I Guess My Facade Is In The Flesh

CHAPTER 8

Sophia

“I Guess My Facade Is In The Flesh”

The air in the principal’s office was thick with the scent of floor wax and the over-perfumed indignation of Mrs Sanders.

I sat there, watching Mason’s parents treat the room like a courtroom where they were the prosecution.

“...It's a matter of provocation, really,” Mr Sanders droned, adjusting his tie as if he were closing a corporate merger.

“Mason is a high-energy, alpha-type child. If Summer didn't want to be pushed, perhaps she shouldn't have been standing in the path of his game. It's a spatial awareness issue.”

“A spatial awareness issue?” I repeated, my voice dropping into a dangerously quiet register.

“Is that the fancy suburban term for ‘my son is a budding sociopath’? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks more like a ‘your kid is a bully' issue.”

“Now see here, Miss Banner—” Mrs Sanders began, her face reddening.

“No, you see here,” I snapped, leaning forward.

My ring caught the fluorescent light, blinding her for a second.

“Summer is five. She's quiet, she's kind, and she's currently terrified to go to recess because your son thinks the playground is his personal Roman Coliseum.

If you spend half as much time parenting him as you do making excuses for him, we wouldn't be here. If he touches her again, I won't be talking to the principal. I'll be talking to the board. Do we have a ‘spatial awareness’ of that?”

The room went silent.

The Sanders’ looked like they’d been slapped with a cold fish.

I didn't wait for a rebuttal. I grabbed Summer’s hand and walked out.

As we reached the parking lot, I noticed Summer clutching a bright blue popsicle.

“Where’d that come from, baby? I didn't give you that.”

Before she could answer, a blur of motion slammed into her.

It was Mason.

He'd sprinted from the side building, shoulder-checking her with enough force to send her reeling.

I caught her just before her knees hit the gravel.

Mason stood there, chest puffed out, a nasty, jagged little laugh escaping him.

“Crybaby! You're gonna get in trouble!”

My vision went red.

Oh not on my watch.

I checked the perimeter—no teachers, no cameras, just a bunch of minivans.

I stepped toward him, my hand darting out faster than a snake.

I didn't hit him, but I grabbed his ear in a firm, unrelenting grip and hauled him behind a large pillar.

“Ow! Let go!” He shrieked, his face turning into a mess of snot and tears.

“Listen up, you miserable little fatso,” I hissed, leaning in so close he could probably see his own terrified reflection in my eyes.

“If you so much as breathe in Summer’s direction again, I will find out where you keep your favorite toys and feed them to a woodchipper.

And as for these ears? If I see them near her, I'll pull them off and make myself a small, very ugly fleshy necklace. Do you understand me, or do I need to start tugging?”

“Y-yes, Miss Banner!” He sobbed, his nose bubbling.

“Good. Now scram before I decide to make that necklace today.”

I gave his backside a firm, symbolic swat, and he took off like he'd seen a ghost.

I knelt down, smoothing Summer’s hair.

“You okay, baby? Did he hurt you?”

“I'm okay,” she said, her eyes wide.

“Are you really gonna make a necklace, Aunt Sophie?”

“Only if I have to,” I winked, pulling her into a hug.

“I love you, Sophie.”

“I love you more, baby. Come on, let's go get some real ice cream.”

~~~

By 7:00 PM, the farmhouse felt like a stage set.

I was dressed in a long-sleeved deep red silk wrap dress that felt like a second skin, arranging a bouquet of roses in a crystal vase.

Summer was in the corner, quietly introducing her teddy bear to a plastic dinosaur.

“You're really going through with this?”

Lorraine’s voice drifted down the stairs, dripping with her usual cocktail of gin and judgment.

She stared at the table, then at me.

“What do you stand to gain from this facade, Sophia? It's pathetic. You're playing house with a man who probably forgets your name the second you leave his house.”

“The only thing pathetic here, Mom, is that you’re still talking. The table is set. Either be a gracious host or go back to your bottles.”

Just then, the low, powerful rumble of an engine vibrated through the floorboards.

My phone pinged.

I'm outside. Deep breaths, Banner.

I smiled at the screen, a genuine spark of triumph lighting up my chest.

I looked at Lorraine, whose eyes were fixed on the window.

“I guess my facade is here… in the flesh.”

I walked out onto the porch just as Andrew stepped out of a black Rolls-Royce.

He looked devastating, holding a bouquet of pink roses like a weapon of mass seduction.

I saw the curtain twitch in Daphne’s upstairs window.

I shot him a quick text.

I hope you’re in character. My sister is currently burning a hole in the glass.

He looked up, a ghost of an amused smirk on his lips.

I didn't give him time to react.

I ran down the steps and threw myself at him, my arms locking around his neck.

He caught me effortlessly, his hands steady on my waist.

“A little too much?” He whispered against my ear, his scent—sandalwood and expensive ambition—filling my senses.

“No,” I breathed back.

“Twirl me. Make it look like you haven't seen me in years. You wanted convincing? Give her the performance of a lifetime.”

Andrew didn't hesitate.

He lifted me slightly, spinning me in a slow, graceful circle before setting me down.

He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear.

“I came prepared to play, Sophia. Don't underestimate my range.”

He handed me the roses, his gaze lingering on mine with a heat that felt dangerously real for a second.

“Shall we go inside, darling?”

We walked inside, his hand never leaving the small of my back.

I introduced him to Lorraine, who looked like she'd been struck by lightning.

“It's nice to meet you, Mrs Banner.” He said with a charming smile.

“It's nice to f-finally meet you,” she stuttered.

Ha! Take that.

But I don't blame her really.

Andrew was a shark in a navy dress shirt—polite, lethal, and impossibly charming.

Then he turned to Summer, crouched down to her level to shake her hand.

“It's a pleasure to meet the real boss of the house,” he told her, making her giggle.

“My sister must be running late—”

“It's better to be fashionably late than predictably early,”

Daphne's voice rang out, sharp and dripping with practiced vanity.

I turned around, expecting her usual man-eater outfit, and my heart stopped.

What the hell is that?