Tomas leans into my ear and says, “You need to take it easy, baby.”
“No,” I retort.
Soren laughs. “She’s fine. Let her drink as much as she wants.”
Tomas takes my elbow. “Let’s get you some water.”
I shake out of his grip as I drop the hem of my skirt, smoothing the front of it with my palms. “What are you? My dad?”
While Tomas fixes me with a stupefied glare, Soren cackles and reaches into his pocket. He hands me a flask. “Here, sugar. Have as much as you want. Don’t let Tomas get you down.”
“You’re going to make her sick,” Tomas argues while grabbing my elbow.
Soren pops Tomas in the chest. “You keep grabbing her like that, you’re going to hurt her.”
My smile deepens as I take a step back and sip the flask. Cherry vodka kisses my lips, slithering down my throat in long sweeps that put me in a good mood. The argument between Soren and Tomas grows more personal, the two of them throwing plenty of insults that I drink up as happily as I do the liquor.
I’m so pleased with myself that I can’t help the giggle fit that surfaces. I probably sound like a witch. And why not? After all, it’s Halloween.
***
The joy of pitting Soren and Tomas against each other fades the moment I walk through the front door of my prison. My mother waits impatiently in the front living room, tapping her foot and causing the hem of her silk nightgown to swirl around her toes.
“Where the hell have you been?” she snaps while launching across the room. She pauses near the doorway and covers her nose. “Jesus, Alexandra. You reek of alcohol.”
I shrug and wave the flask that Soren let me keep. It’s empty, but the cool metal of the flask makes me feel grounded, so I keep squeezing it. “Oops.”
“Do you have any dignity?”
“Nope. Fresh out.” I tip the flask over my mouth and shake it. A few drops of cherry vodka dab my tongue and I smack my lips, teetering on my feet. I hiccup and catch myself on the wall, reduced to giggles. “Not like you—hiccup—care much about that, do you, Ophelia?”
Her expression sours as her eyes fill with disdain. “We have a reputation to uphold. What do you think the other families will think if—or when—they see you acting like this? All those contracts will go right out the window, missy.”
Shit, that sounds good to me. A hiccup gets lodged in my throat and I struggle to breathe, shrugging my shoulders repeatedly to shake it loose. When it surfaces, I squeak and pat my chest. I have options. I can run.
“Alexandra, you are my only daughter,” my mother explains in a rigid tone. “You are the only one who can carry on the family name, okay? Do you understand that?” She shakes her head when I stick out my tongue. “So much for family duty.”
Amos clears his throat. I hadn’t noticed him until he made his presence clear and my eyes slide in his direction, my upper lip curling with disgust when I see his penetrative gaze. “Do you have something you wanna say, perv?”
My mother gasps. “Don’t talk to your stepfather like that.”
“Why wouldn’t I? Don’t you know?”
Amos drills his eyes into me, warning signals shooting from his stiff posture. But his voice is full of calm reason when he says to my mother, “She’s drunk, sweetheart. She has no idea what she’s saying right now.”
“Oh?” I challenge him while taking a shaky step forward. “Don’t you think you should tell your future wife about what kind of pervert you are? How you like little girls who are barely eighteen?”
His eyes burn with fury. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing!”
“Alexandra Moretti,” my mother states firmly, her voice cracking with frustration. “What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s a serious accusation.”
I shrug. “Yeah, it’s serious. And it’s true.”
“You’re deflecting,” she accuses. “This is about your responsibility to the family. But you’d rather embarrass us and then accuse us of awful things.”
“I don’t have to accuse—” Nausea rolls through my gut and causes me to cover my mouth. Seems like the vodka might actually be catching up.
Mother shakes her head repeatedly, pointing to the staircase. “No, ma’am. You better take that shit upstairs right this second.”