She inhales slowly. “Wow. Uh…yeah. I agree. I don’t know what to say.”
“Promise you’ll be careful.”
She looks at me with a funny expression. “Why do you say that?”
Because I have experience treating people with a multitude of problems ranging from depression to childhood traumas. And then there are the untreatables.
They’re evil.
Broken.
Capable of almost anything.
“If what you say is true, and I have no reason to doubt you, Rose, then your grandparents aren’t the type to lose gracefully.”
Her shiny red lips part with confusion. “You think they’d hurt me?”
“There’s a saying my aunt Eugenia always uses: A man who cheats at checkers will cheat at chess.”
“Cheating at board games isn’t the same as physically harming me.”
“No, it’s not. But when there’s a pattern, you shouldn’t ignore it. And as I learned the hard way with my father, you don’t really know a person until you do.”
“I get your point,” she mumbles and looks down at her ratty tennis shoes. It saddens me to see her wearing them now that I know she’s not trying to make some grunge-style fashion statement.
Fucking animals. No, not a very professional thing to say, but I’m not saying it. I’m thinking it just like any normal person would. What’s been done to her is beyond cruel.
“All I’m saying is stay on your guard. Any sign of problems, you need to tell me. And…” I clear my throat. “You need to go shopping.”
“Huh?”
She’s wearing the same sweater and jeans from yesterday. “You need different outfits if you plan on dating.”
“Oh.” She runs her graceful hand through the side of her blonde hair. I can tell now that she’s thinner than she should be. It’s not by much, but enough to know she’s not eating sufficiently for the amount of work she does.
I reach for my wallet. “And please buy yourself a sand—”
“No. I don’t take charity.” She holds up her palm. “That’s nonnegotiable. And I’ll pay you for the sessions we do have.”
“Thank you, but I don’t feel it’s appropriate.”
“I pay my way. You either accept that or you’re just adding to my long glorious list of hang-ups.”
I like how Rose isn’t afraid to speak up. Not with me, at least. It shows how eager she is to take control and own her life. It’s exactly what I want for her—to be the knight in her own story, as my asshole of a father liked to put it. No, not everything he said was crap, and this is one of those things.
“Then I accept.” I stand and hold out my hand.
She smiles, and we shake, but something about the way she looks at me raises a red flag. Affection? Or…something more.
I can’t let it go there, though it’s not uncommon when two people enter into such an intimate relationship.
I pull my hand away and maintain my neutral expression. “Same time next week?”
She nods. “It’ll be after my party, so I’m sure I’ll have lots to share.”
This event makes my stomach uneasy. Mostly because these men are handpicked by the two people in her life who wish to do her harm, and I suspect these con artists aren’t going to leave anything to chance.
“I look forward to hearing the details.” I watch Rose leave my office, but it’s not without struggle on my part. I don’t want her to go back to that vipers’ pit. Someone should have stepped in a long time ago and protected her.
“Dr. Hughes?” My assistant, Hailey’s head of brown hair pops through a crack in the doorway.
“Good morning.”
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Excellent. Why?”
“I just saw that woman leave, but there wasn’t anything on the schedule.”
No. There wasn’t. “She’s new. Rose Marie Hale. Can you add her to the appointment book? Thursdays, seven thirty a.m. for the next four weeks.”
“Sure. Anything else?”
“If anyone comes here asking about her, take down their information. I’ll handle them.”
“So…you don’t want me to tell them to fuck off—patient confidentiality and all that?”
“Not this time.” I promised to help Rose, and I will, which means I’m committing to lie on her behalf if needed. Yes, Rose was here this afternoon, evening, whatever. Yes, I see her daily. I can’t have Hailey getting involved.
“Alrighty then,” Hailey says. “Your next appointment is here. Mr. Tilden.”
“Thanks. Send him in.”
After a few minutes of niceties and Mr. Tilden’s ramblings about his latest cat phobia, my mind drifts back to Rose. I can’t help it. I’m fucking worried.
I have to do something. But what?
CHAPTER SIX
Rose
It’s Friday evening, and the guests are arriving as I make the final touches to my outfit. My advice? No one should ever underestimate the power of a well-placed dart and a good seamstress. My red dress fits like a silk glove, making my breasts look fuller and my body curvier. Yeah, sure, I want a man who loves me for my insides, but to catch Mr. Right quickly, I have to use every piece of bait at my disposal.
My wavy blonde hair is straightened to a silky shine, I smell nice, and Milly’s assistant, who brought the dress, saw me struggling and helped with my makeup. For the first time in my life, I’m not the orphan stuck in the attic. I am the princess who’s come to claim her throne.
Tonight’s going to be perfect.
I’ve already learned from Ruby, the maid of the week, that despite Dr. Hughes’s worries, I was right about the invitees. There are two hundred and forty-nine guests total. Fifty-seven are eligible bachelors and twenty-two are women my age, all from elite Georgia families. The rest are press or “friends” of my grandparents. Not that they have any real friends. Nor do I care. I refuse to give their lives one more drop of my precious energy.
My focus tonight is finding the man who makes my heart beat fast and who makes me believe that he could love me for more than the money I hope to inherit, while my grandparents tell everyone behind my back I’m worth nothing.
I’ve already heard the staff whispering about how I’m getting the boot after my birthday and that the only reason anyone is coming to this party is because some extremely eligible singles will be here. Seems I’m not the only one looking to score a spouse.
The way I see it, though, the rumors about my lack of fortune are a gift. Any man who shows an interest won’t be after my inheritance. All I need is one good apple, a moment of magic, and I’m home free.
Or you don’t marry an approved man, I argue with myself, your grandparents get full control of everything, and kick you out on your ass. Yes, in this case, the will says they are to hand things over to me eventually, once they feel I’m ready, but that’ll never happen. My grandparents won’t let the estate go once they get full control. “Oops. Rose still isn’t ready. Guess we’ll just have to keep on spending her money!” The only thing that’s prevented this up until now is the legal firm that’s been holding everything in a kind of escrow, only distributing my annual allowance and the estate management funds. After my birthday, everything changes. It’s all or nothing. Gertie and Melvin will have no reason to keep me around since they won’t be worried about me inadvertently fulfilling the terms of the will. This whole thing, the last twenty years, has been all about controlling my life and firmly placing the odds in their favor. No friends. No boyfriends. No idea what’s really in the will.
I can’t even begin to digest the heartbreak and betrayal I feel, but I can’t afford to fall apart right now. I have to hold it together and see this through.
A loud knock on my bedroom door amps up my nerves.
“Rose, your grandmother wants you downstairs for photos,” says a woman, likely one of the newer servants because I don’t recognize her voice.
“Be right there.”
I take one final
look at myself in the mirror. I’ve never felt this beautiful in my life. The only thing missing is a glass slipper and a pumpkin carriage. Okay, and a prince. But I know he’s coming tonight. I can feel it.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck. What am I going to do? Never in my life could I have imagined the party would be like this. A few hundred gorgeous people fill what’s essentially a ballroom on the first floor of the house. It’s a room with old-fashioned-looking paisley carpet of muted grays, blues, and browns, and expensive impressionist paintings of flowers hanging on cream-colored walls. Fine white china and glowing candles sit atop round tables covered in crisp white linens.
It literally looks like a wedding reception. There’s even a temporary parquet dance floor at the far end of the room, where a tuxedo-clad, twelve-piece band is playing a jazzy but “properly elevated” tune. My grandmother is big on being elevated. I just call it elevator-musicking the hell out of life.
“Well, Rose, don’t just stand there.” Grandma Gertie, who’s wearing a hideous gold dress, waves me over to the corner where she and my grandfather, Melvin, are all standing with a photographer. To their side is my scowling aunt Belinda.
Wonderful. Gang’s all here. I start walking over, trying not to stumble. The room is nearly full, and all eyes are on me.
“Oh, here comes the psycho,” I hear a woman whisper loudly. “I heard she’s on ten different medications.”
My heart nearly stops, and I feel the warmth drain from my face.
“I overheard her grandmother saying,” whispers someone else, “that Rose has to be locked up at night because they’re afraid she’ll hurt them. She even got arrested once for stabbing a maid—they paid all this money to hush it up and keep it out of the press.”
“Shhh…she’ll hear you,” scolds an unfamiliar voice.
I turn my head to see who’s saying these horrible things, only to find the entire room frowning and glaring like they want to hang me from a tree. The ocean of Prince Charmings, in their expensive tuxedos, are no exception.
I feel my heart crack in two and watch helplessly as my dreams of happiness shatter like a mirror that’s been dropped from a ten-story building. How stupid. How stupid I am. Why on earth did I believe that my grandparents would stop at the penniless rumors? I can’t take it anymore. I just can’t.
I march towards my family, the hate and rage bursting from the rips in my tattered soul. A soul I’ve patched up over and over again with excuses, naiveté, and false hope.
“What did you tell them, huh?” I snarl at my grandparents but point to the guests. “What horrible lies have you been spreading about me now?”
“Rose, you will contain yourself this instant,” my grandmother growls.
“No! No more containing. No more being obedient and quiet and locked away!” As the rage gathers, the music stops, and somewhere in the back of my mind I know everyone is listening. I don’t care. “Did you tell them that I’m crazy? That I hurt people?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies, feigning innocence.
“Don’t deny it! I know all about your plans to keep my inheritance.”
My grandmother looks at the faces around the room. “There. You all see?” she says, trying to be charming with that sugary voice of hers. “She’s nuttier than a squirrel turd.” She shakes her head with shame. “What we’ve had to put up with—the rage, the outbursts.”
I point my finger in her face. “Don’t you dare! No more lies.” I turn and face my judgment. “The truth is that my mother, Lana Hale, left everything to me, including an annual allowance meant to be used for my care, which they”—I glance at my grandparents—“squandered away on cars and jewelry while I grew up alone, scrubbing floors. The truth is that tonight is actually my coming-out party, which I was supposed to have when I was sixteen. My mother wanted it for me so that I might meet a nice man worthy of sharing my two-hundred-million-dollar inheritance, which I am supposed to receive next month.”
“That will never happen, you lying, rotten little psycho,” hisses my grandmother before amping up the volume for all to hear. “Oh, sugar, your display here tonight is proof of why we kept that money from you—locked away safely in a bank account,” she lies. “But what we should have done is lock you up.”
I suddenly understand that my grandmother, sneaky rat that she is, planned for this moment. She never leaves anything to chance. “You’re a horrible, evil woman. I hope you die choking on all the diamonds you bought with my money.”
“And now everyone sees it, just as clear as day, the abuse we’ve had to endure raising you. I swear, sometimes I fear for my very life.” She fans her face, like she’s about to swoon.
My grandfather plays his part and puts his arm around her to hold her up.
Ohmygod, these two. I can’t even. Is anyone really buying this?
But when I look around at the condemning faces in the crowd, I realize that this is a PR battle she started long, long ago.
Well, fuck her! I’m getting a lawyer and then the truth will come out.
But what if it doesn’t? My grandparents know all sorts of powerful people, including judges.
“Why would you do this to me?” I ask. “My mother gave you millions to live off of. You didn’t have to steal from me.”
My aunt Belinda speaks up, “Listen to yourself, Rose. Listen to what you’re saying. Why would your own flesh and blood, the people who raised you, steal your money? You are a loon!”
“I’m not. I read the will. You just don’t want anyone to love me and marry me so I don’t get the estate.”
My grandmother laughs and turns toward the guests. “Everyone, I’m sure you know that this is not how we intended for this evening to unfold, but as you can see, Rose is unwell. My deepest, most sincere apologies, but for your own safety, this party is cancelled.”
“You can’t do this,” I mutter in disbelief. “You can’t take away my chance to…”
Already the guests are turning toward the exit, and I know I’ve lost. I’ve lost the battle and the war.
This isn’t right. “You have to listen to me!” But no one is, and the mob continues filing outside.
“She’s telling the truth,” booms a loud voice through the crowd.
I look over my right shoulder and find Dr. Bexley Hughes standing there in a tux. What is he doing here?
Bex
I don’t know if this is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done or the nicest. Maybe it’s both. Because, despite knowing it’s wrong for a therapist to meddle like this, I couldn’t stop myself. Not when I knew Rose’s plan wasn’t going to work. Her grandparents are vermin—dirty, cunning, and diseased by greed—which is why I strongly suspected they weren’t going to sit on their slippery hands while Rose danced the night away with potential husband material. At our last session, I wanted to warn her. I wanted to tell her she was being naïve, but my own rules stopped me.
After two very sleepless nights, and a long, late-night conversation with Sophie, my conscience won. “I have to step in and help, don’t I?” I asked Sophie, but I already knew the answer. Rose has no one by her side to protect her and ensure this exploitation stops.
With all eyes on me, I speak to the room. “Every word Rose says is accurate. You’ll also be interested to know that I’ve examined her mental state and found her to be very sane, which is a shock given the way her family treats her.”
Rose’s mouth drops open.
“Who do you think you are?” says an older man I assume is Rose’s grandfather.
“Leave at once!” her grandmother barks.
“Now, Gertie, is that anyway for y’all to be treatin’ my nephew?” My aunt Eugenia steps forward with her twin sister, my aunt Virginia. Both are full-figured women with silver hair, dressed in their usual formal attire of outrageously expensive diamond necklaces and plain black gowns. They never were much for fashion, but they love a good cause. Between the two, they sit on the boards of over twenty charities. They’re
also richer than sin.
“He’s—he’s here with you?” Gertie asks my aunts.
“You bet your sorry lyin’ ass,” says Aunt Eugenia, who was born and raised in South Georgia like my father and their sister. “And he’s told us every dirty detail about how y’all used this poor girl and took her mama’s money. What I can’t wrap my mind around, though, is how y’all could deprive her of family. Family is all we have worth a spit, but you shut her out like a breeze from a pig farm and then treated her like a one-eyed whore at a church picnic.”
I’m not going to lie. Watching my sixty-five-year-old aunt lay into Rose’s grandmother feels extremely satisfying. I’m itching for a cushy armchair and ice-cold beer right now. Because while I could have delivered a fairly convincing speech, there’s nothing quite like a ball-busting, no-bullshit Southern woman giving a public dressing-down to a piece of shit like this lady.
She continues, “So now, Gertie Hale, I’m going to show you the same kindness and hospitality you showed to your poor granddaughter here. When we’re done with you, you’ll be so poor the field mice will be laughin’.”
“You-you leave my house this instant! You can’t come in here and tell these lies. We raised that girl!” Gertie points to Rose. “She’s an animal. A psychotic, manipulative little liar. And you’re nothing but a stupid hillbilly with a checkbook!”
The room gasps, and my aunt Virginia smiles.
Oh, Gertie, you’re in trouble now. My skin tingles. Never, ever insult or underestimate a Hughes woman. They didn’t become the wealthiest sisters in the state of Georgia by playing nice.
Fair? Yes.
Nice? Hell no.
They don’t like con artists, liars, or cheats. To this day, they still have no idea what my father did, but had they found out while he was still alive, they would have castrated their little brother and thrown him in their private South Georgia lake occupied by gators. And they would’ve done it themselves. No hired henchmen. These two are never to be crossed.
My aunt Eugenia looks right at Rose. “Honey, I have a room waitin’ for you at the Four Seasons downtown. You may stay there as long as it takes for these bloodsucking shit stains to be washed from your life. My lawyer, Frank, will come see you in the morning to discuss the lawsuit and gettin’ back every penny they stole from you.”
The Boyfriend Collector Page 5
