Lured into Love (Blossom in Winter Book 2)

by Melanie Martins

  “Did Alex tell you?” he asks suddenly, his voice laced with anxiety and fear.

  “He didn’t tell me the crimes you committed, no.” As I keep looking him in the eye, I can see that the more I remind him of his past crimes, the more inner bruises and cuts I create. Even if he tries to appear unaffected, I know him pretty well. So I decide to say, “But I want you to know that whatever they are, I can handle the truth and forgive you.” He breaks eye contact, most likely out of embarrassment. “But I won’t forgive you for asking my fiancé to break up with me.” And because I want to hurt him as much as he hurt me, I announce, “After that corporate dinner, I’m moving out.”

  Then, as I stand up, ready to leave the table, Dad asks, “Are you really gonna leave me here all alone?” His voice carries a heavy sadness—a sadness I was looking forward to.

  “You’ve got Janine, no?” I ask, reveling in it.

  Immersed under a wave of shock, Dad takes a second to reply. “Yes, but it’s not the same.” His voice is unusually shaken—he seems so lost and destabilized by my statement that I can’t help but rejoice in it.

  “Oh, and you’ve got your precious reputation too,” I tell him. His expression remains just as tormented, afraid of losing me once and for all. “Have a great day,” I mumble, making my way back inside the house.

  “Petra!” Dad stands up, his sadness switching to anger. I stop walking and look back at him. “If you want to become my estranged daughter, then by all means, but you can forget your inheritance.”

  WHAT?! I cannot for the life of me believe that he’s threatening me and my inheritance. “Wow,” I blurt out. Now I’m the one in shock. “You would go so far as to disinherit me?”

  “If you intend to leave…” he starts, observing my distress, then as our eyes lock, he says, “Yes.”

  Shaking my head in disgust, I look upward, trying to prevent tears from falling at the blow I just got. After being the perfect daughter for eighteen years, this is what I get in return? Very well, if he is making his moves, so am I. I feel the urge to call Emma’s attorney and ask her if Dad can do that. But knowing Dad as I do, he must have already checked it out. Then my mind goes to Julia, and I feel the urge to ask her instead, but I’m not sure if I should. After all, her brother just broke up with me.

  “Wow.” That’s all I manage to say in return. I keep gaping at him, barely believing how our argument has escalated into threats of disinheritance. What a wake-up call this is! Ice water has just been thrown on me, and I feel so sick to my stomach about his intentions that I shout, “What a monster you are!” To my surprise, Dad remains mute. Vexed maybe? I can’t tell. But the air is so toxic between us that I can barely breathe. “I, um, I’ve got to go.”

  Mercifully, he doesn’t try to stop me. When I get to my room, I close the door behind me and call Emma.

  Upon hearing her voice, I ask, “Hi, Emma, how are you?”

  “I’m good, but by the sound of your voice, I’m not sure if you are.”

  Lowering my tone, I say, “I got into a big fight with Dad.”

  “Ooh la la…” Emma replies. “Alright, I get it. You need a place to stay.”

  I can’t help but chuckle. She knows me so well. “Not for now. But we need to talk. Um, do you still have that lawyer of yours?”

  “Yeah, of course I do. But what’s up?”

  “Well, long story short, Alex broke up with me, and Dad threatened me to disinherit me if I move out.”

  “Holy shit!” she shouts. “Are you serious right now?”

  “Of course I’m serious!” I whisper, looking around as if I’m being spied on. “Do you think I’d call you if I wasn’t?”

  “Damn!” Emma seems to be just as shocked. “That’s fucked up. Like… super fucked up. Alright, I’m calling my driver, and I will be there in an hour.”

  “Can you just call your lawyer first and ask her about inheritance laws in New York, please? I just want to know if he can really do that.”

  “Yeah, of course. So, should we meet for lunch at your place, then? I mean, your dad’s place?”

  I huff back at her, knowing all too well that she’s teasing. “Ha ha. Thank you for the reality check…”

  “Be careful with your moves, babe,” she warns.

  “I know…”

  “Look, take a deep breath, and, um, we’ll talk later. I’ve got you, okay?”

  “Thanks Emma.”

  “Love you,” she says before hanging up.

  And I smile because love is not something I’ve experienced very often in this house.

  Once I finish get dressed, I realize Dad left the house without even apologizing. Not that I was expecting him to anyway, but I thought he wouldn’t leave before calming down and at least withdrawing his threat. The ringing of the doorbell brings me back to earth, and, as I glance at my watch, I know it’s my group from Columbia. We meet twice a week to work on the analysis of objectivism applied to economics for our study. Today, though, I’d rather be left alone than meet with them.

  Janine is already on her way to open the door as I leave the dining room, where we’ll be studying, to welcome them. Before they even notice me, I glance over at the mirror to check my face. I look horribly gloomy, sad, and tired. My face is blotchy, and my eyes are swollen from crying.

  “Are you alright?” Matthew asks in a low voice as he reaches me.

  “Hey,” I greet as I see Matthew, followed by Sarah, David, and Katrina. I nod at him, swallowing everything I’ve gone through the past twelve hours. “Shall we?”

  I lead them into the dining room, where I’ve got my laptop and a few books lying on the table. Once we all sit and everyone has their laptops out, I make the conscious effort to focus on what matters for the hour, and say, “So, I’ve been working on the impact of objectivism on the individual, the economy, and, consequently, our country,” I tell them. Then I give each of them a printed copy of what I wrote. “The idea is to look over what I’ve done and fact-check if anything is wrong or could be improved.”

  Matthew is already diving into my dissertation, and everyone else follows. I hope it’s decently written though. Jeez, I’m so glad I did it last week. I’m not sure how I would have managed to do it after the breakup.

  “Well, it’s a pretty classic elaboration of American liberalism,” Matthew points out. “Strangely enough, though, you don’t mention the wrongdoings that come with it.”

  “And I’m not surprised by your observation,” I tease him with a smirk. “Anything factually incorrect though?”

  “Not that I can see,” Matthew replies back. “You explained everything about how self-interest is an ethical point for objectivism, which in turn is what drives our capitalist society. That is correct.”

  My smirk turns into a quick laugh. I love how he knows I did a good job, but he can’t praise it, because objectivism is something he hates. And, reveling in it, I say, “You know that objectivism, because it’s strictly linked to individual freedoms, was actually a driving force of progressivist ideas?” Matthew blinks twice, a bit troubled by my statement. “What? Don’t tell me you forgot that Rand was a liberal, from the word liberalism, which advocates for individual freedoms and rights, and how the government shouldn’t censor and limit anything that goes against the interest of the individual? Many individual rights have been conquered over the years thanks to liberalism, which you claim to hate for some reason.”

  “I don’t hate that part of liberalism,” he finally admits. “I hate the economical part of it. Big difference.”

  “So you agree that objectivism is important socially but not economically?” I ask.

  “I agree objectivism and liberalism play a big part in human rights, and we are all good there. But when it comes to the economy, it’s a big disaster.”

  “Guys, seriously, again?” Sarah chides, letting out a sigh. As I look at everyone else, I see how bored they are at our debate, and I wonder why, because I was really having fun.

  “Sa
rah, this is what this study is all about,” Matthew tells her. “We are meant to debate objectivism. Why aren’t you guys participating?”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” I emphasize as we glance briefly at each other.

  “It seems like a Twitter war,” she ripostes.

  But Matthew is having none of it. “Petra doesn’t even have Twitter,” he snaps back. “Philosophy is about debating ideas and concepts. What’s wrong with you today?”

  “Well, maybe you guys could talk to us instead of just looking at each other,” Katrina interposes. “Honestly, we are always excluded. I think it’s better if just the two of you go forward with the study.”

  “Yeah, it only takes two to tango,” David adds. “Or, in this case, to debate objectivism.”

  “And I’ve got the feeling you’ll both end up agreeing with each other at the end,” Sarah tells us. “You guys most likely think exactly alike, and you just don’t know it yet.”

  “What?” we both say at the same time, looking at Sarah.

  “We don’t think alike at all,” Matthew presses on, nearly in outrage. “Petra is into objectivism, and I’m not.”

  “Matt, you know more about objectivism than I know about my own self,” Sarah points out. She draws in a breath and adds, “Like, I wanted to do this study to help my grades, but this is just becoming a pretext for you guys to talk to each other.”

  Before I can even fully assess her comment, Matthew takes over. “Petra has already done at least half of the study, and you’re complaining?”

  And I can’t help but smile at the way he’s defending me. Trying to offer a compromise, I say, “Alright, what if we explore objectivism as applied to financial markets and the economy?” Which was basically the goal from the beginning.

  “Exactly,” Matthew replies just as fast. “That’s where I think the self-interest goes too far. We know laissez-faire capitalism does a lot of wrong and hurts a lot of people, especially the working class.”

  “Now you sound like Prof. Reich,” I tell him.

  And Matthew seems to like it—his lips twitch into a smile full of pride. “Thanks.”

  Sarah, on the other hand, just rolls her eyes. “See? That’s exactly what I said. You both will just end up agreeing about exactly everything. It’s inevitable.”

  “Well…” Matthew keeps his eyes pinned on me and his smile just as big. “Great minds think alike.”

  I shake my head at his teasing, but a quick chuckle escapes me. When Matthew said this course was pure intellectual porn, I guess he couldn’t have been more right. “Okay, so what if we include the negative aspects of objectivism in the study?” I suggest. “I enjoy objectivism for the social aspect, which gave us individual freedoms—including freedom of expression, which, as an artist myself, I truly value—but I’m sure it’s not a perfect philosophy.”

  Matthew nods, agreeing with me. “I think it’s a great analysis. I’m in.” He takes something from his backpack and hands me a bunch of papers.

  As I read the title of the first page, I can’t help but laugh. “‘Ten Reasons Why Objectivism Sucks’?”

  “No need to thank me,” he teases. And as he watches me flick through the pages, he adds, “I couldn’t help it.”

  Instinctively, a smirk tugs on my lips, but the sound of my iPhone ringing startles us. And as I look at it, I see that it’s my alarm to announce the end of the meetup. Wow. It went by so fast. As we all stand up, I see that Sarah, Katrina, and David are the first ready to leave, while Matthew seems to take his time.

  “You coming? Our Uber is here.” Sarah asks him as she’s about to cross through the doorway with the rest of the group. But by his stare, I guess he wants to talk to me.

  “I’ll take another one…” And once we are left alone, Matthew stands in front me and, in a voice quite humbling, says, “I’m sorry for Sarah’s attitude today.”

  “It’s alright…” And I give him a soft pat on his arm. “You have to admit, though, we kinda monopolized the discussion about objectivism.”

  A trace of a guilty smile lands on his lips. “Well, we’re just two people very passionate about it. If anything, we’re giving them free entertainment.”

  I crack a laugh at his observation. Fair point. “Thanks for everything,” I blurt out a bit unexpectedly. “Um, it’s nice to have you around.” I’m not the best at expressing myself, but I want him to know he matters.

  “We are vegan besties after all.” Without expecting it, though, he drags me into his arms, giving me a hug for the first time since I woke up from the coma.

  With the current pandemic, hugs have been few and far in between, but some empathy and compassion feels too good to pass up. And, reveling in his embrace, a wave of emotions goes through me as I realize Alex won’t hug me anymore. In fact, after this meetup, my fiancé was supposed to come here and pick me up, which is what I set up the alarm for. But thanks to the worst parents in the world, he’s now most likely in the air on the way to Singapore. The realization brings tears to my eyes, and I can’t help but sniffle.

  “Hey,” Matthew whispers, looking at me. “What’s wrong?”

  Oh jeez, what a freaking embarrassment. I wipe the tears and take a deep breath, as I think about whether to tell him the truth or not. Matthew keeps observing me, most likely wondering where this emotional breakdown is coming from. Our eyes lock for a second, but then I look down instantly. And, for better or worse, I decide to open up. “Sorry, um, my fiancé just broke up with me…” I never thought I’d say those words. And yet here we are.

  “Wow…” I thought Matthew would crack some dry joke about how dumb I was to get engaged so young, but nope. He actually just gives me another hug to soothe me. For the first time, I notice how good he smells, but I resist the urge to ask him about his cologne. “What an asshole he is. I’m so sorry.” I know at this point that my face and mind are a big mess. I’m tired from crying, tired from the pain, tired from everything. “When did he break up with you?” he asks, releasing me.

  My heart feels stuck in my throat, but I bring myself to say, “Um, at two o’clock this morning.”

  “Damn…”

  I sniffle, and trying to prevent more tears from falling, I make the conscious effort to calm down. “Yeah, it sucks.”

  “If I may ask, why did he break up with you?”

  “He moved to Singapore,” I reply, keeping it short. There’s no need to tell him the whole truth anyway. “And it seems he doesn’t want me there.”

  To my surprise, he brings my chin up, and says, “Well, he’s a fucking idiot.” Matthew holds on to me, rubbing my arms and giving me strength.

  “Thanks. I really appreciate it.” And I release a deep breath.

  “Do you want to do something later tonight? We could go for dinner or—”

  “I’m okay…” I give him a smile as we stare at each other for a few heartbeats, and then say, “For now, I need some time alone.” The truth is, I can’t find the will to do anything. If I could just go to bed and sleep, I would.

  “Alright…” Matthew can’t hide his disappointment, but he also smiles in return, and, after putting his backpack on his shoulder, he adds, “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

  Chapter 21

  Petra Van Gatt

  Just twenty minutes after Matthew leaves, the doorbell rings again. This time, though, I rush to open the door, and when I find Janine in the hallway, I say, “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it.”

  As I open the door, I see the one and only Emma Hasenfratz, slaying it with perfectly styled bangs, red lips, and an all-black outfit—extra-large D&G T-shirt, denim shorts, ankle boots, and big black sunglasses on her face.

  “Babe, Emma Hasenfratz is here to save the day, don’t worry,” she says, stepping in. “I’ve got you.”

  Shaking my head in amusement, I inwardly chuckle at her comment. And after giving her two cheek kisses, I notice Emma’s holding a file in one hand and a bottle of Dom Pérignon in the
other. “Um, are we celebrating something?”

  “I’m saving you from misery, so yeah, we are.”

  I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Jeez! Don’t exaggerate. I still have my own fund and some savings.”

  “Babe, I’m not talking about misery in a financial sense, duh.” But my eyes squint in confusion. “I’m talking misery as in emotional misery.”

  Oh, emotional misery. Yeah, that pretty much sums up how I’m feeling right now. But does she think a bottle of Dom Pérignon is gonna fix it?

  Emma follows me into the kitchen and, after greeting Janine, puts the champagne in the fridge. Then we stay quiet as we wait for Janine to leave us alone. Once we hear the door close behind us, Emma hands me the file and says, “Your dad needs to sign this, and you’ll be fine.” I start reading the contract, and I can’t help but be impressed at how protective it would be of my inheritance. “My lawyer and I already signed it as your witnesses. Your dad just has to do the same, and he won’t be able to disinherit you. Even if he wants to.”

  The more I read the contract, the more I wonder if Dad will ever agree to sign it. If he did, that would be perfect. “So, as long as I talk to him once in a while, he can’t disinherit me, right?”

  “Yeah. Basically, as long as you talk to him once a month, it’s fine. You cannot become an estranged daughter though, which means never seeing him again.” The contract is everything any heir would ever want—it protects my inheritance without letting my parents control me. From what I read, as long as I text Dad once in a while and meet with him once a year, he cannot disinherit me from the shares of Gatt-Dieren, the penthouse on Park Avenue, or any accounts that belong to him or any trust that he’s the beneficiary of. There’s even a clause that says he cannot sell his shares or his penthouse without my written notarized consent. “This is a really good contract.”