Beautiful Elixir (Beautiful Oblivion #3) by Addison Moore

withholding a smile. “Salmon do like to spawn. Maybe you should take a cue from your dinner.”
    “I’m not taking a cue from my dinner, Mother.” My eyes pull over her features, her up-turned nose that stamps her with that snobby, stereotypical rich-bitch look, her pale, glowing blue eyes. She’s not a bitch, not by a long shot, but cross her, and you’ll know what it means to have a new one torn into you. My mother is my idol, a kickass heroine of her own story, sort of. She’s beautiful, there’s no denying that. My mother should have been a model. She should have carved a way for herself in this world and not played the part of a gold-digging wife—then she never would have found herself with my father in the first place. Of course, that blows Kam and I right out of existence, but, in truth, I would gladly do so just to give my mother the happiness she deserves. Although, oddly, she seems to have found it with Reese’s father, even if she was attracted to his bank account far sooner than she ever was him. They’re happy. I guess at the end of the day that’s what counts.
    “I was sort of hoping you and I could go out to dinner since Chuck is out of town but hey, you with the Ferrari-driving boy next door?” She snaps off the tip of the French baguette sticking out of the bag and takes a quick nibble. “I most certainly approve.” She spins, causing her tennis shoes to squeak against the wood floors, her skirt fans out like a flower. “I’ll be taking a nice, long bubble bath. If you’re smart, you’ll be doing the same at his place. Baths are always more fun with two!” Her phone rings before her laughter can fully infiltrate the room. Her head inches back as she inspects the screen. “It’s your father.”
    We exchange a quick deer-in-the-headlights glance with her probably thinking the worst has happened to Kamryn and me knowing that the worst has happened to me and now my father is about to unceremoniously inform her of it. He’s always the first to rip a bandage off a wound, usually reopening the injury and causing a hell of a lot of damage along the way.
    My chin bucks high in the air as I brace myself for the inevitable blood bath.
    “What?” She jumps back. More shoe squeaking ensues. Her horrified eyes rise to meet mine. Her jaw contorts in all sorts of angry positions. “Oh my, fuck!”
    My stomach clenches.
    One thing about my mother, she does not entertain expletives. She may have grown up hard, on the wrong side of Neiman Marcus, but she doesn’t willfully let an offensive word fly—unless, of course, something is very fucking wrong.
    “Holy shit,” she says it dazed, her hand touching her forehead. “All right. I will.” She hangs up in haste. Her pale eyes lock over mine, her face serious as stone, but I can see the rage, the anger, the disappointment bubbling in her blood long before she bats a lash.
    She knows.
----
    A fter expertly avoiding nearly every question under the sun with my mother, I head next door. The autumn air swirls beneath my dress as I give a brisk knock over Caleb’s front door. My arms are full of groceries, so I ring the bell with my nose. I’m sure he meant to take me out to dinner, but, with my newfound notoriety, the hostile public eye is the last place I want to be. I give a quick kick with my foot before readjusting the bags with my knee. This is technically the house Reese’s father and Warren’s father bought for their wedding, but the wedding never happened, heck, the engagement never happened. Reese found love with someone other than Warren. And Warren fell into bed with everyone else. My lips clamp tight at the memory of all the things Reese had to endure just as the door swings wide open.
    There he is, Caleb McCarthy with his tie loosened, jacket off, sleeves rolled up with a beer in one hand. King of Swoon, Reese and I used to call him back in the day. There is something naturally seductive about Caleb in general. Whether it’s clothes