Lexie was a free spirit in every sense of the word. Despite being the spitting image of her mother, Isabella Swan, the two couldn't be more different.
In a last ditch effort to change her daughter's reckless behavior, Lexie was sent to an all-girl's...
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“I’m leaving for a conference on Friday, Alexandria. I won’t be back until Tuesday.” My mother informed me as she wiped down the kitchen counters.
I yawned and stretched my arms over my head. “What sort of ‘conference’?” I asked skeptically, quirking a brow at her that annoyed her to no end.
“Are you implying something?” She paused in her task, casting me a side-eye glance over her shoulder.
I bit back a knowing smile. “What sort of conference does one go to over the weekend, Mother?”
Her eyes narrowed into slits. I couldn’t help but laugh at her bemused expression.
“So, what’s the name of your latest victim?” I teased, leaning against the wall in a casual manner.
I mean, who does she think she’s kidding? Who goes to a conference over the weekend that lasts four days? She sells timeshares over the phone, for crying out loud. She’s never left the safety of her home office for ‘job related business’ before.
Her pale cheeks reddened immediately. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Alexandria.”
I rolled my eyes at that. “You’re a terrible liar. You know that, right?”
She resumed cleaning, paying me no mind. However, I couldn’t help but notice that she was scrubbing the counters much harder than necessary.
“Come on. Tell me,” I urged her. “At least give me a hint.”
I bit back a chuckle when she spun around on her heels, shooting me a stern stare. “Shouldn’t you be leaving for school?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
So much for having an actual conversation with my mother, huh? I grabbed my bookbag and slung it over my shoulder, fixing to head out the door.
“Please tell me you’re not actually going to wear that?” She asked in that judgmental tone that I’ve come to know so well.
I glanced down at my outfit. “What’s wrong with it?”
I was wearing a pair of skinny jeans with black ankle boots and a red blouse. Her eyes widened in disapproval.
“You’re showing entirely too much cleavage, Alexandria,” she responded firmly.
I looked down again. I so wasn’t.
“Actually, I think I’m showing just the right amount,” I quipped with a cheeky grin. “I can’t help that I’m blessed with breasts.”
If it was up to her, I would wear baggy turtlenecks and sweatpants. Our wardrobes were the total opposite.
She shook her head and frowned. After eighteen years, she knew which battles to pick, and this was one she simply didn’t have the energy for. Just as I reached for my keys, her stern voice came from over my shoulder.
