Lured into Love (Blossom in Winter Book 2)

by Melanie Martins

  Seeing how skeptical I am of his claims, Matthew lets out a breath louder than usual, considering me for a moment. “Alright, you want the truth?”

  Huh? His question makes me gape. “Yeah, that would be a good start.”

  Despite my welcoming his honesty, Matthew takes a few more seconds to mentally craft his answer, which leaves me wondering why. “I won’t deny that meeting your mom, who is against the relationship, made my opinion feel validated.”

  “Validated?” I repeat, my eyes opening wide.

  “Yeah, like, everyone else thinks your relationship with your godfather is okay, and I just don’t share the same opinion.”

  “And that’s why you decided to be disrespectful at lunch?” I ask, totally baffled.

  “It was dumb, I know. What can I say? I’m only human.” He might be only human, but the way he downplays his attitude toward me and my fiancé still remains problematic. “Can you forgive me? I swear I’ll never say a word about him again.”

  A part of me wants to give him another chance, but the truth is I’ve already done that before and Matthew hasn’t changed. After all, friendship is first and foremost about treating your friends with respect—even when you don’t agree with them. Despite knowing I can’t go to his birthday weekend even if I wanted to, I remain undecided about what to tell him regarding the event, so I give him a polite smile and say, “Okay, I’ll think about it and let you know.” I will text him later on in the week and find an excuse to skip it.

  Then I hear a knock on the door, and after ending the call with him, I shout for the person to come in.

  Mom quietly steps into the library, her face unusually serene and calm. She stands still right past the doorway, her posture hesitant. “Um, your dad is not coming home tonight, so I thought maybe we could go out and have dinner together?”

  And here we go again. I always thought Dad was the most stubborn of the family, but Mom has clearly dethroned him by now. Jeez, she really doesn’t give up. But as I’m tired of our constant arguments, I simply say, “I’m still studying…”

  “Oh, I know, sweetie. I’m just saying later on, maybe in two hours.” Since Mom sees me hesitating, she adds, “Janine already left, so there is nothing prepared.”

  “I see…” My gaze drifts away as I try to think of another way to politely decline.

  But since I’m not finding any, Mom says, “Um, maybe we can go to Jean-Georges. Your dad told me the food is excellent there.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t go out during the week.” I try this one, but she doesn’t seem much convinced.

  “We can eat here if you prefer.”

  Letting out an exasperated breath, I know I’m coming up against a brick wall. “What about me?” I ask, looking her in the eye. “Have you thought about what I want for once?” Mom is totally mute, blinking twice at my reaction. “Of course not, because all that matters are your own selfish desires.” Head shaking, a chuckle escapes me as I think about how true this is. “Jeez, you’re so selfish that it hurts.” I pause, gauging her reaction. But there is none. “Not once have you asked me what I want in life, not once.”

  “I don’t think having dinner with my own daughter is asking for the moon.”

  My jaw drops at her remark. I just pointed out the fact that she doesn’t care about what I want in life, but she’s still focused on her damn dinner? “Wow…” Nodding thoughtfully, I let that reality sink in, and I say in the most distant way possible, “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to have dinner with you.”

  “We didn’t go ahead with the tracking chip, Petra.” Her observation freezes my heart on the spot. We’ve now moved on to eventual threats? Is that what she means? “I’ve been very patient and kind with you. I even let you spend time with Emma last night.” Oh, because the next step will be forbidding me from seeing my friends? Like those ultra-secured prisoners? It’s clear as water that if I want to remain chip-free and be able to see Emma again, I’ve got to bow to Mom’s desires. And since I can’t risk not going to Emma’s this Friday, I ask, “Where were you thinking for dinner?”

  A wise man once said, “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.” Okay, granted—this wise man might simply be Michael Corleone from The Godfather II, but his words have never resonated so well with me as tonight when I’m about to go and have dinner with my number-one enemy: Mom. Needless to say, she is over the moon about taking me to one of those fancy Michelin-starred restaurants on the Upper West Side. A restaurant I assume Dad must come to frequently.

  “Was it Dad who recommended this place to you?” I ask as we sit at our table.

  “Is it that obvious?” Her tone is particularly bright and jovial. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this happy before.

  “A bit.”

  As I observe her, I must admit she’s also made quite the effort this evening. Her short blonde hair is brushed back, showing off her beautiful black rose earrings, smoky eyes, and elegant black dress. But behind all the glam and smiles, all I can see is a control freak who restricts me and my freedom, a woman who truly believes that she’s saving me from the evil grip of the man I love, without even realizing that the true evil is her.

  “Ladies, good evening,” greets the waiter as he hands us our menus. “Welcome to Jean-Georges. Would you prefer still or sparkling water to start?”

  “Good evening. Still, please,” Mom answers.

  Then he takes the white napkin folded at her side, and lays it on her lap, before doing the same for me.

  After he leaves, Mom leans closer to me and whispers, “What fine service, isn’t it?”

  A quick chuckle escapes me. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

  She takes her glasses from her purse and puts them on before embarking on a long reading journey of the menu like it’s some sort of fine literature. Despite hating her for everything she has done to me, her focusing on a simple menu makes my lips twitch in a smile, and as my gaze remains on her, I memorize every single feature of her face. Actually, she looks a bit like Megyn Kelly with her evening makeup on. And for some odd reason, I say, “You’re really beautiful tonight.”

  Mom puts her menu down, her eyes never leaving mine, and gives me a smile that I will never forget. “You are very beautiful too.”

  She might not be in New York for the right reasons, and I might hate her for all the things she’s been doing, but there is a part of me—a part that I don’t know how strong it is—that yearns for a better relationship with her. After all, any daughter would love to have a good relationship with her own mother. And I don’t think I am any different.

  “Dad was such a lucky man.” I reciprocate her smile, and it’s full of empathy just like hers. “I’m sorry that he messed up.”

  “Life is full of ups and downs, darling,” she brushes off. Mom is about to say something more, but the waiter steps in and asks, “May I serve you a glass of champagne?”

  “Of course,” Mom replies immediately. “Who are we kidding?” I can’t help but laugh as the waiter fills our glasses. Then she raises her flute of bubbly and says, “To us, Petra.”

  It’s not her voice that I hear, though, but Alex’s. As if he’s sitting in front of me and toasting with me. I close my eyes, trying to keep his voice from haunting me. And the more I try, the more I see him, hear him, feel him touching me… My mind starts recalling memories I shouldn’t want it to, and I see him everywhere… in Rome, in his office, in Aspen, in Bedford Hills…

  “Are you alright?”

  Jeez, I look around, making sure he is not here. Indeed, I don’t see anyone who resembles him.

  Then, looking at Mom, I also raise my glass. “To us.” And we clink our glasses.

  As we remain quiet, looking over our respective menus, I decide to say, “Um, you know, Emma invited me to spend the weekend with her.”

  “Oh, she did?”

  “Yeah…” My fingers are on my flute, playing with the base as I think of my next words. “She’s having a dinner this
Friday.”

  “But I thought Matthew invited you to the Hamptons this weekend?”

  I’m about to ask her if she listened to our FaceTime call, but then I remember my phone is being tracked and she must have read his text instead. “Matthew has been an ass,” I tell her. “So I prefer to go over to Emma’s.”

  “I see…” Mom nods pensively, looking at nothing. “I’ll have a talk with your dad and let you know.”

  Damn it! And I know in that moment that if they let me go, it’s going to be with the bodyguards securing Emma’s house like a high-risk prison.

  I take a sip of my champagne, trying to tame my rising anxiety at the thought of it. Jeez, what a dumbass I was to have attacked Mom so fiercely. I should’ve just played along, swallowed my pride, and been a kiss-ass so she’d let me go. But the truth is, being nice to someone I despite so much is way harder than I thought.

  Chapter 31

  Manhattan, October 22, 2020

  Petra Van Gatt

  That Thursday evening, I should’ve been on the arm of my fiancé attending the dinner at Mike’s place, but alas, Dad made it clear that he’s got other plans for me, so instead, I find myself going to one of his many lobbying dinners. I have no idea why he insisted I attend, since he knows perfectly well I don’t like politics, but he assured me I’ll soon find out. As we arrive at the event hosted in a modern and spacious apartment in Greenwich Village, we’re welcomed by a host who asks for our IDs, making sure we are on the guest list. Afterward, he thanks us and says, “No pictures or videos during the evening, please.”

  Not surprising.

  As we step inside, we find a waiter handing out flutes of bubbly, so Dad takes one for himself while I scan the room for a waiter carrying soft drinks instead. After he takes a sip, Dad gestures for me to follow him toward the crowd that has gathered in groups around the open space that includes the living room and the dining room. I try to find a terrace, but I don’t see any. The more I look around, though, the more confused I am, as I recognize absolutely no one here. Dad, on the other hand, is already smiling, greeting, and shaking hands, and despite the fact that he introduces me to everyone he knows, I can’t find the will to feign interest in these people. They are friends of my dad’s, allies, lobbyists, political influencers, and the longer I stay, the more they monopolize the conversation with their plans for 2021. Discreetly enough, when the group is engrossed in conversation, I sneak out and start strolling toward the quietest part of the house: the hallway leading to the other rooms. As I walk down the corridor, my eyes are drawn to the many frames hanging on the wall, featuring the same man in a suit, but posing with different governors, head of states, and even US presidents. He must be the owner of the place. Then, standing still, my eyes squint as I focus on the last photograph, trying to figure out who he is.

  “And yet not even a single photo with his family.” A male voice startles me, and I turn around, recognizing it.

  “Matthew?” I say in surprise as my gaze lands on him. Unlike the rest of the guests, I find him in casual attire though—gray sweater, a pair of jeans, and sneakers. What a contrast with everyone else. “What are you doing here?” He glances over my shoulder at the wall behind me. “Oh, so this is your dad?” I ask, pointing to the frame I was looking at.

  “Yep,” he answers, nearly in embarrassment. “That’s when he became the attorney general of New York.” Jeez, that explains all the pictures with politicians, then. And I’m pretty sure Dad knew who Matthew’s father was long before I did. After briefly scanning the other photos, Matthew says, “Pops calls it his wall of fame.”

  The entire situation feels truly bizarre though, and I’m pretty confused about how Dad got invited here in the first place. “Was it you or your dad who invited us to come tonight?”

  “Well…” A faint cheeky smile appears on his lips. “Let’s just say I made some quick intros to get you here.”

  I cross my arms in amusement at his little game. “All of that just to see me?”

  Matthew doesn’t even bother to hide his smirk. “Guilty.” I should be mad at him, but I simply laugh at the whole thing. “Let’s be real—it was the only way to persuade you to come over so I could apologize face-to-face.” He takes a step closer to me, his eyes still on mine. “I’m really sorry that I pissed you off.” He breaks eye contact, searching for his next words. “Um, you are really dear to me.” My lips part in surprise at how sincere he sounds. “Can you forgive me?”

  With as much effort as he’s put in to see me again, it’s hard not to. “Your friendship is also dear to me,” I tell him.

  And before our talk becomes too awkward, we smile at each other, and Matthew takes me by the hand, ushering me toward the crowd. “Let me introduce you to my pops.” We stop in front of a group standing in a circle, which also includes my dad. “Pops…” Matthew starts poking him on the shoulder. And as he turns, I recognize him from the photographs. He hasn’t aged much, actually, and even his smile remains just the same. “This is Petra Van Gatt, the friend that I told you about.”

  “Mr. Bradford, it’s a pleasure meeting you,” I say, unsure how I should greet him.

  To my surprise, he eagerly shakes my hand, full of admiration, it seems. “Please just call me Eric. What a pleasure to finally meet you, Petra.” Eric seems way nicer in person than in the photos. “After showing such warm hospitality toward my son, I obviously had to invite you both over in return.”

  “It’s always a pleasure having Matthew with us,” my dad points out.

  A bit embarrassed at so much attention, I just smile at Eric in return, anxiously waiting for all the gazes on me to go away. Fortunately, Eric notices and breaks our odd silence. “You are also going to the Hamptons this weekend, right?”

  “The Hamptons?” Dad asks, feigning his surprise.

  “Matt is turning twenty on Saturday.” Eric wraps an arm around his son’s shoulders as he smiles at him full of pride. “So he invited his closest friends to our beach house,” he says directly to my dad.

  “Oh, that’s a great idea.” It’s impressive how Dad can fake the excitement in his tone and smile so smoothly. “Why didn’t you tell me about that?”

  As I think of an answer, Matthew takes over. “Petra declined my invitation to join us.” What? I can’t believe Matthew just said it out loud in front of my dad, his dad, and everyone else! My cheeks blossom with heat at the embarrassment, and I squint my eyes at him, trying my best not to kill him.

  “Why on earth would you decline? Go to the Hamptons for the weekend. It’s your friend’s birthday after all.”

  How pathetic is he? Just a year ago, Dad considered boys nothing more than a stupid and useless distraction, and now he’s playing matchmaker? Of course, Matthew Bradford is the perfect fit for me, according to him. After all, we are both studying economics, Mom likes him a lot, and his father is none other than the current attorney general of the state of New York. How convenient for Dad if only I would fall in love with Matthew and forget my fiancé. And as I look at him drinking his champagne and engaging in futile talks with Eric, I remain astounded by the swift change of his views toward the opposite gender when it comes to me.

  I had other plans for the weekend, Dad, I think, but instead I say, “Sure, it’ll be great.” I know I’m not in a position to negotiate. It was obvious that my chances to go over to Emma’s this weekend were close to none. In any case, I will just send my live location to Alex from my new phone, and we will leave this pathetic charade behind once and for all.

  Chapter 32

  Manhattan, October 23, 2020

  Petra Van Gatt

  As I finish preparing my backpack, my heart can’t stop thundering in apprehension for tonight. Alex instructed me to pack summer clothes, which means we are most likely leaving the state of New York. And hopefully tonight, we will finally be together and leave this whole nightmare behind. I decide not to inquire to Dad or Mom about the bodyguards. If they can just stay here on Park Avenue, a
ll the better. It’s a risky move, but the wisest. Once Matthew is waiting downstairs, I take my backpack and head out of my room. But before leaving, I take one last look around at the bedroom I spent my whole life in. After all, I have no idea if I’ll ever return here. It’s a horrible feeling, since I have so many dresses here that are truly dear to me, including the white dress I brought to Aspen, the red one I wore in Rome, and the one I wore to my engagement party, and my heart tightens at the idea of leaving them behind. Even though I have no space left in my backpack, I think twice about taking them. Maybe I should take a suitcase instead. No, my parents will find it suspicious if I take a big suitcase for only two nights. Glancing at my watch, I’m sure Matthew can wait an extra minute or two, so I go back into the closet, grab those three dresses, remove some of the clothes from my bag, and shove them in. Then, as I close my backpack, I heave a sigh of relief, knowing these three are coming with me. Afterward, I go to my atelier and double-check that the door is properly locked. Yep, at least no one will come here and take my paintings away.

  I head to the entrance and find Mom and Dad waiting for me beside the main door. I’m shaking at the idea that they could send the bodyguards to follow me, but instead of showing it, I give them a broad smile and put on my most confident voice. “Alright, Matt is downstairs. See you both on Sunday.”

  “If you need anything, just call us.” I give Mom a kiss for the sake of letting me go. And although her sugary tone is truly irritating, I have no idea if I’ll ever see her again, and if I do, I doubt she’ll use the same tone.

  “Yes, Mom.” Then I give my dad a quick kiss on the cheek, but before I can go, he holds me by the shoulders and looks me straight in the eye.

  “Petra.” His strident voice nearly makes me jump. “I hope you’re gonna behave there.” I have no idea what he means by that. Doesn’t he know I have a fiancé?