“Look, yes I knew who Miriam was when I had your grandfather hire her. She was down on her luck and considering the situation, why not help her out. God knows I didn’t have any other allies in this house. But the peanut thing, she may have mentioned your girlfriend’s allergy but I swear I didn’t know it was lethal. I just thought her face would swell up or something. What do I know about these things? If Miriam fed her peanuts, that’s on her, not me. Probably a stupid little game she concocted. Miriam doesn’t like Mercedes either. Seeing a pattern?”

I snort.

“What you’re saying now, though? That it was some sort of attack? That has nothing to do with me, Judge. Why would I care about that woman? I don’t like her, it’s true. But I don’t like any of those high-born spoiled Society women. They look down their noses at me and I’ve never made a secret of my dislike. You know that. But I can tell you I don’t care enough to launch some attack. Christ. Not everyone thinks like your grandfather. If anything, you’re blood, not me. Maybe question your own motives with her. Do you have any intention to marry her? Because if you don’t, I suggest you try to keep yourself to yourself. A woman like that will trap you. You don’t want that.”

“You’re concerned for me?”

“Of course, I am. You’re my son.”

“Or is it that if I marry and have an heir, it won’t bode well for Theron, especially considering what he did to her.”

“Like I said, a sex game.”

I slam my hands on the table so hard she jumps. “If you fucking say that one more time, I swear—”

“What?” she stands. “You’ll take me into that room and finish what your grandfather started? Oh, believe me, I have no doubt you would.”

Jesus.

I walk away, rub the back of my neck. She got a rise out of me. I just gave her exactly what she wanted.

“Does your girlfriend know about that by the way? Or about your temper? Just like his. It’s a matter of time. She should really know what she’s in for, don’t you think? I doubt she’d so easily spread her legs—”

I spin to face her and throw the table over, sending wine all over the kitchen, red splashing on her white robe before the glass shatters into a hundred pieces.

My mother screams.

I stand staring at her, at the splatters of red so much like blood.

She’s backed against the counter and staring back at me. She steels herself. Is she truly terrified of me? “I feel sorry for the woman you’ll marry one day. You are just like him, Judge. Exactly him.”