Resisting Rosaleen (18+)

8

"Rosa, Honey!"

Instead of getting up to hug me or even peck me on the cheek, my mother only raised her glass of wine in acknowledgment. She's not the intimate type.

To the far corner of the room stood Jared in sweatpants and a hoodie, hood on. His face was blank but his stare was hard. He had caught my lie. I felt something then: guilt. But aside from that was an array of other emotions I had to deal with first.

"Mother," I said, looking reluctantly at Wyatt. The man, about to be killed soon by my hands for not telling me beforehand about our visitor, averted his gaze and brought his head down.

"Come, join us," spoke the woman. She was lounging on a comfortable armchair, glass in hand, legs crossed, and voice laced with a slight Filipino accent.

Rhea Acklin, previously Rhea Monroe, previously-previously Rhea Martin, and previously-previously-previously Rhea Cavany is the perfect image of a modern-day suburban Washington housewife who's married to a wealthy businessman and travels the world, collecting every Prada item she can get her hands on. The woman is also a spitting image of yours truly.

Mom certainly dressed the part too, clothed in a dark sheer maxi dress paired with platform sandals. Her hair was short—much shorter than when I last saw her. Diamond earrings dangled from her ears. Her big shiny wedding ring was taunting my eyes under the light of the chandelier. Her skin looked flawless as ever, complexion not a day after forty even though she's in her early fifties. She was a character straight out of Crazy Rich Asians. Rhea's beautiful, but I shall never tell her that. Her ego needs a fucking diet.

I sat beside Wyatt on the sofa and poured myself a glass of red wine which I assumed that mother brought because even though my brother's net worth is gigantic, he would never spend money on wine too fancy. Mom, however? Well, let's just say she splurges as much as she can with David Acklin's savings account.

"What brings you here, Mom?" I took a large gulp of wine. I was still drunk, but a valid reason to be intoxicated had presented itself.

"I got home from a European cruise for the holidays. I didn't get to see my babies on Christmas so here I am now," she spread her arms, "Your mommy, making it up to you."

Wyatt and I shared looks. Even though Rhea wants to forget that she has children, she doesn't. This is all because one of her babies is the owner of a multimillion-dollar company with shares of her ex-husband's bigger multimillion-dollar company. With the leverage she has, she wouldn't need to lift a finger for the rest of her life.

From a young age, I've accepted the fact that my mother is a gold-digger and that my father is a whore. Wyatt and I have also accepted the fact that our parents did not love us. If they did, they would have considered their children before fucking up their lives in mid-crises. Wyatt has been more of a parent to me than Rhea and William ever were.

"No need to do that." I sighed and let my shoulders drop. I've had enough bullshit for one night, "We were doing just fine without your pity."

"Oh, please, Rosa," she waved her hand dismissively, her scarlet acrylic nails like claws in the air, "No need to be bitter," she snapped her fingers and a servant appeared out of nowhere carrying gift bags, "Here, I brought gifts."

I snorted, knowing that she must've chosen the two cheapest products in an LV store.

"Gee, thanks," I muttered after I dug into a gift bag that contained a small box inside. Opening it, I revealed a Louis Vuitton keychain. She overspends on herself but underspends on us.

"This must've cost a fortune," I said sarcastically.

"I was told that it's the thought that counts," said mom with a roll of her eyes, "Give me a break. Especially if we'll be staying under the same roof for a few days."