My brows draw together. I head to my bed. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’re an example of a survivor,” she says, transferring her disgusted gesture in my direction. “Young, rich girls in some type of rehab are a dime a dozen. But your story is inspiring. A woman who embraces her age, and had the maturity to recognize her despair. She willingly checked herself in for help, and now wants to share her experience to encourage other women.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“My mind is in perfect working order, Cassandra. If your father had ever suggested we bring outside people to our bed, he would’ve begged me to forgive him by the time I was done. I wouldn’t have allowed his cunning games to drive me mad, or desert my only daughter.” She glares at me. “Out of the two of us, I can comfortably say that I’m the saner one. Now, you were saying—“
Yes, I was saying something, but Mother’s words—her plans—are making my heart pound. “I’m wrinkled and gray and old. I can’t face the world and admit—“
“If you’re around year after year, you won’t have to say your age. Sooner or later, it’ll be figured out. You’re middle-aged. Deal with it.”
She didn’t tell me I wasn’t wrinkled and gray.
“Have you considered the alternative to aging?”
“Happiness!” I cry.
“Death, you idiot.”
Saliva fills my mouth at her response, and I swallow. One time in memory have I considered suicide. Fear has always stayed me. I don’t know if my soul would rebirth to make me new and young again, or if it would all be for nothing.
“What kind of message are you sending to women?”
“Does it matter?” I fling back at her, since she seems to have all of this figured out. “It doesn’t. You’re old. No matter what you do, you’re not getting any younger. You’re not sexual—“
“My sex life is in perfect condition. Do you want details?”
Horrified at the thought, I stare at her—and shock myself by uttering, “Ew!”
Mother laughs, as if the joke is on me, when the images playing in my head of her…and…a man…and her…oh my God. That’s the most disgusting scenario I’ve ever had.
“You’re spoiled.”
“You spoiled me.”
“We all have,” she agrees with a sigh.
“Sloane didn’t.”
“Forget him,” she warns in a deadly calm voice.
“How can I? Isn’t Georgie still with him?”
“I’m taking care of my granddaughter,” she assures me. “Do you want to talk to her?”
She was with Sloane while I was in here. I ended up finding a measure of peace within these walls, but it’s still a bitter pill to swallow.
“Do you want a divorce from your husband?”
“What? No! I love Parnell.” His fixation on younger women has broken me. I don’t think I’ll ever recover all of my self-worth.
“Then you’ll do exactly as I say and never have to worry about your husband straying again.”
“Where’s Georgiana?” I shriek.
Mother sighs. “You’re still here, so she’s being looked after until you’re better. It won’t be long before she’s back. Just a few more weeks.”
I stiffen. “I don’t want her. Keep her. Let her go to hell.”
Heaving in a noisy breath, Mother narrows her eyes and my heart races. I must be insane to say that, when she has the power to have me kept here. No. Parnell has the power, but he goes along with what she says.
“Where is she?” I repeat again, wanting to hear from Mother that Georgie’s still with Sloane. He’s nothing but a petty wannabe, a six-year-old with the body of a man. People like us don’t concern ourselves with people like Georgie. He’s in the limelight, a public figure, and instead, he’s acting as if he understands the problems of a girl.
How ordinary.
“Her location is a secret.”
Lowering my lids, I can’t stop my smirk. “Even dead men tell secrets, Mother,” I say sweetly.
“Meaning?”
“Nothing’s safe,” I clarify, so she won’t think I’ve just threatened Georgie. I would never kill her. I just wouldn’t save her. “No one. No secret. Safe. Ever.”
My ridiculous way of talking doesn’t annoy her at all. I thought maybe throwing her stupid speech pattern back at her, I’d get under her skin.
“If you don’t want the child, don’t concern yourself with her whereabouts. Now, stop interrupting and listen to me. Or else we’ll keep you here another four or five months.
Despite what she believes, I’m not crazy, so I settle down, shut the hell up, and follow my mother’s words closely.
Georgie