Violence (Antihero Inferno #3) - Lily White Page 0,16

she’s unhappy, my father is unhappy, which only leads to me being put on lockdown.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fantasized about telling them all to fuck off.

I’m eighteen now.

Technically an adult.

Per law, I can make my own decisions.

Those decisions also carry consequences, and without a job, a degree or anything else that would help me support myself, pulling the adult card would only leave me homeless.

It’s difficult to claim you’re an adult when you have no means of doing all the normal adult things.

That’s the reason I have no choice but to always remember to smile.

It’s also why I’m still smiling when the doorbell rings later that night.

Already, my mother has guided me to my usual position for this godawful tradition:

On the third step of the large winding staircase that faces the foyer, my arms delicately placed on the banister, my spine straight, shoulders rounded yet feminine, and my mind buried in so much misery I think I might barf.

Apparently, I’m not the only one.

As soon as my mother opens the door with her usual flourish, and after our fathers clap each other on the shoulders before shaking hands, Mason walks in looking just as miserable as me.

He doesn’t bother to look up at where he knows I’m standing. We’ve done this more times than I can count, and each time feels worse than the last.

Still, Mason looks gorgeous.

Standing at six foot three, he hasn’t fully filled out in the shoulders and chest to match his height, but his lean physique is perfectly complemented by the cut of his suit, the jacket just a touch darker than his hair, and the white shirt doing nothing to hide his flat, toned stomach where it’s tucked into pants that hint to his narrow waist and muscular thighs.

I’m sure our mothers were the ones who coordinated his tie to match the emerald color of my dress.

After our parents are done with their discussions, my father touches Mason’s shoulder to guide his attention to me as a grand presentation of the woman who waits on the stairs to be noticed.

The formality of this tradition is insanely ridiculous, but here we are, doing it for the hundredth time.

Mason’s light blue eyes finally flick up my direction, his lips tilting down into a scowl at the corners, but I smile regardless. Only because my mother would murder me if I didn’t.

We manage to make it through another round of stiff photographs, our bodies barely touching as he places the corsage on my arm, and I pin the boutonniere to his lapel, the flash of the camera blinding both of us so badly that we have to be careful making our way back down the stairs.

“Are they old enough?” Mason’s mom asks, her voice regal and teasing.

My mother laughs in response. “Oh, I think so.”

Both Mason and I look up in horror when our mothers say in unison, “Let’s get a picture of their first kiss.”

Our fathers laugh next, and my dad makes the joke, “Just a quick peck. Don’t be getting any ideas for later, Mason. Save that for the wedding night.”

Oh, my God.

Somebody kill me now.

While my cheeks heat up enough to match the dark red hue of my hair, Mason is able to hide his horror better, but I still don’t miss the quiet groan sounding low in his throat.

We turn to face each other, our eyes tangling together and our muscles tight, both of us leaning forward with gritted teeth for a kiss that feels like torture.

Really, it’s just a quick bounce of our mouths together, less than a second of contact, but it’s still enough for both of us to grimace at being forced.

Our parents applaud as Mason and I place distance between each other, me stepping one way, him the other.

“Time for you lovebirds to go,” my mother chirps happily, and it’s the best thing I’ve heard tonight so far.

Unfortunately, the relief of leaving the house is short-lived. As soon as we’re packed in the back of a limo and the doors close, awkward silence descends, just like always.

Refusing to look at each other, I’m watching the gardens of my house roll by, and Mason is staring out the opposite window, our bodies seated stiffly in place.

We’ve barely made it through the front gates of my neighborhood when Mason shifts in his seat, his movement a soft sound against the leather.

“The twins, huh? I never considered you the type.”

Surprised he’s speaking to me, I glance over my shoulder