A Hurt So Sweet Volume Four - Isabella Starling Page 0,11

what is it now," I groan. Mother has gotten into the habit of dressing me up like a doll. She's spent so much money on clothes for me, I could probably wear a new outfit every day for a year. I feel bad for Alli, whom she mostly ignores. But I've shared my new things with my best friend, letting her wear anything she wants from my collection. "I better go see what she wants."

She nods and wishes me luck before shifting her attention back to the manual in her hands. I smile to myself as I leave the room and descend the marble staircase. Alli is so dedicated to helping me. I really lucked out by getting her in my corner.

I arrive in the salon where my mother spends most of the time and knit my brows together when I see the scene laid out in front of me.

It's a tea party.

There are scones, cakes, cucumber sandwiches, and pots of tea, one of which mother is holding in her hands, daintily pouring the acid-green liquid into a golden cup.

"What's all this?" I wonder out loud.

"Oh, there you are." She puts the tea down and some of the vibrant liquid sloshes onto the lacy white tablecloth. She rushes toward me, fussing over my appearance without really paying attention to me at all. "I thought we could have a little tea party tonight."

"Oh," I manage lamely. "Should I call Alli to come down? I don't think she's busy-"

"No, no," she rushes to say. "This party is just for you, my darling. Now come! Sit down at the table, let your Mother pour you some tea."

I feel bad for Alli. She always excludes her, as if my friend doesn't matter at all. I make a mental promise to take up some food later, so Alli can join in too.

Mother has been trying desperately to force this bond on me. But she doesn't act like a real mother most of the time. Yes, the periods of time where she's enthusiastic and caring are wonderful, but they are few and far between, not to mention fleeting. Most of the time, she just floats around, high on one of her medicines and barely noticing Alli and I are in the house as well.

"Sit," she says again, fussing around me as she points me to the table. When I don't comply right away, she takes ahold of my shoulders. Her long, scarlet nails dig into my skin as she forces me to sit down on a chair. "Sit, sit."

"Don't be so rough," I mutter, protectively palming my stomach. "You could hurt the baby."

"Don't be silly," she smiles, waving my concern off. "It's nothing. Now eat. Drink."

I reach out for a French macaron with pistachio filling and put a slice of black forest gateau on my plate. She watches eagerly as I start to dig into the food before pushing the golden cup toward me, saying, "Have some tea too."

I eye the acid green liquid. "It's a weird color. What is it?"

"An old family recipe." She laughs out loud. "Don't be so picky, darling. It's good for you. Drink, drink!"

She pushes the cup toward me again. She's filled it to the brim and the liquid sloshes over the rim as I raise it to my lips. It smells gross. Green and putrid. But I don't want to start an argument when she's gone to all this trouble, so I manage an unsure smile and take the smallest sip of tea I can.

God, it tastes even worse than it looks. I struggle not to spit it right back out in the cup. "What did you say this was?"

"A family recipe," she repeats. "Come on, drink up. The recipe has been in the family for generations. You'll love it."

I strongly disagree, but I force myself to take another sip, forcing the disgusting, warm liquid down my throat. But I choke on it, sputtering as I cover my mouth and shake my head.

"I'm sorry, I can't. It's just awful!"

"But it's so good for you." She pouts. "Please, have one cup at least."

I hesitate and her expression changes in an instant. This isn't the first time it's happened—my mother is used to getting her own way, and the moment people don't blindly do what she says, she fucking loses her composure. I find myself longing for the predictable cruelty of Father. Yes, he was a prick, but at least I knew his moods wouldn't shift in an instant. With Mother, she'll