Loving my Mother's Stepson

Ilsa's POV “I’m getting married soon.” My mother said during dinner, like she was announcing the weather. Casual, expected, unavoidable. I didn’t even bother asking who it was this time around. Josefina had a knack for marrying rich, wealthy men. Certainly not for love, and definitely not because she was lonely. If there was one thing she dreaded in life, it was poverty. The horror of being unable to afford limited edition designer bags and dresses. Or being unable to attend high society events, where people plastered fake smiles on their faces and gave fake compliments to each other. She would rather die. That was why she jumped from one billionaire's home to another, like it was a career. Because eventually, the marriage would fall to the ground. And when it did, she would need a replacement. And me? I followed. Of course I had to. I followed her everywhere. From one home to another. One city to another. It was draining. But at least I got to live my best life, even in loneliness and depression. There were dollar bills to wipe my tears away, if need be. “His name is Eduardo. Eduardo Vasquez.” She continued. I rolled my eyes internally. “Great.” She finished the last bits of her food, washing it down with wine, like she hadn't just altered the course of my life again. “You should start packing gradually. We don't have much time left here.” “Where are we going this time around?” “Barcelona.” My eyes widened in surprise. “Spain?” “Last time I checked, yes. Spain.” “Wh… Why? What about–” “What about what?” She cut me off sharply, giving me a warning look. “Nothing.” I said in defeat, swallowing the rest of my question. I knew better than to stir up an argument. “Look, Ilsa, you're going to love it there. He has a son, should be around your age. I trust you two would get along.” She said finally as she left the table. I almost laughed. Get along. Whatever Josefina wants, she gets, whether I like it or not. I sprawled on my bed later that night, staring blankly at the ceiling. I didn't have a say. I had lost that privilege a long time ago. The day my father died. In her words, the day I took the love of her life away from her. I was paying for my sins. The last time my biological father saw me, I was disobeying my mother. I had gone for a birthday sleepover at a friend's house, against her strict instructions. My father had come to pick me up, probably to protect me from whatever punishment she had planned. He never made it. The accident killed him before he could get to me. And in my mother’s eyes, it was my fault. It didn’t matter how many years passed. She never forgot, never forgave. And neither did I. I forced myself up from the bed, opening up my wardrobe. There wasn't so much to pack anyway. Everything I owned was always temporary, like it didn't belong to me. Clothes bought for different versions of me in different houses. Jewellery I barely ever wore. Shoes that I wore in houses I could never call my home. It was the same routine. We move in with so little, we shop like we were building a new life, the marriage crashes, we move out with so little. Every damn time. It's the same. I wondered how long this one was going to last. Given that we were travelling all the way to Spain. Two years maybe? If she was lucky enough. I ran my fingers over a Louis Vuitton dress hanging in the corner, struggling to remember when or why I even got it. My phone rang, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hey girl!” Jacie’s face popped up on the screen. She was grinning from ear to ear. I responded with a groan, falling back on my bed with a bounce. “Uh oh… Code purple?” she asked, her smile fading. I simply nodded my head, my throat burning. Tears formed in the corner of my eye, threatening to fall. Jacie was my day one. Even with all the moving around, somehow we would always find our way back to each other. But this time would be different, I feared. “Where to this time?” I flipped onto my stomach, wiping off a stray tear. “Spain.” She blinked. “Uhh sorry, come again? It sounded like you said Spain.” “Yes Jacie, I'm going to f*****g Spain.” I said, letting out a humourless laugh. She was so devastated. So was I. We would be thousands of miles away. Who was going to be by my side against my psycho mom? She was the only friend I had. The next day was a blur. We spent it together, trying to pretend everything was normal. We laughed too loudly. We talked about stupid things. Avoiding the obvious. Goodbyes were always the hardest part. She promised she’d visit. I promised I’d call. We both knew promises didn’t always survive distance. Sooner than later, I was on a flight to Barcelona with my mother. I slept all through. Or at least I pretended to. It was much easier than thinking. The car ride to the house was silent. Eventually we pulled to a stop, and everything became real. I stepped out, looking up, my heels meeting the stone. The Vasquez mansion stood before me, in all its glory.