Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
He recoils at my harsh words. “I only meant—”
“That’s enough, darling,” Mother purrs as she sashays over to us, dismissing the photographer with an annoyed flick of her wrist that’s weighed down with sparkly jewels. “You’ve taken enough photos.”
The photographer nods and then proceeds to pack up with his head bowed. Mother takes my elbow and points to a pathway covered with an ornate carpet meant for walking on during the party so as not to destroy the grass. Once we’re safely on the carpet, we stroll toward the estate at a leisurely pace. The guests will be arriving any moment now, but they’ll be taking photographs out front and then ushered into the piano room where they’ll enjoy some music from a young recent Julliard grad concert pianist, hors d’oeuvres, and champagne until it’s time for dinner. We still have time before the event starts.
“You’re awfully surly this afternoon,” Mother says casually, though I don’t miss the accusatory tone. “Something on your mind?”
Someone.
But I sure as fuck am not telling her that.
“Work is keeping me busy,” I grunt out instead.
She lets out a heavy sigh. “Your work ethic is that of your father’s, bordering on obsessive. Do you ever pause to enjoy the fruit of your labor, love?”
The forbidden fruit.
Why, yes, Mother.
“On occasion.” I smirk at her. “I’m nearly forty, not fourteen. Why the sudden concern?”
“A mother can’t be worried about her little boy?”
The sarcasm in her tone makes my lips twitch with amusement. “Not the one I grew up with. What is it you’re really vexed about?”
“It’s Perry.”
We stop, and I lift a brow at her. Her face has been beautifully made up today, making her seem as young as one of my sisters. It’s a shame she’ll never know love again. Despite her icy façade most times, I know it broke her heart when Dad died five years ago. The kind of break you never really heal from.
It’s one of the things I loathe about coming here.
The memories. The feelings. The pain.
While the Constantine compound isn’t your typical home, it was mine. I grew up loved and adored by my parents, especially my father. As they added children to the fray, and I just became the eldest in a pecking order, I learned to harden myself to certain feelings. Perry still has much to learn as he’s the Constantine who wears his emotions like a big, blinking neon sign for everyone to see. Even Keaton, the baby boy in our family, has taken a page from Mother’s book and can keep his shit in check.
“He’s actually doing great,” I admit. “Don’t tell him I said it.”
She laughs, rich and warm and real. “Oh, Son, not about work. I swear it’s all you think about.”
Though she likes to play coy, Mother is pleased I flawlessly took the reins when Dad died. I’m the only one capable of holding the leash to the living, breathing, snarling mega-beast that is our nearly limitless fortune.
“Keeping this empire going is a full-time job.” I cut my eyes to her, not missing the brief flash of pain. We both know why I’m running this empire. Because he can’t. And Mother may play her innocent games, but we all know who the real puppet master behind our family name is. She just chooses to quietly ruin people where I prefer to flaunt it like a new, tailored suit.
“It’s his car.” She lets out a frustrated sigh. “He’s so naïve he doesn’t realize he’s even doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“Trying my patience.”
I bite back a grin. Perry isn’t always the favored golden child. “Do tell, Mother. You know how much I enjoy hearing of whenever he disappoints you.”
Her eyes flash with mirth. “You’re awful sometimes. Just like your father.”
My father was a hard man when it called for it. Being a Constantine, that was often. But he could be funny at times. He loved his children no doubt. A comparison to him is one I don’t mind at all.
“I apologize,” I say with a grin that absolutely says otherwise. “Continue. Let’s hear what the unruly toddler did and how I can fix it.”
Her severe features soften, and she plucks a non-existent hair off my lapel. The simple gesture is one my siblings never notice. Mother is cold most days and hardly affectionate, but she has her ways. Simple ones. Sure, she showers us with over-the-top gifts and praise—though some of us she prefers over others—but sometimes it’s the small things. For as long as I can remember, she would smooth out the hair on our heads or pull off stray lint from our clothes or tap on our nose when it was required of us to smile. Though she doesn’t fuss over our hair or touch our noses any longer, she still does the other. It’s a reminder of why my father loved her. Somewhere, deep inside, she’s soft for her family.