My Fiancé Kissed His “Just a Friend” in the Break Room. Oops—I Kissed Their Freedom Goodbye. Chapter 09

My Fiancé Kissed His “Just a Friend” in the Break Room. Oops—I Kissed Their Freedom Goodbye. Chapter 09

After dinner that night, my mom changed into her pajamas. Silk. Pink. Ridiculously expensive.

She was lying in her massage chair with a sheet mask on. Looked like a ghost in designer loungewear.

“So, honey.” She didn’t open her eyes. “What are we doing with those two?”

My dad was still cleaning his custom revolver. Spinning the cylinder. Wiping it down like it was his baby.

“Maine,” he said. “Private lake. Feed ’em to my gators.”

My mom clapped her hands like a little girl. “Oh, I love it! After that, I’ll make gumbo.”

I was drinking tea and almost choked.

My dad sheathed the revolver and looked at my mom with that sheet mask on.

“Honey.” His voice was flat. “You’re a mother. Can you be less violent? Vera’s right here.”

My mom peeled one eye open and looked at me. Then pouted.

“You’re the one who said feed them to gators.”

She lay back down and wiggled her bare feet. “Fine. Drag them out to international waters and dump ’em. The fish can have

them.”

I set down my cup and sighed.

“Dad. Mom.” I looked at both of them. “I don’t want to end up on the news. Can we please be low-key about this?”

My dad looked at me like I’d spoken a foreign language.

“Low-key?” He frowned. “What does that mean? That phrase isn’t in my dictionary.”

My mom ripped off her sheet mask and sat up.

“I have never been low-key a single day in my life,” she announced. “And I’m not about to start now.”

I stood up and walked to the couch. Sat down. Took a breath.

“Dad. Mom. Can we please just follow legal procedures?” I looked at them both. “Quietly send them to prison. Violence is so tacky.”

My dad frowned deeper. But my mom’s face lit up.

“My baby is so smart.” She pointed at me. “She’s right. I love it. Prison is a great idea.”

She clasped her hands together. “Let them rot in there for the rest of their lives. That’s worse than death anyway. I’m obsessed

with this.”

My dad was quiet for a moment. Then he pulled out his phone and made one call. Short. Sweet.

“Those two. Life sentence. No parole.”

He hung up.

A few days later, I was curled up on the couch watching some reality show and eating grapes straight from the bowl.

My mom came down the stairs in her fluffy slippers. She was holding a document and looked like the cat that ate the canary.

“Baby.” She waved the papers. “The verdict is in.”

I took the document and opened it.

[Sasha Flynn. Life without parole. Ronan Caster. Life without parole.]

I closed the file and set it on the coffee table.

“That was fast.”

My mom sat down across from me. Her new nails caught the light. Champagne gold. Sparkling.

“Your father’s connections,” she said, smiling, “plus my legal team? The best lawyers in Boston. Honey, this case was a joke.”

She rested her chin on her hand and tilted her head.

“Aren’t you happy, baby?”

I thought about it for a second. Then I popped another grape in my mouth.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m happy. They can contribute to society now.”

She raised an eyebrow. “How?”

I smiled. “Making license plates.”