The water’s cold by the time I get out, and my skin is a lovely shade of pink. Dressing, I move around the bathroom with deliberate, slow steps, dragging out the time I have left before I need to return to the room and face my mother. I pull on the hotel’s complimentary dressing gown and step into the matching slippers before taking a deep breath and bracing myself to open the door.
If there’s something my mother hates above anything else, it’s allowing one’s feelings to show in an eruption of hysteria—her words, not mine. Ladies keep their emotions to themselves. They hold them inside until it’s safe to let them out and even then, screaming and shouting aren’t allowed. What makes me laugh is my mother broke her rules today; she yelled at my father. She allowed all of her pent-up feelings to escape, but it will be me who gets the lecture, not her.
“I’m ordering room service,” she announces as I leave the bathroom. “What would you like?”
“I’m not hungry,” I mutter, not looking her way. I don’t need to see disappointment in her eyes. I’m disappointed enough for the two of us. I should have walked away before Luke and Clare could make a fool of me. The angry bitch in me, the one who ruled St. Paul’s, wants revenge. Wants to leave one last parting gift for the people she thought were her friends. But the rest of me is too tired. The rest of me has had enough of schemes and revenge plots.
“I’ll order you a salad,” she replies sharply. “You need to keep your strength up.”
Salad! I internally roll my eyes. You’d think a time like this would require chips and burgers and ice cream, but no, even in crisis my mother finds time to think about my figure.
Climbing into my bed, I turn my back to her and close my eyes. I can’t sleep, but pretending to do so is better than interacting with a woman I don’t have the patience for right now. It doesn’t work, though. Five minutes into the silence, I hear my mother tut her announcement before she speaks it.
“Rose, stop being so uncouth, and sulking will do you no good.”
Silently swearing, I will myself to ignore her.
“What did Luke say to you? Did you go to Clare’s as well?”
You’re asleep. You are asleep.
“Rose, it is very rude to ignore your mother,” she snaps.
Fuck it. “And God forbid I’m rude, Mother,” I snarl, rolling over and sitting up. “God forbid I do anything that might cause a scene or show I’m human.”
“Enough.” She sighs as if she’s as tired as me. I sometimes wonder if my grandmother made her this way, and she doesn’t know how to be any different.
“I’ll tell you what they said.” I smile cruelly—seems the bitch in me hasn’t been fully silenced. “They told me to get out. That our name was mud and we didn’t belong here anymore. It seems criminals and sluts aren’t welcome in Kensington anymore, well ones who have been discovered anyway.”
She sucks in a startled breath, but I’m not done.
“Oh yes, Mother. Luke and Clare knew you’d been having an affair, but do you know what really pisses me off? Being shunned for the sins of my parents.”
The door knocks, making us both jump.
“Room service.”
I leap out of the bed before my mother has the chance to move, opening the door.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the tray from the man. “But I’ve decided I’d like a burger, chips, and ice cream as well. Would it be a bother to add them to our order?” I ask, charm and privilege dripping off my every word.
“No problem, miss.”
“Obliged.” Knocking the door closed with my hip, I turn and face my shocked mother. “You can have both salads, Mother. You need to keep your strength up too.”
We don’t speak for the rest of the evening, but she watches me devour my greasy junk food and fat-laced treat with equal amounts of anger and envy. I take the offered glass of wine she hands me without so much as a smile and a part of me begs her to react. To scream. To do something other than act like the perfect unemotional robot I’m so used to.
There are times when I appreciate her indifference, but our world has fallen down, and inside, I’m being torn apart. I’m this mass of messy, complicated emotions, and I have no idea what to do with them. I miss my father; the thought of never seeing him again is unbearable. It’s worse than if he’d have died because I know he’s still out there, living a life separate from us. Yes, the life might possibly be in prison, but it makes no difference. I have questions to ask him, betrayals, and anger I need to vent. He’s my father, and cutting him off and moving to another country isn’t going to change that.
This morning I knew where I stood. I knew my place. I knew my future, and now it’s all gone. It’s unknown, and I’m honestly not sure how I’m going to cope.
Chapter 4
The eight-hour flight is a killer, and to make matters worse, my grandfather booked us in cattle class. He clearly hates us. When I questioned it, my mother raised her voice in a very unladylike way, drawing people’s attention, and I decided maybe she’s not as unaffected as I first thought, and it was best to leave her alone.
She drank way too much wine on the plane, and I tried to ignore it by watching movies, but it didn’t help much. Instead, I flicked through my phone, crushing my already bruised heart further by looking at the pictures of the life I was leaving behind.
They were mostly of Luke, Clare, and me, with a few of my mother thrown in. The obvious lack of my father only made everything hurt more. It was like he’d left our family a long time ago, and we never noticed. Well, maybe my mum did, but she went looking for attention elsewhere. I can’t even be angry at him for it, because I stopped making an effort to talk to him and include him in my world too. We became three separate people living under one roof, and I wish I knew how we got there so I can fix it.
“Rose, listen,” my mother says, pulling me to a stop as we climb out of the car my grandparents sent to collect us. “Whatever your grandfather says, please don’t react. We need his help, and talking back isn’t going to get us it.”
“Say what?” I frown. I’m tired and most likely jet-lagged; she needs to be clearer.
“I’ll put it this way, Rose. Your grandfather wasn’t a fan of your father even before all of this mess, so please don’t snap when he inevitably badmouths him, me, and possibly you.”
“Because it’s totally my fault for having the father I have.” I roll my eyes.
“I didn’t say it would be easy, Rose.”
“Nothing ever is,” I mutter, walking again. When she doesn’t answer, I glance back to find her frozen, hurt glistening in her eyes. “Mother?”
Shaking her head, she catches up to me. “I never meant for this, Rose. Getting out wasn’t supposed to be messy,” she says quietly.
Getting out? “I don’t see how this situation wasn’t ever not going to be messy, Mother. I’m not sure I’ve even grasped what the situation is yet.”
Her gaze holds mine for a second, as if deliberating what to say next. “I do not like groveling, Rose, and I certainly do not like to be made a fool of. It all came crashing down far sooner than I anticipated, and I wasn’t ready to get us out without help.”
We push through the doors and into my grandparents' building. My steps faltering as her words sink in.
“Wait… you knew?” I look up, find her walking ahead, not listening. “You knew?” I say louder, causing her to turn sharply around, her expression frantic.
“Not here,” she hisses, as my grandparents call our names.
But shock and rage have taken hold of me, and I couldn’t care less what they or anyone else thinks of me.
“You knew what Dad was doing, and yet you played happy families anyway?” I accuse, my high-pitched tone echoing around the foyer.
Every family dinner, every party, and fake smile… how many years did my mother know we were benefiting off the backs of others while she smiled her pretty smile and pretended she was lady of the manor? How long was she sleeping with Luke’s father
while my own stole his money? She calls him a criminal, yet she’s as bad as him. They deserve each other.
Her face turns hard as her hand grabs my arm, pinching painfully. “Yes, I knew, Rose,” she hisses. “I knew, and I played the game while I plotted our escape. Do you think it was easy for me, pretending everything was okay? Because I assure you it was not. But I gritted my teeth, and I held my tongue so you could have a future. I did it for you, Rose.”
“Me?” I laugh, tearing myself away from her. “Don’t kid yourself, Mother. You’ve wanted this life for way longer than me, and as for myself, I’m beginning to see it’s nothing but poison dressed in lace.”
“Darling,” my grandmother purrs, pulling us both from our heated anger. “It is so good to see you.”
“Everything all right?” my grandfather adds, his tone sharp.
“Yes, we’re just so tired from the flight,” my mother replies, smiling wide.
His gaze holds mine, willing me to reveal the truth, but I don’t. I wield my rage and force it into a ball inside me, allowing my face to soften. “It’s so good to see you, Grandpa,” I lie, sickly sweet. “I’ve been missing New York since I was thirteen.”
“Isn’t she just the image of Violet, Charles,” my grandmother gushes, touching his arm. “Such a beautiful young lady.”
“Shall we head up?” my mother asks, saving me from talking.
Together, we walk toward the elevator the image of a perfect family reunion when below the surface, we stifle the truths we have inside. The hateful words and poisonous secrets, which run like molten lava through our veins. We cover it all with fake smiles and expensive clothes, all in the name of the game. I stare at my mother’s back, imagining pushing her from her perfect feet, but the truth is, I’m as bad as her. I’m playing the game right now, because just like her, I’ve no idea who I am without money and status. In the same position, I’d have probably done the same. It’s why I hate her the most. When I look at her, I see my worst features reflected back.
“As luck would have it,” my grandmother begins as the concierge takes our bags, following us into the elevator and pressing the button for our floor. “A lovely two-bed has been empty for a few days, and your grandfather worked his magic and acquired the keys.”
In other words, he threw money at it. It’s what most of the wealthy do when they need to perform magic. And honestly, it works every time. And as we step inside my new home for the conceivable future, I’m eternally grateful for my Grandfather’s skills at magic.
The first thing I notice is the floor-to-ceiling window looking out over the Hudson, and as I walk through the white-on-white apartment and peer down through the glass, I see the city sprawling out below me. There’s more white in the open galley kitchen, every surface glossy and shining. The appliances gleam silver, and when I open the cupboards, I find it stocked with food.
“I had someone buy a few essentials,” my grandmother says, smiling at me. “And there’s a swimming pool in the building too.”
“Cool,” I reply, wondering what my grandmother’s idea of indulgence is if this amount of food is the essentials.
“Well, we’ll leave you to it,” my grandfather interrupts, his voice gruff. “We’ll expect you both at seven.”
I nearly groan aloud. I just hope there are at least four hours for me to sleep because if I’m expected to wash up and make myself presentable and keep my perfect façade in place, I’m going to need to recharge my batteries.
“Yes, Father, and thank you again for this. We’re both so grateful.”
God, do I sound as fake and kiss-arse when I’m pretending to be nice?
“Yes, thank you, Grandpa,” I add when my mother fixes me with a stare.
“We couldn’t have you on the streets now, could we?” my grandmother replies happily. I don’t even think she’d pretending to be nice; she’s just oblivious to the undercurrents in the room.
“I’m just surprised it didn’t happen sooner. I warned you about him. Maybe in the future, you’ll heed my words, Violet. Save yourself the bother.” He says every word with a politeness that leaves no room for argument, and I begin to get a clearer picture of why my mother is how she is. They most likely drove her into the arms of an English man and onto a plane.
We all exchange another round of polite smiles before finally, we’re left alone. Dropping my handbag where I stand, I let out a huge groan as I stretch my hands above my head.
“Thank God that’s over,” I mutter. “If you need me, I’ll be in the shower and then bed…. So don’t need me.”
It’s a testament to my mother’s own exhaustion that she doesn’t chastise my words or bags I’ve left lying on the floor. Walking away without another thought, I go in search of the shower and then hopefully a nice comfy bed.
Chapter 5
We’ve been in Manhattan a week, and already my mother sounds like she’s never lived in England, there’s not a murmur of British in her. It’s as if London never existed, as if Dad never existed. I’ve asked about him, but whenever I do, I’m either ignored, or she politely steers the conversation in another direction.
Everything I have learned has been from internet searches. He was arrested and charged, with bail set at an amount I’m not sure he’ll have. Crimes include fraud, theft, tax evasion, and I’m sure more. The media is making him out to be a devious crime lord, but that’s not the man I have in my memories. I spend a good deal of my time looking back through my life trying to pinpoint the moment he went from father to crime lord. All our assets have been frozen. The papers wrote about that, and they also wrote about me and Mum and our disappearing act. Not that they have any pictures to go with the headlines, but they have plenty of my father being cuffed and taken away. Obviously, my mother had been right to whisk us away as fast as she did, because I can imagine if we were still in London, there’d be more news articles on the sorrowful, now poor, wife and daughter.
My accent, of course, is as British as ever. I might have been born here, but I wasn’t raised here, and it shows every time I open my mouth. I get asked if I’m on vacation wherever I go, by waiters, staff, a random person in a restaurant bathroom, and when I explain I’ve moved here, they ask for further details. I’ve no idea why complete strangers think it’s okay to ask for private information, but they do, and I am beginning to loathe it.
I’m going through my days acting as if everything is fine when inside, I’m bursting with unasked questions. It’s as if I have this flashing neon sign on my head, saying, My father’s a criminal. I’m from a broken home. But only I can see it. I’ve shopped for clothes, had lunches out with my mother and grandmother, and wandered New York City as if everything is normal, but it isn’t. I don’t feel normal anymore, and I wonder if others can see it too. Can they see the turmoil I hide beneath? Can they see the tears I hold in until the midnight hours? Do they hear the voice inside of me screaming to be heard?
If my mother does, she doesn’t say. There’s no wonder really; I’m sure she’s too busy ignoring her own voices to be aware of mine. And the most fucked up thing of all… I keep reaching for my phone to contact Clare or Luke. I’ve written messages and only realized what I’m doing as I’ve gone to press send. I’m alone, and it’s the worst feeling in the world.
“What are you wearing?” my mother snaps as I walk out of my bedroom.
Pausing, I look down at myself. Jeans and a baggy sweater. Not my usual attire, I must admit, but I’m not in the mood for the world today and plan to spend the day on the couch watching Netflix.
“Go get changed immediately. We need to leave in thirty.”
I groan. “Mum, I’m not in the mood for lunches today.”
“Rose, we’ve got our appointment at Albany Nightingale’s Private School this morning.”
“School.” My eyes widen, brain snapping awake. “You want me to start school?” She’s crazy if she thinks I can find the energy to survive school at the minute.
She laughs. “Did y
ou think you were just going to laze around for the rest of your days?”
I don’t answer because her snotty tone doesn’t deserve one. Instead, I ignore her and go and collect a pastry off the kitchen counter and pour myself a coffee from the pot.
“Rose, I’m serious,” she snaps. “Go get changed.”
“I’m depressed, Mother. I can’t handle school. Besides, I’d just started my last year. I’ll homeschool instead.” I stuff the croissant in my mouth and select a cinnamon swirl. Grandmother must have had them sent up because my mother sure as hell wouldn’t let me eat anything with this much sugar and fat.
“Depressed. What a load of nonsense.” She looks down her nose at me. “I’ll find you a shrink then.”
Not going to win that easily, Mother. I smile internally. “Good. I’ll tell them all about my criminal father and manipulative mother. They’ll have a field day.”
Her faces twists, revealing the monster beneath. It’s almost a relief to see her fake smile fade. Marching toward me, a thread of fear worms its way down my spine. Have I pushed her a step too far this time?
“Now you listen to me,” she snarls, ripping the pastry from my mouth and throwing it onto the countertop. “You’re lucky your grandfather was willing to pull some strings; otherwise, you’d have ended up in public school. Now get your butt back into the bedroom and don’t come out until you look and sound like the daughter I raised.”
I shouldn’t push her, but I do. I’m on a downward spiral and I can’t seem to stop. I’m self-destructing and I don’t have the energy to care.
“Newsflash, Mother. I stopped being the daughter you raised the day I found out my family was one big lie. You remember the day, Mother…. It was the day both our crowns were ripped from our heads.”
The Destruction of Rose: A High School Bully Romance (Albany Nightingale Duet Book 1) Page 3
