EPISODE 2
893 Words
LIA.
I'd had a thing for Alaric Whitmore for nearly my entire life. Not that I'd ever say it out loud, and especially not now. That would be a secret I’d carry to my grave.
And really, so had nearly every girl from middle school straight through high school, and even a couple of my college mates. Alaric Whitmore was a legend, and had been Most Eligible Bachelor for years. The kind of man women gossiped about pinned pictures of on Pinterest boards titled Dream Husband. The man had been stunning in his twenties, achingly handsome in his thirties, and even now, with the slightest lines of age etched around his eyes, he looked the sort of man who got better with age.
And he was now my stepfather.
Hell no.
Both of them looked at me sharply, and my face heated as I realized I’d said it out loud. I looked away hastily in embarrassment.
Mom didn’t comment. She simply clapped her hands with too much energy, letting out a brittle laugh. “Well! Let’s not just stand around. Dinner is ready, and I’m starving.” She gave me a pointed glare as she turned to Alaric, slipping her arm through his like some giddy debutante. “Come, darling.”
I followed them to the dining room, my throat dry, and my stomach in knots.
Soon we were seated around the large dining table, our places set with fine china and far too many forks. Some staff served up the first course, and I kept my attention on my plate, playing around with my food but not really eating it. My gaze wandered over to the rings on their fingers, hers large and glittery, his unadorned but certainly expensive.
A wave of guilt washed over me.
I shouldn't have been thinking about how good-looking he was. Not when he was now my mother's husband. My stepfather. The very thought made me wince and my appetite completely vanished.
Alaric was on his phone, while Mom was doing her best to make this look like a normal night. She yapped about renovation, charity events, and a garden party next Saturday as if this were not the most awkward dinner in the world. Alaric said little to nothing as he
chewed slowly, expressionless. He would occasionally hum noncommittally or nod but it was clear he didn't care.
I glared at him more intensely, suspicion growing. This did not make sense. Why her?
It wasn't love. Not from either of them. And he very wasn't doing it for her money. He didn’t lack it. So what was it?
I lost my grip on patience. "Why did you marry my mom?" I cut in, interrupting Mom mid-sentence.
The room went silent. Mom slowly rotated her face towards me, eyes wide and angry with warning. "Aurelia," she hissed, trying to hide the horror in her voice behind a strained laugh. "Don't be rude."
Alaric kept eating and looking at his phone like I hadn’t just spoken. I scowled.
"Is it your age, Alaric?" I asked. My voice was clear but my hands trembled slightly in nervousness. "Is that the reason you seem to have lost your hearing and speech somewhere along the way? "
Mom gasped, clearly scandalized. "Aurelia St. James!"
Alaric's eyes finally met mine, as he slowly setting his fork aside and leaning back in his chair. His eyes were cold and calculating, but beneath them, I saw something flash, amusement? Irritation? I couldn't tell which it was.
He folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head. "Aurelia, was it?"
I nodded stiffly, chin up. “Well, your mother,” he began, his voice smooth and baritone, “is an undeniably beautiful and charismatic woman. There really was no better choice.”
Mom’s face lit up. She preened under the compliment, fingers toying with her wine glass like a schoolgirl.
I, on the other hand, narrowed my eyes. “Be serious.”
“I am,” he said, his tone too light. “Unless… you’re trying to say your mother isn’t beautiful and charismatic?”
I opened my lips, then slammed them shut. My cheeks burned in a flash. "No, I mean…that's not what I…" I stuttered, burning with embarrassment as he gave me a slow, wicked smile.
He had done it on purpose.
"You’re an ass," I clipped out, pushing my chair back with a loud scrape. The sound bounced loudly off the floor.
Mom stood up slightly. "Aurelia, don't you dare—"
I waved her off. I was halfway down the door before I turned on my heel and snapped, my voice tight with anger. "How old are you anyway?"
Alaric's eyes blinked in surprise, and then he gave me a full, slow scrutiny from head to toe. I felt his gaze like a heavy hand on my body.
"Forty," he said at last.
I drew a swift breath. Forty.
That meant he had been 17 when I was born. And Mom had been 23.
I was silent before I berated myself. Why did I care about his age anyway? I turned around again and left.
Behind me, Mom was already moving to placate him. "Alaric, I apologize, she's just tired, and the flight…"
I didn't linger to hear the rest, the click of my heels following me down the hallway.
- Writer
