“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she says in her sugary– sweet way. Her smile is too wide and her eyes too curious as she looks at Nash. She leans in for air kisses to both my cheeks. “A kitty and her chew toy.” She laughs her tinkling, fake laugh and lays her red-nailed hand on Nash’s arm. “Kidding.”
Only she wasn’t. Kidding, that is. The look she gives Nash, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, is full of disdain.
“Who’s this? Nash’s career-criminal brother?” She laughs her fake laugh again, and I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. I shouldn’t have worried about Nash embarrassing anybody; I should’ve worried about the people I already knew embarrassing us.
“As a matter of fact . . .” Nash says quietly from my side. At first I think I misunderstood him, but when I glance up at him, I see that his expression is stoic, serious. He’s willfully provoking her.
“Now he’s kidding, Leese,” I interject lightly, laughing as well and using the pet name her close friends have used for years. “This is, um, Cash, Nash’s brother.”
My heart is a jackhammer inside my chest, determined to beat ruthlessly through the wall of my ribs. We didn’t discuss what we’d tell people. I assumed we’d still go with him being Cash, but . . . not like this.
“Yes. Nash. I remember him well. The question is: Do you? Why would you leave him at home on a night like tonight?” Left unspoken is what she really means—and bring this guy instead.
My father never bothered to hide his fondness for Nash and his desire to make him part of the Townsend empire. We live a very public life in some ways, which means that most everyone knows we broke up, too. The thing is, not one of them probably expected me to disregard my father’s wishes. They would expect me to appear here with Nash on my arm by whatever means. Because no one defies a man with my father’s kind of influence.
No one.
I hear the first syllable of Nash’s rebuttal. With my eyes on Millicent, I swallow hard, fix my smile in place, and dig my nails into Nash’s arm, a silent plea for him not to say whatever he’s thinking of saying. I hear the angry huff of his breath, but he doesn’t utter another sound, not a single word. I can practically feel the cool air emanating from him, though. He doesn’t like being muzzled.
“This was last-minute and Nash had something else planned. Technically, I’m not even supposed to be back in the country,” I say conspiratorially.
“Then why are you?”
“Some, um, some personal things came up that needed my attention.”
“Personal things, huh?” I know that look in her eye. It’s the same look a shark gets when it scents blood in the water.
Damn you, why didn’t you think of how to handle all this before you got here? I chastise myself, albeit far too late.
“Yes, you remember what those are, right? Before we were suddenly expected to live our life in public?”
“When was that? When we were two years old?”
“Exactly.” I laugh again, feeling more and more uncomfortable by the minute.
Millicent grew up in a privileged family, much as I did, with certain . . . expectations. She knows exactly what I mean. The problem is, she hasn’t realized that it’s a crappy way to live. Mainly because she hasn’t been shown how awful of a life it is, what awful people it’s made us. But I have. I have no excuse to act like that anymore, to act like her.
“As daughters of some of the most influential men and women in this state, we have certain responsibilities and . . . appearances to uphold. Or have you forgotten that as well?”
Is she really going to do this? Could I ever have called someone like this a friend?
It horrifies me to think that things were even worse than I’d suspected.
“I could never disgrace my family,” she adds scathingly.
I can’t decide if she’s insinuating that arriving with this Nash, as Cash, is disgracing my family or if it’s just my oversensitivity. Am I making more of the undertones than what she’s intending? I’ve known Millicent most of my adult life. I can’t imagine her being this person. Maybe I’m projecting. Maybe my guilty conscience is making me see things that aren’t really there.
But then another part of me speaks up, asking if I am, in fact, being incredibly disrespectful and inconsiderate of my family by showing up like this with “Cash.” I knew Daddy wanted me to bring Nash, but I also knew he would undoubtedly rather I come alone than with someone whose . . . questionable nature might bring him shame.
It’s ridiculous that it would even be a consideration, but it’s just part of the world in which we live. Isn’t it?
My heart pumps with guilt, but over what? Daddy? Nash? That I’m actually having to think about what’s right here?
But then something else kicks in. Something foreign. And scary. But something welcome. And right.
I give Millicent my sweetest smile. “Well, I hardly think disgracing people who don’t even have the common decency to be polite is something I’ll lose sleep over.” Her mouth drops open in shock. Before she can recover enough to reply, I lean in and whisper, “Be careful that you don’t fall off that pedestal, Millicent. A tumble like that could break bones.”
I straighten, shoot her another syrupy smile, and then promptly turn my back on her.
My brief moment of triumph over my former self is quickly dashed when my eyes collide with my father’s. He’s standing on the other side of the room, watching me, quiet fury on his face.
Impulsively, I raise my chin, a statement in and of itself. And Daddy will know exactly what it means.
Slowly, he shakes his head. One sharp gesture that speaks as loudly as mine did. And I feel it like tremors of an earthquake all the way down to my soul.
For a few terrifying seconds, I feel like crumbling. Crumbling under the pressure of who I was, of what’s expected of me and what I’ve done tonight. But before I can, Nash steps in to save me from myself.
Fingers touch my elbow.
“How ’bout a drink to wash down all that bitterness?” he asks.
I have to make an effort to swallow my huge sigh of relief. When I look up at him to accept his kind offer, I see the faint light of respect in his eyes. Or do I? Could it be that I’m imagining it? Maybe because I want so badly to see it? I can’t be sure. Either way, it feels good. It feels good to finally have the respect, no matter how minute, of someone who thought so little of me. Of someone who knew what kind of person I was.