’t bother me the rest of the time I finish trying on the clothes on. I decide to buy everything I brought back. It’s one of those rare times where you love everything you tried on. Frank told me last year to use the credit card he got in my name for whatever I wanted. I only took myself on two shopping sprees with it. Dad found out he gave it to me and told me not to use regularly, that he would buy me whatever I needed so I tucked the credit card away for emergencies only. One spree before my senior year shouldn’t matter though.

We also hit up a shoe store, and I buy a few more pairs of heels. I’m only five-foot-five, so if I want to not feel like a shrimp in my house I have to strap on the stilts. Even with platform Louboutins on, I still only reach Levi and Frank’s shoulders standing beside them.

After we fill my trunk and back seat with bags, we head over to meet Frank at the country club. The Founder’s Ridge Golf Club clubhouse is a fifty thousand square foot Colonial-style facility with a day spa, two ballrooms, two bars, a restaurant, an indoor driving range, and an archaic gentleman’s club where only men are allowed. I asked Levi about it once, and he said that it’s basically a place where the men go talk business, drink scotch, and smoke cigars.

Frank is at one of the bars having a drink with a table of middle age men, one of which looks like an older version of Connor. I’d bet my new pair of Gucci sunglasses that he’s his dad. My suspicion is confirmed when we approach and my mom pulls her shoulders back and her boobs out.

“Victor, how lovely to see you.” She air kisses both his cheeks like she’s some European socialite.

“Ivy,” Frank pulls me in for a firm hug, “glad to have you back with us.” He turns to his friends and introduces me. Victor does turn out to be Connor’s father. “Ivy just returned to us from London. She spent her summer training with Olympic swimmers from all over Europe,” he brags about me like a proud father would, making my cheeks heat with embarrassment.

While Frank continues rattling off my accomplishments as a swimmer as well as detailing my plans at Yale, I look over at Mom. Her lips are pressed together in an annoyed frown. Not one ounce of pride is visible from her. She doesn’t even acknowledge my existence as she interjects herself into the conversation, asking about their wives and children.

I’m seriously thinking about just walking out when Frank snakes his arm around my shoulder and squeezes it. Just like he could hear my thoughts, he ends the conversation with his friends and guides us over to the restaurant. He and I chat for a while about my summer, while Mom decides to go socialize, always seeking a social ladder to climb. I watch Frank track her movements around the room with an annoyed frown and hard eyes.

“Has she always been like this to you?” he looks over at me with concern.

“Yeah,” I answer after a pause, “she’s never been warm or motherly.” I’ll take her dismissive behavior at dinner over her emotional torture any day though.

“I’m sorry,” his eyes move back to her as she giggles with a group of other trophy wives.

“It’s alright,” I shrug.

His look when we make eye contact again says it’s not, but thankfully he drops the conversation. Mom comes back when the server drops our food off and manages not to make a comment about the grilled chicken sandwich I ordered. We finish our meal in peace, and I leave while they stay for a few more drinks.

* * *

After dinner I came home, secretly hoping that Levi might be there. I checked his room, but it was empty, so I just went to my room and fell asleep watching Netflix.

I wake up to the bed dipping beside me. Startled, I try to sit up, but a muscular arm wraps around my waist.

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