Wanting by Lynn Burke

Addilyn

Mother set me straight on my behavior over breakfast, and I took it without comment, hoping a contrite look and a “yes, ma’am” or two would earn me back my cell phone quicker. Once she finished letting me know how deep her disappointment ran, she settled in with her coffee, glancing at my stooped shoulders.

“Proper poise,” she stated, her own chin lifting.

I straightened, wishing I could live up to her high expectations and knowing I never would.

“So, what do you think of him?” she asked before sipping, leaving a half ring of orange-red lipstick on her dainty china teacup.

Honesty or continue with the bullshit, hiding my true thoughts and feelings to keep on her good side?

I hesitated.

“Addilyn. Tell the truth, please.” She ordered her usual command while setting her coffee aside when I didn’t answer in a timely fashion.

“I don’t like him.”

“Why ever not?” She sat straighter if that were even possible, her groomed eyebrows rising. “He’s well put together. Has class and impeccable manners. Yes, his son is certainly lacking in many areas, but Lloyd said he’s sending him back to California after graduation so his time beneath my roof will be short.”

Herroof—not ours. Not the first time I’d made the distinction.

“He gives me the creeps,” I continued with the truth as she expected.

“He’s seventeen. Harmless.”

“I meant the elder one. Lloyd,” I muttered, telling myself I ought to just zip my lips and not stir the wasp nest.

“Mr. Destil?”

I nodded, feeling her disappointment keenly, but she had asked.

“You said that about the last two men I brought home to meet you.” Displeasure pinched her features, her lips, and I knew I’d gone too far—again.

Great. I let out a quiet huff of breath, readying myself for her usual speech about judging people before giving them a chance, calling her lover by his first name, blah, blah, blah.

“You’re fifteen, Addilyn Jane,” she chided, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. “Old enough to recognize the fact that I’ve laid down my life, my desires, to raise the child your father wanted. It’s my time now,” her voice rose, causing me to wince.

Well, shit and good morning to me. The child Father had wanted… Not her.

That was a new one, and it stung. Badly enough that I cringed.

“It’s time for me to move on,” she continued, ignoring my reaction. “I need to find love again and be happy!”

I stared at my plate, processing. Her words shouldn’t have surprised me—everything else was always about her. What made me think our unhappy life of two couldn’t possibly get worse?

What made me think she’d care about my opinion enough to listen for a change?

Swallowing, I glanced out the panel of windows overlooking Anchorage in the distance, a city Mother had told me Father once had under his thumb. Doing what, I couldn’t be bothered with, since shimmering eyeshadow held my interest more than properties and the stock market.

Father had been one of the very few millionaires in Alaska, killed in a boating accident when I’d been four.

I couldn’t remember much more than his smile and that I’d adored sitting atop his shoulders, pretending I was the queen of the world.

But Mother didn’t keep any pictures of him around, not that I needed to see them to recognize I didn’t look anything like him. A spitting image of my blonde-haired mother with her heart-shaped face, pointed chin, and plump enough lips to never need Botox.

She still had hers done though. Puffed to the point they looked ridiculous, she kept them smeared with an orange-red that did nothing for her pale skin.

But what did I know?

I did know—thanks Mother for the brutal honesty—that I had been Father’s idea, not hers. I also knew I was only an overly opinionated teenager who loved Chit’n Chat and watched makeup tutorials late into the night.

Well for the next week, I won’t.

Turning my focus on my scrambled eggs, I forked up a small bite Mother would approve of, fighting to keep my back straight when all I wanted to do was slouch and let loose the weight pressing against my shoulders. “I hope Mr. Destil makes you happy, Mother,” I whispered through the thickness tightening my throat, expecting anything else I attempted to say would end in a catfight. Something I definitely didn’t have the energy for.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. I fought off a huff even as tears burned my eyes.

I put the eggs between my lips and chewed without tasting. Three days before Thanksgiving and I learned my mother hadn’t ever wanted a child. That she would marry some stranger thinking he would fulfill her when all I’d ever done was strive for that very thing.

Guess I’d failed one too many times. Hell, I’d failed since the moment of conception.

What a way to start off the long winter ahead of us.

Mother slid my cell across the table, and I glanced up at her, not trusting her offer. “Mr. Destil and I discussed your disobedience last night after you went to bed, and he suggested you must have been caught up in your homework and forgot to change.”

Well, holy shit.

I stared—and remembered I ought to nod quickly before she changed her mind.

“Here.” She patted my cell. “But next time, please be better prepared for company. We must always put on our best front.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I tucked my cell into my back pocket, my face muscles tempted to grin.

Mr. Destil had made excuses for me—and he got me my cell back.

Huh.

Mother started in on their wedding plans, and I made noises of approval she would expect while forcing down my breakfast. Once in her good graces, I’d learned it was best to milk it for as long as possible. She would often buy me gifts, probably thinking they would make me forgive her negativity or treatment. Not that she ever apologized for a damn thing.

They would marry after New Year’s at the courthouse—because her fiancé didn’t want to waste money on a lavish wedding. He just longed to marry the love of his life, the sooner the better.

Gag.

Of course they would take off for a two-week vacation to some islands down in tropical waters, leaving me in the freezing cold in my new stepbrother’s care. The good shivers I’d felt upon first seeing him caressed over my skin again.

“And when we return, we’ll discuss your birthday party,” Mother stated, breathless from her usual excitement over planning get-togethers.

From one party to the next—Mother’s favorite pastime outside of the spa.

“Sweet sixteen,” she sighed, and I actually smiled, the two of us sharing a cool moment for a change.

Sweet Sixteen. I’d been dreaming of that day for years, ever since I decided boys, Devon Bradshaw especially, weren’t so bad after all. I wanted the fantasy of a perfect sweet sixteen more than anything. That first touch from a young man, the brush of his lips over mine.

Or perhaps, I’d heard Mother gush about it for so long that I’d taken on her desires. Hard to tell with an overbearing mother like mine who often complained her parents had never tried to protect her from the world.

“I would love to have a big party here,” I dared to suggest, considering our smiles. “Invite all of my friends—not just the girls like we do for slumber parties every year.”

Mother’s lips pursed as though recognizing my hint, hint without the wink.

Aaaand my shoulders slumped.

“I was thinking a nice brunch at the country club. Girls only.” She sipped her second cup of coffee. “The last thing I need is for you to end up pregnant as a teenager and have you dumping a kid off on me when you head to college.”

Yeah. I’d forgotten for a split second it was her “time to live.”

“A brunch would be lovely,” I lied, giving her a fake smile she wouldn’t bother to check for honesty.

“Pink roses—and I’ll buy you a gorgeous vintage gown for the event,” Mother continued. “We’ll have tea and small cakes…”

So much for waiting until after her honeymoon to plan. Mother went on and on like she always did when it came to parties and making an impression. Showing off her money to the women she called her friends.

More like cackling, gossipy bitches if their monthly brunch at our home told the truth. Fake smiles. Fake boobs. Fake nails. Nothing about them was real except for their money and Mother’s love of it.

I tuned her out, wondering what the hell I would do while waiting for the rest of the weekend to end.

“Mr. Destil and his son fly home tomorrow—he has so much to take care of before moving.” Off the wall subject change, but whatever. Mother couldn’t keep her focus on one thing any more than Jenny’s new puppy could.

“So we won’t be seeing them today?” Too much hope laced my words, but she didn’t seem to catch on.

She glanced down at the gold and diamond-encrusted watch around her wrist. “They should arrive within the hour.” A quick look over my attire caused her gaze to narrow. “I would appreciate seeing you wear something a little more…more. Mr. Destil is already taken with me, but I want him to be pleased with how I’ve raised you as well. What you do, how you dress, is a direct reflection of me, Addilyn, and your jeans and that sweater just aren’t enough.”

How many times had I heard that one?

“Yes, ma’am,” I murmured.

“Why don’t you run along and get ready, hmm? Leave your hair down and take it easy on the shimmery eyeshadow that makes you look like a whore.”

Yeah, thanks for that too, Mother.

Biting my tongue, I considered an afternoon in the presence of the two Destil men. My stomach roiled into a tight knot. I set aside my fork and swallowed hard, hugging myself. “I-I’m not feeling so well…the eggs…”

Mother’s sharp glance made me grimace, and I closed my eyes, swaying a bit in my seat for good measure.

“I f-feel like I’m going to p-puke,” I sputtered as though bile already coated my tongue.

“Bathroom!” Her shrill voice made me wince even harder. “Don’t you dare vomit in here. The housekeeper will never be able to rid the room of the stench before our luncheon!”

Hand over my mouth, I sprinted from her presence—but I held back a grin rather than spewing my breakfast across the floor. There was no way in hell she would let me out of my bedroom for the rest of the day. The chance I would embarrass her by puking all over her company? Give her a stomach bug?

I’d gained my freedom for the day.

Still smiling, I shut myself in my room and flopped onto my bed.

Yeah, safe…but only for two weeks until the Destil men would return to Anchorage.