Page 109 of Beneath the Surface

He reaches out to grab her hand but pauses, most likely realizing she just spit in it, and walks around to her other side instead. “Mommy, I’m gonna teach Becca how to pway. Bye!”

Then he’s off, taking what’s left of my heart with him.

And for the first time, I sit back and let myself imagine what it will be like letting him grow up in Sugarlake, with all of these people treating him like family.

50

Mason

The conference is in two hours, and I’m trying like hell to keep my nerves under control.Everythingis riding on this moment. On Olivia being who she says she is.

Olivia, who I watched park in the driveway fifteen minutes ago, walk in like she owns the place, and make her way todistractmy father until it’s time to leave.

I walk through the house, making my way to the office, my body on edge from the blood sizzling through my veins. I pause when I pass the formal living room, my mother staring at the family portrait hung in the middle of the gallery wall.

My chest pinches, and even though I know I should walk away, that time is short, and there areimportantthings that have to happen, I can’t stop my feet from moving in her direction, part of me aching at the thought of upending her world in just a few short hours. She’ll never win any mother of the year awards. My nannies were more viable candidates, but she’s stillmy mother.

My insides quake, the little boy in me never quite being able to let go of aching for her love and attention. “Are you okay?”

She snaps out of whatever daze she was in, her perfectly manicured hand coming up to touch the pearls around her neck as we lock gazes. “I’m just fine, honey. Do you remember when this portrait was done?”

I nod slowly, my eyes taking in her posture, not wanting to look at the picture that houses memories from that time of my life.“I do,” I say carefully.

The truth is that I remember this day well.

In the portrait, I’m wearing a long sleeve maroon sweater over khaki pants. But that was a secondary choice made by my father’s assistant. Originally, I was in a polo, picked out by a team of stylists who were preparing us for thispicture-perfectmoment. When I came downstairs to the living area, the outfit was short lived. My mother walked over, her eyes appraising me before lingering on my arms.

I remember the feel of her stare as it burned into the fresh scabs from the night before. I had tried to sneak into her room, steal concealer to cover them, but there was only so much I could do, and the job was spotty at best. My insides cramped, trying to hide them from her view, not wanting anyone to know what I did late at night in the corner of my bathroom. I was worried that if she found out, they’d somehow figure out how to takethataway from me, too. My only form of release. The only thing I had control over doing.

Her lips thinned, pressing so tightly against each other that the edges turned white, and then she snapped her fingers, calling over one of my father’s many assistants. “He can’t wear this shirt. We need long sleeves. Find something.”

And then with one last sweeping gaze over me, she turned around and walked away.

The cuts from that night were my deepest yet.

Snapping out of the memory, I look over at my mom, my stomach churning with pain.Is she really going to bring this up, now?I’m not sure what I expected to see when she asked the question, maybe some remorse sneaking through her features, an apology poised on the tip of her tongue.

But I don’t get either of those things.

I just get a small, wistful smile, and her ever vacant stare. “Those were the days, huh.” She sighs.

Her words punch through my chest, my teeth grinding until I feel the tension radiating up my jaw.

“I’m having brunch with the ladies, so I’ll meet you at the press conference.” She walks over, pressing a chaste kiss to my cheek before walking out of the room.

Pushing down the ache of wanting a narcissist’s love, I focus back on what’s important.

This is my chance.

Glancing at the time, I see that we have a little less than an hour and a half before we’re due at the Capitol’s steps in downtown Salem, where my father has decided the grand gesture will be. “A strong statement from a strong family.”

I make my way down the long hall, my stomach somersaulting with nerves. This is a gigantic risk. There are cameras.Everywhere. And while the house isn’t bustling with people yet, in less than thirty minutes it will be, and if someone has any suspicion whatsoever that something is going on, then this is all fucked. ThenI’mfucked.

This can’t fail.There’s no other option.

My heartbeats stampede through my chest, pounding so loud I worry someone will hear as I approach his office door. It’s locked, of course, but I’ve spent years getting into places that should be impenetrable, so it only takes a flick of my wrist and a paper clip for me to hear the click of the door, my stomach jumping at the noise.

I make my way in, eyes scanning the area for where Olivia said the safe would be. Hidden behind a picture frame. But when I look around, my heart drops through my stomach like a rock, because the entire fucking room is lined in photos.Fucking, great, Olivia.Again, my mind questions whether this is all a setup.

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