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Julian didn\u2019t see Maria. To him, she was furniture. A prop in his play of aristocracy.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour fianc\u00e9e seems lovely,\u201d I tried, attempting to bridge the chasm one last time. \u201cI haven\u2019t met her yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you won\u2019t,\u201d Julian said, stepping closer, his cologne overpowering the scent of pine. \u201cShe comes from a family that traces its lineage back to the Mayflower. She doesn\u2019t need to meet a woman who thinks a casserole is a proper dinner. You embarrass me, Mother. Your clothes, your mannerisms, your desperate need to be included\u2026 it\u2019s pathetic.\u201d<\/p>\n
The words hit me like physical blows, but I stood my ground. \u201cThis is a party for the elite, Julian?\u201d I asked softly.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d he sneered. \u201cThis is a party for the elite, Mother, not a nursing home waiting room. Get out before the guests arrive!\u201d<\/p>\n
He grabbed my arm then. His grip was bruising, tight enough to leave marks on my fragile skin.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m done hiding you,\u201d he spat, his face inches from mine. \u201cAnd I\u2019m done waiting for nature to take its course. Since you won\u2019t stay in your room, you can leave the property entirely. Tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n
The heavy oak doors swung open, letting in a gust of freezing wind and swirling snow. The blizzard outside was a white wall, erasing the world beyond the porch.<\/p>\n