Eat Your Vegetables

MILES

Shopping with my mother was fucking exhausting. I could hardly stomach her fake affection for me. Every squeeze of my arm or rub on my back felt like needles pricking my skin. I almost threw up the alcohol I drank last night.

By the time we went back home from picking a dress for me and her, stopping at the salon (which she hated because the stylist told me I hardly needed anything done. A natural beauty she called me), and bought shoes, I was starving. My stomach rumbled so hard it hurt. If I thought about it, I had hardly eaten anything yesterday either.

I dressed carefully, so I didn't mess up the curls the nice stylist did on my hair. The dress my mother chose for me was a simple formal round neck, short sleeve midi dress in the shade blossom pink. It was the nicest dress I'd ever worn, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it.

The girl in the mirror looked refined, strong. Except for the bruises she was littered in. They were on her face, along her arms and legs. All from the abuse she endured. I took a deep breath, blinked, and they were gone.

My stomach growled again.

Dinner couldn't come fast enough. I had to hold myself back from the excitement of eating dinner on the way to my mom's new fiancé's house.

When I saw we entered the nicer side of town, I raised my eyebrows, wondering how my mother had found time to snag herself a rich boyfriend.

After much thought, I figured it was a good thing that she was getting married. When I turned eighteen, there would be someone to keep her busy. I wouldn't have to do it anymore.

We finally pulled up to a large mansion. I mean, it was huge. And also vaguely familiar. I wondered if all the mansions in the neighborhood had the same layout.

Walking up to the entrance after parking the car made me nervous. 'It's okay,' I told myself, 'just a few more days until you're free.'

I just had to hang on a little bit longer.

My mother grabbed my arm and squeezed. Hard.

"Don't fuck this up for me or you'll regret it," she said under her breath. I didnt bother replying. I'd be glad if she successfully married this guy so that maybe she'd have someone else to busy herself with.

Before we could ring the doorbell, the door opened, and we were met with a tall man in a suit with graying hair and dark brown eyes. He inclined his head in greeting.

"Welcome, Ms. Valentine, Ms. Valentine. Please, come inside. Mr. Black has been expecting you," the man said, his voice raspy but welcoming. He bowed and motioned for us to enter.

Black? Why did that sound familiar?

We were led to the dining area where a dark-haired man sat waiting. He looked familiar, like I'd seen him somewhere before. He was handsome and had chiseled features with honey brown eyes. He took one look at my mother and shot fro. his chair to meet her.

She lets go of me they pull each other into a tight embrace, giving a light kiss to the cheek.

Gross.

"There's the woman of the hour. I've missed you," he told her, his face nuzzling hers.

I kind of just stood there awkwardly waiting for them to finish their little love show. I knew it was fake. I knew my mother wasn't capable of actually loving someone. I'd never seen it. But what did I know?

Mr. Black glances at me, and I'm shocked the amount of warmth in his eyes. He takes my hand in both of his.

"You must be Miles. I've heard so much about you and I must say I am glad to welcome you to my family. My name is Maverick Black." His voice dripped with sweetness the same shade as his eyes, and I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. I didn't know how to react to his warmth. It was foreign to me.

I almost tear my hand away, but I give him a small smile instead. "It's nice to finally meet the man who has been making my mother happy." I could have vomited from the fake joy in my voice, much practiced from outings with my mother.

He patted my hand kindly and looked between me and my mother. Oh no. He was going to comment on how different we looked from each other.

"You have your mother's face shape and her lovely smile!"

If the man could see the shock on my face, he sure didn't show it.

For the first time ever, my mom turned to me and actually beamed a smile. I almost choked on air. It was the first time I'd seen her ever look proud to be my mother. I hated that my heart clenched when I saw it. How it longed for more.

When introductions were finished, the butler motioned for us to take a seat at one end of an obnoxiously large dining table. Mr. Black sat at the end with my mother sitting adjacent to him and me next to her. I shifted in my seat because I was so damn uncomfortable.

Everything was uncomfortable. The mansion and how disgustingly large it was. The long dinner table and shining chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

I took a deep breath, letting it all fade into nothingness, and then all O could feel was hunger in my stomach.

The way Maverick Black spoke to my mother would have anyone knowing just how much he loved her. He even tried to include me in conversation, to which my mother strategically pushed me out of.

I couldn't help but feel suspicious of him.

What was his angle? Was he a secret pervert? Did he make some sick deal with my mother to lock me up? There had to be something wrong with him if he fell for my mother's cheap tricks. Either that or he was just plain stupid.

How long had she been dating this man? I made a mission of mine to know everything about my mother. The only reason being to survive her. I knew what she didn't like and what made her mad. I knew her favorite dishes and the brand of wine she drank. I knew who she talked to and who she ignored.

So why had this man not shown up on my radar?

Soon, house workers dressed in vests and slacks emerged from a side door with plates of food that smelled like heaven, and my stomach growled again, catching the attention of Mr. Black, my mother, and the workers. My mother gave me a tight smile, squeezing my leg hard under the table. Mr. Black just chuckled and said, "I'm quite famished as well."

My cheeks turned red but not from embarrassment. It was from the nails that were digging into my thigh. She let go as soon as one worker rounded the table to set down our plates.

My mouth watered, looking at the glistening pink salmon, roasted potatoes, and grilled vegetables.

"Dear, shouldn't we wait for your son?" My mother asked.

Son? I'd have a stepbrother?

Mr. Black waved a hand. "It's alright. Sometimes, his practice runs late. Please, feel free to start eating."

I knew better than to start before my mother, so I took two big gulps of water to keep my stomach from growling. As annoyed as I was that she kept chatting about this and that, I waited patiently with my hands in my lap until finally she picked up her fork and took a baby bite of her food.

Thank God.

I picked up my fork next and stabbed a potato, lifting it to my mouth when Mr. Black boomed, "Ah! Son, you made it just in time!"

I should have eaten my potato before looking over at said son because the moment I did, I let it drop back on my plate with a splat.

Black. I knew that face and name were familiar.

Mr. Black's son was Dominic.

Fuck my miserable life! I wanted to smack myself repeatedly or provoke my mother so she'd do it for me. Of course, the guy I fucked on a whim just last night was my future stepbrother.

"Sorry I'm late, practice was -"

Shit.

He spotted me. I didn't know what to do. I sat frozen with my empty fork in front of my open mouth.

"No worries, Dom. Come, meet Candice and her daughter Miles."

My mother and I stood as he introduced us. I kept my eyes down, afraid to look at him. He shook my mother's hand and then held it out for me. I took it, finally peeking up at him, which was a mistake. His golden eyes burned like forging metal as he smiled at me. It did not reach his eyes.

My treacherous body trembled as he squeezed my hand.

When we were seated once again, I mourned my dying hunger, taking sip after sip of my cold water, too nervous to actually eat. The house staff had to refill it three times already. My throat just felt so dry from the heat of Dominic's stare.

"Miles!" I jumped. "At least eat your vegetables!" My mother chastised.

So I did. And they tasted like dread.

I was so fucked.