“No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do.”
At that, I received a sharp, silvery glare. Eric glanced at Garrett, who kept walking like we weren’t squabbling like children in front of Celeste’s prized Gustav Klimt.
“Jane,” Eric said. “It’s done. We’re done. You need to get it through your head.”
“You’re so full of shit, you’re basically a compost factory,” I retorted. “Were we done when you held my hand through the service like a child? I know you’re in pain, but you’re also jerking me around. You disappeared for almost two weeks, and I have a feeling you’re going to do it again as soon as the lawyer tells us whatever he has to say. So, we need to talk. Now.”
Eric just shook his head and turned away like he was dealing with an errant toddler, not me. “Later,” he said. “When you’ve calmed down.”
“I am not doing this again with you!” I hissed, grabbing at his shirt sleeve.
Eric whirled around with a face like thunder. The bruise over his right cheekbone was yellowish now, but still evident.
“Who did that?” I asked as I stepped forward, floating my hand over the spot. “Was it him? Was it my…” I couldn’t bring myself to say “father.”
He jerked away, like my fingers were a knife. “It’s none of your fucking business.”
“None of my business? I’m your wife, Eric.”
“No, you’re not!” he snapped. “We’ve been over this. Neither of us signed the license. I left before we could, and I’m sure as fuck not doing it now. We’re not married, Jane.”
“You keep saying that,” I said. “But we said the vows. We exchanged the rings. The m-minister pronounced us man and w-wife. I asked—according to h-him, we’re married.”
I hated—absolutely hated—the way my voice warbled, how I couldn’t stop the tears rising, and that my face was heating up. I hated that I cared, that I had opened my heart to this man at all. Sure, I had been furious before we said our vows, but I still said them. I still—God help me—wanted the bastard.
Because I thought I had belonged to him, and him to me. We were a mess together, but he was my mess.
Wasn’t he?
Eric took a deep breath, and slowly, the anger flowed out of his body just as quickly as it had arrived.
“Jane,” he said more gently. “You’re off the hook, all right? My family, everything. You’ll be compensated for this madness, and you don’t have to deal with this insanity anymore. It’s better this way. Really, it is.”
“I don’t believe that,” I said, reaching for him again. “Eric, please, I know I was angry at the wedding, but we’re—we’re not finished. Right?”
“Eric?”
We both turned at the voice calling down the hall, a voice that was liable to make me snap in fucking half.
Eric and I spoke in unison: “What the hell are you doing here?”
Caitlyn Calvert emerged from the parlor entrance, immaculately dressed in a demure sheath dress with a Peter Pan collar. Her tawny, light brown hair was pulled back in a neat French twist. Blue eyes blinked innocently at the two of us. She was Bambi reincarnated as an Upper East Side socialite.
“Eric,” she cried as if we hadn’t both just cursed at her. “Oh, Des, we’ve been so worried about you! Where have you been?”
“I’m sorry, what?” I stepped in front of Eric before she could get to him. “You practically ruined my wedding, you psycho! What in the fuck are you doing here?”
“Jane, is that coarse language really appropriate at this time?” she asked irritably. “I’m Nina’s best friend. Of course I was going to support her and the family. Why are you here? I thought you wouldn’t be particularly eager to show your face after you embarrassed Celeste the way you did.”
“That’s enough.” Eric’s voice was machete-sharp, and I was relieved when his cutting gaze aimed right at Caitlyn. “Cait, you need to leave.”
“What? Des, let’s just calm down.” She extended a slim hand, like she wanted to cup his face. “You don’t want me to leave—”
“I do,” Eric said. “You think I don’t know what you did? You knew exactly where Jane was before the ceremony.”
“Desi—”
“Nina told me everything on our way to the gravesite. You made sure Jane knew we slept together because you wanted to break us up. Isn’t that right? Or maybe you just wanted to embarrass her.”
Caitlyn’s doll eyes blinked like she was having a conniption. “Eric…it was just a…I really didn’t—you can’t say that night didn’t mean anything to you! I was special!”
I snorted. “You and half of Boston.”
The woman really had no clue whom she was dealing with. Sleeping with Eric, the king of the one-night stand was about as special as trying on a pair of jeans. Back then, if he didn’t take you home, he wouldn’t even remember your name.
Special? And as far as I knew, only a dead girl and I could lay claim to that particular title. I wasn’t sure that was something to admire, but there it was.
“I’m not your Desi. I’m not your Eric. I’m sorry that night meant more to you than it did to me, but you have to let it go,” Eric said. “The question isn’t whether it meant anything to me. The question is why I never wanted more. Because really, Caitlyn, why would I want a hamburger when I had steak at home?”
For a second, I saw Eric’s grandmother in his eyes. It was the first evidence I’d ever seen that Eric actually shared her DNA, but it was obvious—the family-born ability to cut a person down with a single glance.
Caitlyn actually sank like she’d been chopped at the knees.
“I—”
“Get out of here, Caitlyn,” Eric said. “I don’t care what Nina or Calvin say. Until the lawyer says otherwise, this apartment belongs to me, and you’re trespassing. So get the hell out before I have my security drop you down the garbage chute.”
Caitlyn’s mouth opened and closed like a fish before she slowly backed away.
“You’ll regret this,” she said as her face twisted in anger. And then she turned and flounced toward the elevators.
“Well, that was a waste of Botox,” I remarked as she disappeared down the hall. “I think she ruined the whole procedure with that scowl of hers.”
Eric was flexing his fingers like he’d just won a fight with a knock-out punch. He didn’t, however, look particularly victorious. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Aside from the part where you plagiarized Paul Newman, that was pretty impressive.”
Eric looked up. “What?”
“The thing about the hamburger. He, um, said that about his wife, Joanne Woodward.” Suddenly, I couldn’t stop fidgeting. Playing with my chain, examining my manicure, toying with my hair. Was this how you broke up? By pronouncing your love for a person to someone else?
When I looked up, Eric’s eyes were wide, all traces of anger vanished.
“I know,” he said quietly. “I read it in a magazine a few months ago. I remember thinking that it made a lot of sense.”
A few months ago was when he had finally confessed that he loved me. When he chased me into the ocean to shout it over the surf crashing on a sandbar. Then he dropped to his knees on the walk back to his family’s house, clasped his waterlogged watch around my wrist, and asked me to marry him for real, not just for a check.
A few months ago was when we stopped being an act and became something else.
“I’m not a piece of meat,” I said, though the argument was weak. Who was I kidding? I’d be anything he wanted if he would just come back.
Eric’s eyes closed, and when they opened again, the longing I saw there was so forceful I almost had to step backward.
“I know,” he said. “You’re so, so much more, Jane.”
But instead of pulling me close and kissing me, like I wanted to do with every fiber of my body, angry or not, he took a step away and rubbed the back of his neck violently.
“Look,” he said. “I won’t go, all right? But I just need to get t
hrough today. Can you do that with me, Jane? Afterward, we’ll talk. We’ll make a proper end of it. I promise.” He blinked. “I don’t want to leave again without saying goodbye.”
For a moment, I felt frozen there under the paintings and the gilt crown moldings.
“Come on,” Eric said, holding out his hand. “We’ll get through it together.”
I looked at his hand for a moment, unsure of what I should do. But in the end, I took it, not caring how pathetic it made me. I took it because I wasn’t sure if this time would be the last.
Eight
After a few hours of eating shrimp cocktail and making polite, awkward conversation in the parlor, Eric, his family, and I piled into the late Jonathan de Vries’s office to listen to Celeste’s lawyer read her will. It was an unnecessary gesture, of course, but this was what Celeste wanted: a formal family gathering orchestrated at her whim. A pronouncement. A bit of theater.
Heather and Violet took seats on a big leather couch against the built-in bookshelves. Nina and Calvin assumed the chairs in front of the desk while Eric and I, still holding hands, stood under the Ansel Adams landscapes in the back of the room. Some other extended family members loitered in between, but those invited were a select few.
The lawyer briskly entered the room holding his briefcase and looked very self-important as he took a seat behind the giant carved desk. The room quieted as everyone watched the man remove the will, a deceptively small document, from a leather-bound folder and spread it carefully across the desktop.
He cleared his throat. “Good evening, everyone. First and foremost, please accept my deepest condolences regarding the loss of Mrs. de Vries. She was a great lady and will be dearly missed.”
Not a face in the room moved. Not even a sniffle. The lawyer cleared his throat again.
“For those of you I have not had the privilege of meeting, my name is Thomas J. Clark from the estate firm of Clark and Levine. You may call me Tom. I have been appointed executor of the last surviving will of Celeste Annika Van Dusen de Vries.”
He looked around meaningfully, as if speaking the name of the deceased would chase out some fake attendees from the room. No one moved.
“It was the wish of Mrs. de Vries to have her will read to those specifically named in it before submitting the document for probate, which is why your presence has been requested here today. I personally drafted the will for Mrs. de Vries several times over the past few months, the last iterations dated August eighth and November second of this year.”
There was a low murmur—clearly some substantial changes had been made that the family was not aware of. Beside me, Eric stiffened. The dates meant something to me too. The first was, after all, the day after our engagement party in the Hamptons. The date we had become something…more. The second, of course, was the day of our wedding.
Absently, my hand moved to toy with the rings dangling down my dress front. Eric watched their progress with a veiled expression, then fixed his gaze to the front of the room. A few seconds later, however, I felt a large hand slip around my waist, and he pulled me against his tall, strong body.
“I will now read aloud the last will and testament of Celeste de Vries, per the wishes of the deceased,” said Tom. “As the document is relatively short, please wait until the end of the reading with any questions, which I will answer to the best of my abilities.”
He looked around for a brief moment. Still, no one in the de Vries family moved.
“Just read it, Tom,” snapped Calvin. “It’s been a long day.”
“Yes,” said Tom. “Well.
“‘I, Celeste Annika Van Dusen de Vries, resident in the City of New York, County of New York, State of New York, being of sound mind, not acting under duress or undue influence—”’
“Just get to the parts where she says who gets what, please,” Calvin cut in. “We know all of this. She was sick, but she wasn’t incapable.”
“Calvin!” Nina hissed at her husband.
“What?” he asked.
Eric shook his head and mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “dick,” but I couldn’t tell for sure.
Tom blinked around the room. “Would everyone prefer that I do that? She truly did request that we read the document in its entirety, but it’s not strictly necessary, I suppose…”
His uncertain gaze landed on Eric, who stiffened.
“I think it’s best if you skip to the sections that pertain directly to everyone here, Tom, and summarize the rest, if you don’t mind,” Eric said, much to the visible relief of everyone else. “Calvin’s right. It has been a long day. We’re all fairly beat.”
“Especially those of us who’ve actually been here for the last two weeks,” muttered Calvin. But no one else in the room backed him.
Tom, however, just looked relieved. “Very well,” he said as he reexamined the document. “It directs that the funeral expenses be paid out of a fund she set aside for the purpose, which has been done. She also appoints me as her executor, which I am. And then she splits up her assets to beneficiaries—”
Everyone in the room immediately straightened.
“—which I’ll read without addresses, as follows:
“To my daughter, Violet Arabella de Vries Astor, in addition to her current trust and holdings within the de Vries corporation, I leave my jewelry collection in its entirety, my car and driver, and the property and holdings at 1184 Southampton Road, Southampton, Long Island, along with the following sum for its maintenance—”
Violet preened, clearly happy with her lot. She had received the massive estate in Long Island, which, by my Zillow explorations, was valued at somewhere around one hundred and forty million dollars. And that wasn’t even counting the cars, art, furnishings, and any other priceless commodities on the property.
“To my daughter-in-law, Heather Denise Keeler née de Vries née Stallsmith, I bequeath her current residence, the townhouse at 170 East Sixty-seventh Street, New York, New York, along with the contents of the following accounts to maintain said property—” Tom looked up. “Er, would you like me to read the account numbers too?”
Huh. I hadn’t realized Heather, despite being remarried, still lived on de Vries property. Celeste must have cared for her more than I assumed.
“Good lord,” Calvin muttered to Nina, who did her best to shush him again. “Of course not. Just read on, man. Honestly!”
Tom readjusted his glasses before he continued:
“To my dedicated butler, Garrett Donaldson, I leave my property at 8614 Park Avenue and everything in it, excluding the jewelry listed below, as well as the contents of the following accounts for the property’s maintenance, HOA fees, and taxes until his end of life—”
An audible gasp interrupted the man once again—this time it was from Violet.
“She can’t be serious!” she cried. “Mother left the penthouse to a servant? It’s one of the most valuable properties in her estate! It’s been in the family for nearly a hundred years!”
“I assure you, ma’am, it’s correct,” Tom replied even as he checked the will again. “She was quite adamant about it. Mr. Donaldson has served the family faithfully for most of his life, or so she said. She wanted him to live out the remainder of his in what she said was his home as much as it was hers. The remainder of the building, however, stays within the general estate, I assure you, but she wished for the penthouse to be subdivided and gifted to Mr. Donaldson.”
I smiled to myself. This also, I hadn’t expected—Celeste de Vries becoming a tool for the redistribution of wealth, at least a little bit, upon her death.
“Vive la révolution,” I murmured.
Eric looked down with a muffled grin that revealed one dimple. “Your French is still horrible,” he said below the chatter of the room.
I hid a smile of my own. It seemed in poor taste to make fun of the grieving, but it did feel a little like Celeste was probably cackling over this exact moment from beyond the grave.
“All right, all right,” Tom said. “You can fight it if you like, Mr. Gardner, but I’ll tell you right now, Mrs. de Vries took every precaution to guard her wishes. You’ll be hard pressed to find a judge who will overturn this in any state, much less New York.”
There was another rumble of dismay—clearly the penthouse was a hot commodity with this group, although I wouldn’t have wanted to touch the winding old labyrinth, myself. I’d be too afraid David Bowie or a bunch of puppeteered goblins would burst into song behind every corner.
“Dance, magic, dance,” I sang to myself quietly.
Eric just frowned at me blankly.
The group quieted when Calvin rapped his knuckles on the edge of the desk.
“What else?” he barked. “What else did dear Grandmother decide to ‘surprise’ us with? Can you give us the Cliff’s Notes?”
Tom cast a sharp look in Calvin’s direction, but seemed to think better of his retort as he went back to scanning the document.
“Well, there’s another sum and property for Nina Gardner—seventy-five million plus an apartment on Lexington. Another few small amounts designated for great-grandchildren—small for her, that is. Ten million each in a trust, to be released at age thirty or when they get married. Another few odds and ends to the gardeners at Southampton who took care of her roses, and another small amount for her brother, Rufus. Ah, and to Ms. Jane Lee Lefferts, the sum of fifty million dollars, to be dispensed immediately into the following account, provided she meets a certain condition of Eric’s inheritance.”
Tom proceeded to rattle off the USBC number, but it was masked by the second round of uproar that traveled around the room.
“What?”
“She must be joking!”
“She gave fifty million dollars to her?”
I, however, was just finding it hard to breathe at all. Fifty million dollars. Fifty million dollars. More than double what I’d originally been promised for marrying her grandson.
I couldn’t even begin to fathom that kind of money, couldn’t even understand what it looked like. I only knew this was a life changer. Not just for me or my mother. But for anyone in my family who came after me. This was an income source for literally generations.
The Kiss Plot: Book Two of the Quicksilver Trilogy Page 8
