The Aristocrat

They call it Sunday brunch

Sunday 4th.    

I tend to block out Sundays.

It was at a Sunday brunch my mother decided to send me away to boarding school. At the time, it was the worst thing she could have done. I might not have cried so much if someone had told me that after three years there I'd be sad to come home.

Ever since she brought me back a year ago, I'd been dragged to every single Sunday brunch that occurred. Each one filled with the same repetitive conversations and fabricated people.

The only thing that made the 3 hours less painful was watching my mother and Mr. Young-son skillfully avoid each other in fear of being outed. I still found it funny that no one ever seemed too slip up and say something about their affair. After all everybody already knew.

"So how did your date go?" I asked Oliver as I munched on the pancake I'd been served.

"It went good," He smiled "She said she really enjoyed it."

It was nice to see him so happy. After a crappy breakup with his first girlfriend, he'd been sad for so long. Grace, a pretty blonde in his business class, was the first girl he'd actually made a fuss about since the break-up.

"You two are perfect for each other," I insisted.

"Yeah, I guess we are," Oliver's eye bypassed me, distracted. His finger pointed over my shoulder "Mum wants you."

I turned my head to where he was looking. Our mother stood with a petite old woman and she was gesturing me over to them with rushed movements of her hands. I sighed, straightened my top and walked over to them. Smiling I let my mother introduce me holding my hand out to shake the woman's, "Alessandra, this is Elizabeth Caster. An old friend of mine, she used to be head of the socialite society club."

The woman flashed her pearly whites and her silver bracelet's clashed together as her hand gripped mine and shook back.

"It's nice to meet you," she cooed. My hand retreated as soon as her grip loosened, discreetly wiping my hand against my skirt.

"You too," I agreed, plastering on a polite and mannered face. Her sickly perfume seemed to linger across the space, ticking my nose and I resisted the urge to rub it away.

"You definitely are the spitting image of your father, you have his eyes," she noted, her gaze running over me with a scrutinizing aura to them.

"I'm told," I replied tipping the sides of my mouth up as far as I could get them to go.

"Your Mother tells me you plan on going to Oxford after the summer? That is extremely impressive."

I shot my mother a quick cold stare before returning my focus back to her friend.

"Well that depends on whether or not I am accepted, the talent this year has really raised the standards," I explained, maintaining a polite stance and smile.

My mother scoffed and stretched her hand out to rub my forearm reassuringly. It felt anything but comforting, "You mean the competition honey."

Elizabeth laughed annoyingly and nodded her head in agreement with my mother.

"Your mother is right," She said matter of a fact "To be the best you have to have tear down your competitors. You won't get where you want to be without taking a few down."

I bit my tongue hard, forcing a hard nod. My brothers and mines sibling sense must have kicked in because soon enough I had both Caspian and Oliver by my side, excusing me. We walked in the opposite direction from my mother and her friend and towards the hotel's restaurant exit.