Queen of Hawthorne Prep

“Ouch!” a female voice hisses.

I step into the sun-drenched space and find Mom near the stove with her thumb shoved between her lips. When she sees me, her brows pinch together, and I realize that the vase is still hoisted over my head.

She pulls her thumb from her mouth before pointing. “What’s going on?”

“Oh.” I lower the heavy crystal before setting it on the long stretch of granite counter. “I, ah…thought someone might have broken in.”

Her lips lift. It’s the first smile I’ve seen from her since Dad died. “And your plan was to bludgeon them to death?”

I shrug, feeling foolish. “I was going for a distraction.”

“You would have definitely created one.” Mom grabs the teakettle from the stove before pouring the steaming liquid into a floral-colored mug.

With her attention preoccupied, I’m able to study her. She’s wearing a sweatshirt and black yoga pants. Her dark hair looks freshly washed and has been pulled up into a smooth ponytail.

Not only is it nice to see the change in her demeanor and appearance, it’s a relief to hear her joke around. It’s a small glimpse into the mother she once was and not the woman she morphed into after her husband’s death. For the first time in two weeks, the vise that has been gripping my heart loosens. Not by much, but enough to suck in a full breath.

Her eyes widen when she glances at me, and I realize there are tears clouding my vision.

“Oh, sweetie,” she rasps, emotion thickening her voice as she steps around the island and pulls me into the comforting circle of her arms.

With her body pressed to mine, I realize how fragile she has become. In less than two weeks, she’s lost a substantial amount of weight. We cling for what feels like an eternity before reluctantly separating.

Tears stream down her cheeks before she swipes at the wetness. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through this.”

“It’s all right, Mom.”

“It’s really not.” She exhales a shaky breath in an attempt to regain her composure. “I was making a cup of tea. Would you like one?”

“Sure, that sounds good.”

She grabs another mug from the cherry wood cabinet and fills it with boiling water before adding an Earl Grey tea bag to steep. There’s something about the ritual that seems to calm her nerves. With her emotions back in check, Mom holds a cup in each hand before moving around the island and settling on a stool.

“So,” she clears her throat, “how is it over there?”

We both know the place she’s alluding to.

Rothchild Mansion.

When I remain silent, her voice dips. “Are you doing all right?”

Nope, not at all. But I can’t tell her that. I can’t admit to anything that might propel her backward into the quagmire of grief. “It’s been fine.”

“Has it?” Her eyes narrow as she searches mine for the truth I’m reluctant to share.

“Yeah.” Unable to hold her probing gaze, I look away. “Has there been any word from the lawyer?” It’s a glimmer of hope in the darkness and, at this point, all I have to cling to.

Kingsley is so intent on punishing me for my betrayal. I’m not sure how much more I can endure without coming unhinged. Everyday he forces me closer to the edge.

Mentally.

Emotionally.

Sexually.

She jerks her head into a tight nod. “I spoke with him this morning. He’s still looking into our options.” Mom reaches over and grabs my hand before squeezing it. “One way or another, we’ll get you out of this. I promise.”

“Okay.” Even though nothing has changed, her words fill me with optimism. And right now, I need that more than anything.

A rare slice of peace falls over me as we sit at the kitchen island and sip our tea. We’ve done this hundreds of times before, and there’s something comforting about the routine of it. And yet, I can’t help but nervously eye the digital clock on the microwave. Every minute that ticks by brings me closer to six o’clock. I dread being in the same house as Kingsley. I dread the way he touches me, breaking down every barrier until I’m nothing more than a mass of quivering hormones to do with what he pleases. There was a time when we were so much more.

“Honey?”

Her voice has me blinking out of those disturbing thoughts. “Yeah?”

“Are you feeling all right?” Her hand drifts to my forehead and then to my cheek. I’m tempted to sink into her comforting touch. It seems like forever since someone has taken care of me. “You look pale.”

She doesn’t have to tell me that I look like shit, I’m well aware of it.

“It’s probably stress,” I say offhandedly, not wanting to discuss my appearance.

Her lips sink into a frown. “Do they feed you?”

The protein bar Kingsley forces on me every morning comes to mind. “Yeah, I can have whatever I want.”