I watched the maternal takeover unfold with growing amusement—and yeah, maybe a little jealousy. "Uh, hello? I'm the one who just got back from saving the day. Where's my parade of excessive maternal concern?"
Mom hit me with that patented 'you're a moron' look. "Peter, you're almost seventeen, apparently worth millions, and you can charter private jets like they're Ubers. These girls need taking care of. You? You need a reality check."
"Wow," I muttered. "Charlotte's been part of the family for like—what, two weeks? —and you're already treating her better than your actual son. I feel so seen right now."
"That's because Charlotte doesn't vanish to Miami and give me panic attacks," Mom said, laughing. "Besides, she bought me this gorgeous car. What have you done for me lately?"
