Page 84 of Deck of Scarlets
Soon after, all the Aces trickled out, even Dean Poverly, but Father Benedict remained, his hands clasped behind his back. “Times are changing. A collapse in the balance of what we know could very well crumble before it’s too late to change what is already set in motion.”
Not a word was uttered when he left. Only the sound of a muffled trap beat playing in the background filled the emptiness of the room.
My phone buzzed inside my pocket, a text message from my wonderful mother reminding me of tomorrow night’s dinner plans. Her condescending tone when telling me how to dress never failed to seep through our text conversations, or any for that matter.
But I knew the first order of business when I got back into my room.
To toss that fucking cape and pager in the trash.
Chapter Thirty-Five
My mother could have picked a less conspicuous location to eat dinner as a family, but her attitude and aesthetic said otherwise. And for the first time, my desire to attend these family gatherings in such a setting made me want to crawl under a bridge and never resurface. I wouldn’t lie; what Thatcher said kind of deterred me from certain aspects of my parents’ lifestyle. Was she right about the silver spoon concept? Yes. But she was dead wrong about my Grams. That woman would have given the shirt off her back if it were her last one.
I didn’t think Thatcher would do the same.
She could go fuck herself for all I cared.
I sat in somewhat sophisticated clothing, with my parents and Aiden in a private dining area at The Heron on the Upper East Side. A dimly lit restaurant with portraits of castles and vast countryside occupying the wall space, along with red velvet curtains sectioning off from the main dining area to keep the privacy of the rich secured, it was top tier, especially since we had our wait staff. My parents, particularly my mother, knew people in high places, and The Heron was tough to get a reservation at; I wondered which client she’d sucked up to get it.
Aiden was eating a dinner roll when my mother asked the waiter for one of their expensive champagnes.
My dad peeked over the menu, his reading glasses at the brim of his nose, watching my mother quizzically. “Do we have something to celebrate, Linda?”
She gave her best coy smile and clasped her hands under her chin, leaning on the table, her plum suit barely wrinkled from the action. “I can’t have a nice family dinner at one of my favorite restaurants?”
I rolled my eyes. “There’s always an ulterior motive.”
My mother’s eyes darted over to where I sat, her lips in a fine line until she sighed as if she were the one annoyed. “Honestly, Remi, your attitude is unnecessary.”
At this point, Aiden was on his fourth dinner roll, buttering the shit out of the inside. “I hate to agree with little sis, but… why are we all gathered for dinner?”
I cocked an eyebrow, surprised that Aiden for once sided with me, especially against our mother.
However, she did not find that amusing. “Wow, both my children are conspiring against me.”
Dad chuckled across the table. “Linda, please, you’re keeping us in suspense.”
Before she could utter a word, the waiter returned with the bottle of champagne and a bucket of ice, pouring both my parents a hearty glass as my mother sniffed and sipped appreciatively like a wine fucking connoisseur. The waiter then took our orders, and Aiden requested another breadbasket. I chugged my ice water, anxious to get this night over with.
I could really use my flask with Dad’s whiskey right about now.
When she’d had enough of her obnoxious antics with her wine, I leaned back against the velvet chair, crossing my arms with impatience. I would rather deal with Josh and his nagging than sit here another second with my mother smacking her lips like a toddler with a juice box.
“Are you ever going to get to the point, Mother,” I sneered. Irritation came off my body in waves, overtaking the rational part of my brain to keep my temper at bay.
That similar blonde brow rose. “Excuse me?”
“Why are we here?”
“We’re here because I—”
Remi.
Whatever my mother was trying to convey faded like background noise. My name being called by an all too familiar voice had me searching the private space of the restaurant, but only faceless strangers occupied the tables.
Why couldn’t I see him?
Better yet, how the hell did he know I was here?