The Revenge Games Duet

“Still early days, but it’s something,” he says, happily. “Okay, you need to get your ass ready because I’m coming for you soon.”

I giggle, quick to point out the obvious. “I’m not into anal, but glad to know you’re coming regardless.”

“Ha, ha,” he mocks. “I’m saying goodbye now.”

As I hang up the phone, admiring the black dress, I battle my fatigue and power on by grabbing myself a double-shot coffee from the kitchen to keep me awake.

Not wanting to miss another opportunity, I call Mama’s cell. Ring, after ring, unanswered. My heart sinks again, and with the time being a late Saturday afternoon, I try the main office. Delia, the receptionist, informs me that it’s only her, and the nurses are busy.

Following my disappointment, I head to the bathroom to get ready for tonight, glad that my period is over after two short days, though the cramps, annoying as usual, linger. It doesn’t matter, I will spend tonight with Wesley. He has become my safety blanket, and tonight will be all about us.

***

This was the second time we’ve visited his mother’s home, and the drive still intimidates me. The wealth that sits in real estate astounds me. A few weeks back, I read that these homes are worth millions of dollars. Granted, they are beautiful and nothing like the small shack we call our home back in Alaska. It’s a different world up here in the Hills.

Wesley spends most of the limo ride teasing me with some notably-missed foreplay. I don’t object, grabbing his crotch several times and even suggesting a pit stop. I’m quite surprised when he gives me a lecture on patience, given he’s the most impatient person in the world.

The car pulls into the property, driving toward the well-lit home. Gina stands at the door, waving hello in a posh white suit with her breasts protruding. They have to be Es or Fs, and, of course, they are fake.

As we exit the car, Wesley pulls out a drag with a grunt of a hello. I don’t understand. He says we have to come here yet seems uninterested, almost as if the sight of his mother repulses him.

“Wesley, darling. You came.”

He scrapes his hair back, curling his fingers, irritated. “I said I would.”

“And you brought your girlfriend.” Her smile fades, picking up again, obviously forced. “Milana, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I respond, uneasily.

“Of course. Well, I guess it’s nice to see you. Wesley didn’t mention you coming.”

“She’s my fucking girlfriend, of course, she’s coming, Mother.”

In the space of ten minutes, Wesley’s attitude did a complete one-eighty. I place my hand on his arm, willingly calming his nervous anger. “Wesley, please.”

With nothing but her usual plastic smile, she ushers us into the house, ignoring his rude response, making us join her in their formal living room for drinks.

There are a few couples inside, none of whom are willingly come over to say hello. Therefore, I stick to our side and pretended to be interested in the artwork. Gina beckons the maid to pour us a drink.

“Bourbon,” Wesley demands the same time I say, “Anything.”

The maid serves our drinks, bringing them over with a weary expression. Wesley downs it all in one go, rudely demanding another. I’m not sure why I follow suit, regretting the burns that etch as I swallow. Wincing, I politely ask for another. Something tells me to prepare myself for a long and drama-filled night.

Not wanting to forget, I reach out for a small box—a gift that Wesley chose for his mom. “From us. Happy Birthday.”

Gina thanks us, aloof and without a gracious expression, she accepts the gift and opening it. When she sees the diamonds staring back at her, her face completely changes.

Excitement and dancing eyes accompany her wide smile. I think back to what Emerson told me, agreeing with her opinion on Gina’s money-hungry persona.

“Oh, Wesley, darling. They’re gorgeous. They match the necklace you gave me at Christmas.”

He smiles, deviously. After she kisses his cheek, thanking him, she excuses herself to attend to other guests.

“They’re beautiful earrings. You have nice taste.”

He laughs. “I don’t have nice taste… her best friend does.”

“What does that mean? Her best friend bought them?”