Wicked Games (Fallen Royals Book 2)

I climb out of my car and circle to the front hood. I lean against it and wait. It only takes a minute for the other car to arrive. It parks beside me, and Mother gets out. She comes toward me, spreading her arms, but I shake my head.

She sighs. She doesn’t react to my black eyes because she was there. Her arms fall, and she follows my line of sight.

“I’m curious if you saw your life going in this direction from the beginning,” I comment, staring at the diner across the lot. It’s run-down, and only regulars venture in, and I’m sure some stay all day. It’s the kind of diner that’s open twenty-four hours. One of Beacon’s only sources of entertainment in the middle of the night. Not that she’s here in the middle of the night. I can’t imagine the great Lydia Asher agreeing to such a thing.

But she does work here.

Her life has certainly changed.

“It really picks up for brunch on Sundays,” she says. “Surely this isn’t the reason you wanted to meet?”

“I’m mostly curious about why you let your brother-in-law run the show?”

She glances at me. “Your father wants it that way.”

“What a fucking joke.”

“David and Iris have done more for our family⁠—”

My glare cuts her off. Honestly, I’ve had enough of them. Uncle David holds my entire life over my head. He interferes with hockey, he meddles at Emery-Rose, and he will not shut up about college.

I need space, and I need Mother and I to be on the same page. If she reports back to my uncle that I’m staying on track, then all will be well. For a little while, at least.

But first, I need answers.

“Do you know where Amber is?”

Margo’s mother has been eluding me for too long, but not without help. Mine said she’d take over with the search, and then… radio silence.

She straightens her maroon uniform shirt. She’s due to start her shift soon, but she tuts and examines her nails. All nervous actions meant to distract from the truth. “Rose Hill isn’t good for the poor woman.”

Which means she’s more than likely seen Amber. Talked to her.

She cups my cheek, forcing me to meet her eyes. Mother looks rough: circles under her eyes barely concealed by makeup, loose skin hanging off her frame. She lost weight recently. It’s been falling off slowly in the past seven years.

Guilt has a way of doing that.

“Tell Uncle David that I only have one college on my list, and Harvard isn’t it.”

She raises her eyebrow.

“I’ll tell you when you tell me where Amber Wolfe is.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. I step back, and her hand slips off my skin. It hovers in the air between us for a moment, then falls.