Page 105 of Thorns and Ashes
I know it was a low dig, but I can’t deal with this right now. It’s all too much. Everything istoo much.I walk out the door, hands shaking and vision blurry as I go, but I don’t stop. Not until the door slams behind me and I’m home, feeling more alone than I have in months.
“When I asked you to be on your best behavior tonight, dear, I didn’t mean to act as though you’ve gone mute,” my mother whispers to me while continuing to wear a smile for her guests spread throughout the foyer. “This is important to your father. Would it kill you to mingle and act like you’re having a good time?”
“It might actually. Thank you so much for your concern,” I reply with facetious gratitude.
“Why must you be so obstinate?” she huffs, her happy facade breaking slightly, and in time for my father to appear.
“How are my favorite ladies doing over here?” he asks with a forced smile, his voice just loud enough for others to overhear andassume he’s being sweet for checking on us, but the way his eyes linger on my mother’s tells me he noticed her slip.
She smiles nervously. “We’re wonderful, dear. I was telling Tris she should mingle. It’s been so long since she’s been on the right side of society, I’m afraid she’s forgotten how to act.”
I snort a laugh into my glass, taking a sip of the overly fancy wine they’ve been parading around, earning two startled glances.
“Don’t worry, Mother. I’ve learned from the best.” I raise a pointed brow and put on a demure smile, pushing back my shoulders and flipping my freshly colored and cut ashy blonde hair back. “I’ll go make my rounds.”
The room is full of my father’s colleagues and their wives or mistresses. It’s hard to tell at these events, but I’ve been to enough to know that you never ask. A simple,lovely to see youin passing usually does the job while keeping a sense of refinement. Everything is either a show or a game. Every move and word is calculated with a purpose. There’s no room for mistakes, no room for weakness. High society is one big arena where everyone is out for blood, and no one is truly rooting for you. The men wear suits and ties, while the women wear dresses and a polite smile. As my heels click off the floor, I try to remember the time when I lived for these sorts of gatherings, but the memory feels as though it belongs to someone else.
By the time dinner is over, I’ve played my part, but instead of feeling a sense of self-satisfaction and superiority, I feel exhaustion and disdain. More food and wine were served tonight than most can afford in a month, and dessert will be just as grand. The conversations being held are nauseating, filled with pompous arrogance and a complete lack of respect for others. As the hired waiters walk around and collect dishes, I thank them without thinking anything of it, but their startled expressions cause me to realize that no one else has.
While everyone waits for dessert to be served, the men retire to the library, and the women continue their conversations here in the dining room. I sit and wonder how many times I’ve been in a chair like this, treating the wait staff as if they were invisible. Shame fills me, sending heat up the back of my neck and making me nauseous. I try to listen to the conversations happening around me, but it’s no use. I’m an outsider looking in.
I don’t belong here.
Not anymore.
I excuse myself and head for the ladies’ room, looking for a respite from this whole charade. As I pass the library, the doors are ajar, and I overhear my father’s colleague asking about his pending case, piquing my curiosity. I rest against the wall, listening and careful not to make a sound as I watch through the cracked opening.
“Seriously, Thomas,” my father’s colleague says, his speech slightly slurred from the bottles of scotch they’ve all been drinking. “How did you manage to get Mr. Arias to pay your bail? No one has even seen him since his own daughter handed in those incriminating files.”
“Easy,” my father says with an arrogant laugh before taking a sip from his glass. “Everyone has a price, and I know exactly what my innocence is worth to Mr. Arias.” My father clicks his teeth as he finishes his glass. “And now, so does Mr. Arias.”
A couple of smug laughs sound from around the room.
“You sound very sure of your innocence for a man facing so many heavy charges, Thorne.”
I can’t see the man’s face, but I recognize the tone of his voice as someone challenging my father’s authority.
As usual, my father remains composed, though he pulls on his sleeves before sitting on the corner of the desk like it’s his own, instead of a guest at a borrowed lake house.
“Everything comes down to what a lawyer can prove, and without a paper trail, that’s a whole lot of nothing.” My father smiles smugly, a confident air projecting off him.
“Or what a lawyer can convince a jury of,” the same man interjects. “You might be proven innocent, but there’s no telling if you’ll ever bounce back from this financially.”
My father barks a laugh, and the men shift in their seats.
“Gentleman, I did not build my empire on sand. Besides, they can’t touch money thatdoesn’t exist.”
There’s a pause, then a murmur of understanding spreads through the room.
“As usual, Thorne, you’re the standard by which the rest of us are measured. Cheers to you.”
The sound of glasses clinking together fills the room, so I don’t hear anyone approaching the door from the other side until it’s too late to hide, and a man steps out.
Startled, I try to remain composed and not give away that I’ve been listening. I smile as I realize the man before me is Mr. John DuPonce, Callie and Caiden’s father.
“My apologies,” I say, tilting my head down. “Almost walked right into you.”
“Tris.” He looks at me for a second too long, assessing me, before a smirk raises the side of his lips. “I didn’t realize the Thornes were capable of apologies, but it’s nice to see there’s hope for one of you.”
