The Winter's Mate

Chapter 1 - the golden ticket

Rosie pov

“Mom!”

I groaned, quickening my pace to keep up with my mother. She was practically vibrating with excitement, a wide, ear-to-ear grin plastered on her face as we pushed through the entrance of the Lawson mansion. I didn’t know why we were here. We didn’t belong here.

Mr. Lawson was one of the most influential men in this town, and the lavish ball he was throwing was the event where the rich came to bask in their excess. I had been shocked when my mother came home with an invitation, acting like it was a golden ticket. I’d eyed her suspiciously the time, telling her it wasn’t possible for people like us—from the lower side of town—to be invited to a Lawson party, but she’d shut me off and told me harshly to behave.

I knew my mother better than anyone. She always had a desperate thing for the wealthy, nursing this deep-seated, simmering jealousy toward them, always looking for a way to claw her way into their circles. But a lower-class life always remained lower, no matter how much you dressed it up or forced a smile. It felt like that reality was etched into our skin, a permanent label you couldn’t scrub off.

Due to one of my mysterious connection that was why I was shoved into a blue dress that cost a fortune when I’d asked her where she got the money to buy this, she’d snapped at me to stop asking foolish questions.

We walked through the mansion’s foyer, my mother adjusting her fake necklace as she was smiling so happily, as if she’d won a ticket to paradise, and I honestly felt a pang of pity for her. Yes, pity. Why was she trying so hard to lick their asses when they didn’t even care.

My mother pinched my side so hard I almost yelped as she leveled me with a look that forced me to swallow my protest. “Smile like a lady,” she gritted out through clenched teeth.

Was I brougt here for a parade? I rolled my eyes, but I knew better than to push her as i plastered a wary smile onto my face and turned toward a man standing nearby who had been leering at me since we walked in. I shifted closer to my mother, feeling my skin crawl beneath his gaze as i reached up to pull my shawl to cover the low V-neck of the gown and my exposed shoulders, but my mother caught my hand and yanked the shawl away from me, leaving me exposed to the room.

“Mom!” I hissed, but she didn’t look at me as she was already busy waving at someone across the room. When that person didn’t acknowledge her—or worse, blantanty ignored her—the smile nearly fell off her face while she muttered, “Bitch,” under her breath, her eyes flashing with an ugly anger.

I hated coming to places like this. There was always that look of belittlement directed at people like us; we were nothing but dirt beneath the soles of their shoes. I stood by the side, watching the men in tailored suits, listening to the somber music and the soft, chuckles. I knew this wasn’t a place for someone like me.

My mother nudged my side again. “Change your expression,” she cautioned, her voice dropping into low command. I eased my face even though I could feel the goosebumps rising on my skin from the anxiety, and I forced a queasy, fake smile.

My father was a few feet away, dipping his head and laughing awkwardly at whatever the rich men around him were saying. I shook my head, feeling a knot of discomfort tightening in my chest. I hated watching him like this, but unfortunately, I knew I couldn’t just leave unless I wanted to piss off my mother more than she already was.

After my father finished licking their asses, he walked over to us holding a flute of champagne. “Drink to calm yourself,” he commented, handing it to me. “You look tense.” I took the flute and downed it in one go. I really needed it. Thank God he had at least noticed how uncomfortable I was, unlike my mother, who was still busy trying to weave her way into a conversation.

The crowd suddenly parted when the man of the occasion showed himself. Mr. Lawson was a widower in his 50s, a short man with a potbelly and a permanent, haughty look etched onto his face. When my mother saw him, her eyes lit up like as she turned to me, pulling at the sleeves of my dress, dragging them down my shoulders so my chest was more accentuated, practically spilling out of the fabric. She didn’t give me a chance to breathe before she dragged me into Mr. Lawson’s path.

When we reached him, Mr. Lawson’s gaze didn’t stay on my face, it lingered on my chest for an uncomfortable moment before he darted his tongue out between his lips. I wanted to coil away and hide, but my mother was displaying me like a product at a market. I reached for the edge of my dress to pull the sleeves back up, but she swatted my hand away.

“Mr. Lawson,” she bowed, her eyes goopy and servile. “This is my daughter, Rosie.” She pinched my arm again, signaling me to smile, but I couldn’t. How could I smile when it felt like this man was eyes-fucking me in front of everyone? He didn’t bother to hide the predatory look on his face.

I didn’t introduce myself as my mother just smiled that fake, wide smile. “She’s shy. Don’t mind her,” she waved her hands dismissively while mr. Lawson smiled, then turned back to my father, who was standing there with his hands cupped in front of him.

My mother walked back to the corner with me, her composure snapping the second we were out of the main spotlight. “How could you do that!” she whispered, her face scrunched in anger. “Do you know who he is? He could destroy us in a minute! You are so—” She rubbed her face hard, looking like she was on the verge of cheweing my head off before she spotted a waiter coming from Mr. Lawson’s direction. She grabbed a glass of champagne from the tray and shoved it into my hand.

I took it and drank again trying to dull the of the room. I rubbed my tingling nose, my head starting to feel heavy. By the time the night rolled over, I’d downed three or four champagnes; I’d stopped counting as my vision was starting to get hazy.

In one corner, I saw a couple doing something heavy-handed against the wall, and in another, some men were making a woman dance on the table. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog, but the world was spinning.

I rubbed the back of my neck, wondering why the hell I had drank so much when I knew I couldn’t handle it. My mother was already back to her routine, standing beside me, talking to some man, patting his arm like they had been lifelong friends.

“You look tired,” she mumbled to me, then quickly shot the man she was talking to a flirty smile. She turned back to me. “Take a nap in the room upstairs. The party is going all night and we can’t leave yet.”

“I’m fine,” I managed to say, though my words felt heavy.

“No, you are not, your face is red. The second floor, the second room. Go lie down for a little.”

I nodded slowly, maybe i could use this as an escape.