Twisted Lies (Dirty Secrets) (2 page)

I, on the other hand, grew up in a middle-class family. They had been happy as shit when I received a scholarship to attend the ultra-elite private high school whose attendees included the children of celebrities and foreign dignitaries.

Our differences didn’t end there. Jade was beautiful and lithe, with shocking apple-green eyes. My features were more exotic—or what guys would call sensual. I could live with that description, but it was my tight, curvy body that caused me angst—well, that and the fact that I had more ass and breasts than should be allowed on any woman unless her lifelong ambition was to be a very well-paid stripper.

Jade was my bestie and my partner in crime. When she needed me, I would be there just like she’d be for me. It’d been that way from the first day we met as freshmen in high school, and it would always be that way.

Jade jarred me out of my thoughts by screaming at the top of her lungs, “Sin! Are you fucking listening?”

I clutched my pearls. “Shit! Do you have to be so damn loud?” I snapped.

The cab driver scowled at me in the rearview mirror.

“Okay. Grumpy much?” Jade responded dryly.

I sighed. She was right. I should have been bouncing up and down with excitement. It was a huge life goal of mine to attend one of the best fashion schools in the country. I’d worked so hard for this day, and it was finally here.

“Now, how in the hell are you going to break the good news to Grace?” Jade asked.

And there it was, the motherfucking killjoy—my mom. My fingers twitched. Anxiously, I straightened my crisp oxford shirt and then smoothed down my black skirt as if I were somehow being scrutinized by her unforgiving glare.

“I don’t know.” I bit my bottom lip. “I’m on my way there now. Any suggestions?”

I felt sick to my stomach just from thinking about the inevitable confrontation. Our relationship had never been good. Grace wasn’t…well, motherly. Okay, the woman was plain narcissistic. She always had been, and she always would be.

“Number one—don’t let her mindfuck you, Sin. Stay true to your plan. You’re going to school.” Jade’s voice hardened. “You’ve worked too damn hard to let her dash away your dream.”

It hurt like hell to admit it, but I’d never gotten the sense that Grace loved me, and I damn sure could never do anything right in her eyes, no matter how hard I tried. And believe me, I’d tried. It was fucking embarrassing how hard I’d worked to be everything she expected me to be—flawless. I’d even dyed my long, naturally auburn hair blond like hers, which looked utterly ridiculous with my exotic, dark features. What was worse was the sheer disdain in her eyes when she’d seen it. In comparison to her ethereal, porcelain features, I wasn’t pretty enough or thin enough or smart enough. I just wasn’t enough…and frankly, the truth hurt like a motherfucker.

I sat stiffly, clenching my fingers around my leather handbag. “You’re right. I have to be firm with her. I want to go to school. I just haven’t quite figured out how in the hell I’m going to pay the tuition.”

“Sin, just tell her you earned her help with paying the tuition. You’ve been busting your ass while assisting her in that overpriced teahouse for months. For fuck’s sake, she claimed she couldn’t afford to pay you, but then she went out and bought a luxury vehicle with cash.” Jade scoffed. “God, that woman is worse than my piece-of-shit father.”

My lips pursed from just thinking about how Grace had burned through the money from my dad’s wrongful death settlement on extravagant purchases. Including a new condo with a homeowner’s association fee that was more than what most people paid for their monthly mortgage. To make matters worse, she was living way above the income generated from her new teahouse business.

I ran my fingers through my hair. “Thank you for giving me the swift kick in the ass I needed. You’re right. I must take care of me. God knows, if I don’t, she damn sure won’t.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Jade responded.

I sighed. “I’ll call you later.”

“Okay. Remember, I have an audition today, but I’ll be home right after. I have a feeling this is going to get real ugly, so give me a call, or even better, stop by.”

“Shit! I’m sorry. I forgot your big audition is today. Get off the phone. You need to get your mind right. No more talking about my dysfunctional family.” I sighed heavily. “Thank you, Jade. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Jade laughed huskily. “Shit, you were there for me when I went through my hot-mess phase, and now it’s my turn to be there for you. Just call me, no matter what, okay?”

“Okay. Concentrate on getting that part.” I hung up, pulling a compact out of my handbag, checking myself in the mirror.

I flipped my hair over my shoulder, touched up my mascara and lip-gloss, and then fiddled nervously with my pearl necklace and earrings. They were gifts from Grace for my eighteenth birthday in lieu of the new sewing machine I’d asked for.

My body jerked from the sharp stop in front of Grace’s teahouse. After paying the cab fare, I hopped out. My hands trembled while running them along my tight pencil skirt, trying to get out the nonexistent wrinkles. I froze, realizing I was on my way to what Jade called my
level ten panic attack
. Blowing out slowly, I counted to ten before making sure to cover my one act of rebellion—the tattoo that read
Sin
in cursive letters on my wrist. If Grace were to see the tattoo, she would clutch her damn pearls, screaming that proper young ladies—more importantly, her daughter—didn’t get tattoos.

My hands clenched and unclenched while I stood in the middle of the busy sidewalk, jostled by irritated New Yorkers.
I can do this. I can go in there and tell her I am fucking done with her shit.
My heart was racing as if I’d just run a marathon.
I need to get my shit together.

Okay, it’s go time.

I straightened my skirt once more. Pushing my shoulders back like Dad taught me, I marched into Grace’s over-the-top Victorian teahouse like I was going to war—because I was, and it would be a bloody one.

Immediately, I gagged from the overpowering rose incense in the anteroom as I stared around the packed twenty-seat establishment.
Great!
Now I would have a full audience when she went ballistic.

I skirted around the guests milling about and admiring the Victorian-style architecture and furnishings that had cost a fortune—and I should know. I had been the unwilling participant in antiquing with Grace on many long Saturdays. She had insisted everything had to be perfect when she opened her teahouse, which was located on the Upper West Side. Moving farther into the parlor designed with dark wood tables, exposed brick, and the white pressed-tin ceiling, my pace slowed as I took a few minutes to gather my waning strength before proceeding into the dimly lit dining room with the tall, fringed floor lamps.

My stomach clenched when I saw her, and as usual, not one strand of her blond hair was out of place in her tight bun. Her apple figure—large chest, small waist—was encased in a tight black sheath as she strolled between tables, greeting guests with a beauty contestant’s smile and a flawless facade. But her frosty blue eyes told the true story. She was drunk…again.

How could a woman so beautiful be such a damn mess?

Between her binge drinking until she blacked out to her disappearing every night before closing and not returning home until the next morning, she had been more erratic and self-destructive than ever. The strange behavior had been going on for weeks, and I was tired of being her free labor. This was her damn business—a business she’d forced Dad to work extra hours to help her attain, a business that had ultimately cost him his life.

Grace tripped, and I grimaced.

Shit!

This was the last thing I needed right now—to go toe-to-toe with her when she was all liquored up. Like a bloodhound, she sniffed out my presence, pinning me to the spot with a glacial stare.

“Good,” she snapped loudly. “You’re early for once.” She pointed impatiently to the tables. “We’re short-staffed today. I need you to work the tables. I’m expecting a big crowd.” She jammed her hands onto her narrow hips, looking me up and down with undisguised disgust. “And stay away from the pastries. You’re busting at the seams in that skirt.”

The guests snickered into their dainty teacups.

My mouth dropped open in shock.
What. The. Fuck?

Effectively dismissing me, Grace returned to flitting among the tables.

I rolled my shoulders to relieve the pressure.

Enough!
I wasn’t going to let her bully me. There would be no running away in shame or purging everything I’d eaten to compensate for my inadequacies
. The madness stops now.

“Mom!” I screamed over the clinking of teacups.

Grace’s head whipped around. Her lips thinned. “My name is Grace—not Mother, not Mom. How many times do we have to go over this?”

My stance widened. “
Grace
, we need to talk.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Be quick about it.”

Okay, if she doesn’t want to handle this politely, then I’m not going to make it easy for her.
“I quit.” I snarled. “Is that quick enough for you?”

Her serene mask slipped. “In my office,” she hissed before snapping her fingers at me. “Now!” She swayed off toward her office with her stilettos tapping angrily against the tiled floor.

By the time we stepped into the white-on-white, expansive space with a silver, glass-topped desk, I was practically grinning, enjoying the fact that her facade had slipped. Now her customers had caught a glimpse of the real monster that she was. Grace slammed the door. Photos of her faded beauty queen—contestant era crashed to the floor.

She stalked toward me. “This is my damn business, and you will treat it with respect, young lady!” she screamed while pointing in my face with erratic, jerky motions.

I flinched. She smiled smugly.

Fuck!

The stench of alcohol on her breath made me want to hurl.

“Respect?” I looked at her incredulously. “You belittle me in front of a roomful of strangers, and you want to talk about respect?” My jaw tightened. “I’ve been accepted into fashion school, and I’m going,” I snapped.

Grace crossed her arms. “Well, that’s not happening. You will work here until you find someone from the right family to take pity on your ass and marry you.” She stared at me coldly.

I couldn’t believe that growing up, all I’d wanted—no, all I’d
needed
was to be loved by her. It was a bitter pill to swallow that she would never love me, but I had to let go.

“No, Grace, I’m not. I’m going to school. It’s what I want, and more importantly, it’s what Dad would want.”

She glared at me with contempt. “Well, he’s not here, is he?”

My mouth tightened. “No, he isn’t!” I shouted. “Dad died from working himself to death to give you all the superficial bullshit you demanded, like some pampered beauty queen.” My mind reeled with distaste at how cavalier she was acting, like Dad’s death had meant absolutely nothing. Briefly, I closed my eyes to calm down, and then I stared at her pointedly. “Look, I’m not here to ask for your permission. All I ask is that you help me with tuition for the first semester.”

She scoffed. “Not happening.”

I shook my head, disappointment clear on my face. “Maybe I’m expecting way too much from you. I was hoping for a little happiness or maybe some compassion.” Tired, I ran a hand over my forehead. “Fuck, I’m so damn delusional.”

Grace was the only family I had left, and even when she cut me down every day with her hurtful words, I would stay. It was a fucked-up dependency. Maybe all the years of her pounding into my head that I wasn’t worth shit had finally taken root, like poison ivy tainting my soul and mind. Maybe I was just too fucked in the head to leave.
I mean, who in their right mind lives and works with someone who doesn’t like them—let alone, respect them?

I sighed heavily. The answer was abundantly clear—me.

I was done being walked on and making sacrifices for a woman who didn’t give a shit about me.

Grace’s eyes were vacant. “My answer is no, Sin. I’m not giving you a damn dime,” she snapped. “Besides, I need you here to help me run the teahouse.”

I opened my mouth, closed it, and then repeated the procedure. “You can’t be serious?” I glared at her. “I’m not a child, Grace. I’m eighteen years old. I’ve spent all my life being exactly what you want—good grades, no drugs, and flawless. After Dad died, I helped you build your business. I did it because I love you, but that doesn’t mean you get to make my decisions for me or judge me when I don’t agree with you or don’t want to be your minion.”

Her well-groomed eyebrows lifted. “I will not use my money to pay for some bullshit fashion design school. Besides, I’ve seen your tasteless clothes, and you’re not that talented. Believe me, you will
never
make it.”

I stared at her, wondering when she became such a hateful, judgmental bitch. “I’m not working here, and I’m going to school.” I sneered.

She went stubbornly silent with pinched lips. “Fine. You are no longer welcome in my home. Consider yourself cut off from me.”

I swallowed hard. “Since you’ve never loved me, Grace, there’s not much to miss.”