Page 45 of Mad Love

But not even the heavy makeup could hide the bruises on her face from earlier, and I could only look away as Charles’s inquisitive gaze landed on me over her shoulder during their never-ending hug.

Evan didn’t join us for dinner. I sat between Gary and Charles with my mother across from me. Acute tension filled the room as my mother chattered manically about the floral arrangement in the center of the table. She waved her hands and downed two glasses of wine before the first course was even brought out.

This was off to a stellar start.

I kept my head down and picked at the food. I was too anxious to eat even though my stomach felt hollow. My insides had been carved open and scooped out like a jack-o-lantern, leaving me with just a thin shell holding what was left together.

All it took was one small blow and everything would implode, and the more my mother tried to flirt with my… whatever Charles was, the more my anxiety coiled in my gut as I waited for Gary to lose his shit.

Finally, after Mom not so teasingly asked Charles if he had any handsome older brothers, Gary shut her down.

“Enough, Angela,” he snapped, glaring at her as he sipped his glass of bourbon.

Mom ducked her head. “I’m sorry.” She trembled, and I wasn’t sure if it was because she expected Gary to hit her or because she was starting to come down from her high and needed something to level her out before she crashed.

Either way? This entire situation was beyond messed up.

“So, Charles,” Gary began as the starter plates were cleared away, “tell me how you’ve been. It’s been, what? Five years since I last saw you at your mother’s funeral?”

If I hadn’t had my eyes laser focused on my now-empty place setting, I might’ve missed the way Charles’s fingers tightened around the stem of his wine glass for just a second.

“Yes,” he answered in a smooth tone, sounding completely unaffected.

“What made you decide to switch to PC from Oxford? Finally tired of the abysmal weather in the U.K.?” It sounded like Gary was… mocking him. “I remember your mother absolutely hated it.”

That caught my attention. Gary had known Charles’s mother? I lifted my gaze to Charles.

He didn’t bat an eye. “I wanted a change of scenery before I locked myself into my role and titles. I figured, why not spend my last two years on the other side of the pond? PC does have an excellent pre-law program.”

“And your father?” There was a calculating gleam in Gary’s icy eyes. He knew something, was prodding at something, that he was hoping would upset Charles.

Why?

Charles’s lips quirked into a thin smile that showed a hint of his dimples. “He sends his regards and looks forward to us being united once and for all.”

The smile disappeared and Gary’s face twisted into disgust. “I’m sure he does.”

I leaned back as silent servers brought out the next dish and caught Charles’s attention. He flashed me a quick wink that helped settle my stomach enough for me to pick up my fork and eat. I skipped my glass of red wine and sipped my water as I chewed on autopilot, not really tasting the food as I tried to pay attention to what Gary and Charles were talking about.

A few business deals both companies were involved in. Something about stock prices rising—that made Gary happy—and a deal that fell through in Bangladesh—that made Charles unhappy. Mom was on another planet, fixated on the centerpiece as her lips twisted to one side. She ignored her food and finished her third and fourth glasses of wine.

“Blue and yellow!” Mom exclaimed with a bright smile when there was a lull in conversation. I jumped and looked at her before my gaze shot to Gary.

He clenched his jaw. “Blue and yellow what?”

“For the wedding,” Mom babbled, waving a hand and sloshing the contents of her water goblet, since Gary had cut off her alcohol. Her eyes tried to focus on me. “They’d be perfect colors, Madis—”

“Angela!” Gary barked, glaring at her.

Mom’s face crumpled, and she started to sob.

Loudly.

Charles shot me a worried look, but I battened down the hatches and prepared myself to ride out whatever chaos Hurricane Angela threw at us next.

“My poor girl,” she wailed, grabbing her napkin from where it still sat beside her plate instead of across her lap. She knocked all the silverware to the floor with a clatter as she lifted the white linen to her face. “I miss my daughter.”

Charles leaned forward. “Madam, your daughter is right here.”

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