People looked me up and down with barely concealed judgment. I heard whispers. Brandon’s hand tightened on mine, but not in a reassuring way.
in an uncomfortable way. Then I saw her, Clarissa Hayes, Brandon’s mother.
She stood near the center of the room holding court like a queen. She wore a deep purple designer gown and her neck and wrists were covered in diamonds, real ones.
Her hair was perfect, her makeup flawless, her posture radiating arrogance.
When she saw Brandon, her face lit up. Then she saw me, and the light died. She walked toward us, her heels clicking on the marble floor.
Each step felt like a countdown to disaster. “Brandon, darling,” she said, kissing his cheek while staring at me.
“And who is this?” Her voice dripped with disdain. The way she said this made me feel like an insect she’d found on her shoe. “Mom, this is Emma, my girlfriend.
Emma, this is my mother, Clarissa.” I extended my hand and smiled warmly.
It’s so wonderful to finally meet you, Mrs. Hayes. Brandon has told me so much about you. She looked at my hand like I was offering her a dead fish.
She didn’t shake it. Has he? Her voice was cold. How interesting.
Brandon, darling, could you not have told her this was a formal event?