Elle POV
The second I stepped onto the porch, I saw my mom waiting at the door, her arms crossed, her face stormy. Typical your-daughter-just-made-headlines-for-all-the-wrong-reasons rage radiated off her. The curtains in the living room next door twitched as our nosy neighbor, Mrs. Brown undoubtedly tried to get a better view. Great.
“Mom, I—”
“Don’t even start,” she snapped, throwing open the door and stepping aside. “Inside. Now.”
I sighed, trudging past her into the small living room. The faint hum of the heater filled the awkward silence as I shrugged off my coat. The smell of cinnamon from the candles she always burned when stressed clung to the air. Judging by the half-melted wax pooling in the holders, she’d been at it for hours.
She shut the door with a sharp click and turned to face me, hands on her hips. “What the hell is going on, Elle? Half the neighborhood has already sent me the article. Your face is everywhere!”
“I didn’t ask for this,” I said, throwing my hands up. “I
