by Mercy Amare
The Fab Life.
The Kihanna Saga, #1.
By Mercy Amare
Copyright 2013 Mercy Amare
Smashwords edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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For my husband, who always believes in me.
I love you.
Saturday, August 15
Mountain View, California
9:57 AM
Once Upon a Time.
Life often takes us by surprise. But my life just got a nuclear bomb dropped on it, with a note from my mother that simply says “good luck”.
I’ve spent seventeen years of my life wondering who my father is. My mom always told me he was a dead-beat who didn’t want anything to do with me. Turns out, he didn’t even know that I existed until two weeks ago. And he’s definitely not a dead-beat. My dad is Mark Evers. Maybe you’ve heard of him? He is the creator and CEO of Staying Connected, the world’s largest social networking site.
Once he found out about me, he flew to see me. Of course I had to do a DNA test… I can’t blame the guy for that. My mom is kind of crazy, though he dated her… he slept with her… (It’s really gross to think about anybody having sex with my mom). So maybe he’s crazy too? I don’t know. But we got the test results back, and it is true. I, Kihanna Foster, am Mark Evers’ daughter.
Well, actually I am Kihanna Evers now. He insisted that I change my last name to Evers, and I wasn’t keen on it, but my mom thought it was best. I went my whole life being Kihanna Foster, so Kihanna Evers is going to take a while to get used to.
As if finding my real dad wasn’t enough, my mom decided it was best if I go live with him. I’m about to start my senior year, and she expects me to pack up and move across the country, but do I get a say in it? No.
So here I am, after a long flight from St. Louis to Mountain View, in the back of a limo all by myself on my way to my new home. My dad is too busy to pick me up from the airport, and I am about to start my new journey in life. Alone. Or at least that’s how I feel… very alone.
I push my headphones into my ears, and turn up the music. Music helps calm me down. Normally, I’ve got music playing 24/7. But today the music is doing nothing for me. I don’t think anything could help my anxiety at this point.
I pull out the goodbye note my mom wrote me, and read it once more. I already read it about twenty times on the plane.
Kihanna,
I can never tell you how sorry I am for not telling you the truth. Keeping you separated from your father was my worst mistake, and I will regret it every day for the rest of my life. I know that it doesn’t matter now, but I didn’t tell you so I could protect you. I didn’t want you growing up in that lifestyle. But I was very wrong.
I hope you enjoy the time with your dad. Enjoy your senior year. Make new friends. Get into a good college. I want you to have a good life… You deserve it.
Know that I love you, and I will miss you every day that we are apart.
Love, Mom.
I put the letter away and wipe the tears from under my eyes. I had a good life with my mom. Sure, she’s not a multibillionaire, but we had everything we needed and more. We lived in a nice two-bedroom home in a nice neighborhood. I went to a good school, and I had lots of friends. I never asked for more.
I just hate feeling out of control. Every decision is theirs, not mine. I need to feel in control of something. But the closer I get to my dad’s house, the more out of control I feel.
As we get closer to our destination, I can’t help but notice how big the houses are getting. Each one is a little bigger than the previous one. After about fifteen minutes in the car, we finally turn right. As we pull into my dad’s house, I let out a surprised gasp. I guess I’m still trying to comprehend “billionaire”, because everything is way more extravagant than I pictured. There are iron gates that lead into the estates, and a security person is actually sitting in a booth. I wonder if they’re always there? The gates open and we drive down a long pathway toward the house. Along the sides of the driveway, there are tall hedges blocking any view.
It’s about a two-minute drive from the end of the driveway to the house, but it feels like an eternity. The first thing that I see is a huge circle fountain. There is water spraying into the fountain from tiny lion statues. I’ve never seen anything like it before.
In front of the house… No wait, not house, it’s a mansion… There are tons of colorful flowers, and palm trees. There is a concrete walkway made of stone, and there are huge columns that lead up to a huge double door. It’s glass, and has an elegant brass outline.
The limo door opens, and it startles me. As I climb out, I am feeling very intimidated.
This is where I live now.
“Wow,” I hear myself say.
“Mrs. Evers is waiting on you inside,” the limo driver tells me. It’s then that I realize I’ve just been standing there, staring at the mansion in front of me.
“Right,” I say. “Where is my luggage?”
Just then a couple of guys dressed in butler uniforms come out. They grab my purple luggage out of the trunk.
“I can carry that,” I quickly tell them. They ignore me.
Right. Because when you’re rich you don’t actually have to carry your own stuff.
“Follow us, Miss Evers,” one of them instructs me. So, I follow them to the front doors. They open the door for me, and a blast of cold air hits me in the face.
I am not sure what I was expecting on the inside, but this is definitely not it. There isn’t much in the entryway. The floor is white marble; there are two elegant staircases that lead upstairs. There is a balcony at the top of the stairs, and a hallway on both sides.
The staircase is the same white marble as the floor, and the railings are brass, just like on the door. Two large white columns are underneath the balcony.
I look up and see a huge chandelier. It looks very expensive, and it’s very clean. Do they have a chandelier cleaner? Who would want to climb up that high?
I hear a pair of heels clacking against the marble floor, and look up to see an attractive woman in a very expensive-looking suit walking toward me. She has bleached-blonde hair, and her tan is way too dark. Her large breasts are halfway hanging out of her too-tight top.
“You must be Kihanna.” She smiles. It’s definitely a fake smile.
God, please do not let this be my stepmom.
I smile back. “Yes.”
She pulls me into a hug, and it’s then that I smell her perfume. She smells good at first, like vanilla, but then I realize it’s a bit overpowering. I hold my breath until she releases me.
“I’m Veronica Evers, and I am very excited to meet you.” She doesn’t look that excited. But her face is so tight, I’m sure it’s hard for her to show any emotions.
Just then, another person joins us — a tall blonde guy, with a surfer tan, and pretty blue eyes.
“This is my son, Toby Anderson. He’s your stepbrother,” she explains.
Yeah, because I wouldn’t have been able to figure that out on my own. I continue smiling, and my cheeks are starting to hurt from all the fake smiling. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Veronica and Toby.” It is a lie, but I’m sure I will get used to them, right? They are family.
Toby pulls me in for a hug, and squeezes me way too tight. His hands are also way too low on my back, and he smells like pot. “The pleasure is all mine,” he whispers in my ear. I back away and try to hide the d
isgusted look on my face.
“Toby, why don’t you show your new sister to her room,” Veronica suggests.
“Stepsister,” Toby reminds her, insinuating the word step, and then he winks at me.
I want to roll my eyes at him, but I don’t. I don’t want my new family to get the wrong impression of me. I will just suck it up.
“After you, sister,” Toby says, motioning toward the staircase.
I walk up the stairs, and he follows me. I glance back at him, and see him checking out my butt.
Oh my God — my stepbrother is checking me out! Gross!
As we walk toward my room, Toby points out his own bedroom. “If you ever get bored, or lonely, come see me.”
Yeah, this has to stop. “Not going to happen. And don’t ever check me out again. You’re my brother, and it’s gross.”
“Stepbrother,” he protests, licking his lips. “And you have a nice body.” His eyes are looking at my chest as he says this. I cross my arms in an attempt to cover my breasts.
“Just show me my room.” I glare at him.
My bedroom better have a lock on the door. It’s the last room on the right. I turn on the light and look around the room and am in shock. It’s huge and foreign.
There is a king-size four-poster bed with a beautiful cream-colored bedspread — I’m guessing the thread count is like a million. I’ve never felt sheets so soft in my life. Everything matches the bed — the dresser, the nightstand, the chest, and even the love seat in the corner. Who has a love seat in their bedroom? That’s just weird. A set of double doors leads out to a balcony, which overlooks the pool.
“Your bathroom is through that door.” Toby points. “And then your closet is there. My mom already stocked it. She couldn’t wait to go shopping for you. She’s always wanted a life-sized Barbie.”
I turn to him. “Thanks for showing me my room. You can leave now.”
“Come on, don’t you want me to stay?” He pulls a joint out of his pocket. “I brought party favors.”
“I don’t smoke, but thanks for the offer. Now, seriously, leave.” I basically push him out the door and shut it. I am thankful to see that it does indeed have a lock. I decide it will definitely be locked every night before I go to bed.
“You know where to find me,” I hear him shout from the other side.
I decide to go to my bathroom and check it out first. Inside, everything is too white, and too perfect. There is white marble floor, with pretty black patterns. There is a huge shower. I look inside and sigh dreamily. I cannot wait to take a shower in there.
There is a huge marble counter, and a beautiful brass sink. There is a large, antique mirror hanging over the sink. I look up and see that there is also a chandelier in my bathroom.
Oh my God.
Some people go to bed hungry every night, wondering where their next meal will come from, and I have a chandelier in my bathroom. I suddenly feel guilty. I shouldn’t. I didn’t buy this stuff. My dad is the billionaire, not me.
I leave the bathroom and head toward my closet. I’m scared. Toby says that Veronica stocked it, and I’m scared to see exactly what she stocked it with.
The first thing I notice when I walk in is that my closet has a chandelier. What is it with this house and chandeliers? This one is black and has beads handing from it.
The closet is fully stocked. There are probably over a hundred pairs of shoes, all color coordinated. Before today I owned five pairs of shoes — one pair of tennis shoes, two pairs of Toms, and two pairs of flip-flops. The shoes stocked here look expensive and uncomfortable. I’ve never worn heels before… They’re pretty, but they’re just not me. I’m going to have to talk to her about it. Maybe she can take them back, or donate them to somebody who needs them.
The space for clothes is ridiculous, and every inch is filled.
“I had your clothes arranged by designer and color,” I hear Veronica say from behind me. “They should all fit, but we will have Marco come over and alter them if you need.”
“Marco?” I ask.
“He’s my personal assistant,” she explains. “He’s also really great with a needle. You will love him.”
Wow. She has a personal assistant.
“Every Sunday morning, we have brunch at the country club. I’m sure that your Walmart jeans are fine where you’re from, but I would appreciate it if you wore something a bit more elegant. Maybe you could wear a nice dress, but no flip-flops,” she says sweetly. “Maybe I could help you?”
Did she really just say that? I look down at my jeans. There is absolutely nothing wrong with them.
“I’ve been dressing myself for seventeen years. I’m quite capable of picking out my own clothing. But thanks for the offer.”
She looks stunned for a second. “I didn’t know if you knew what was appropriate for the country club. Your father said you were… poor.”
She says the word poor like it’s a dirty word.
“Me and my poor friends used to sneak into the country club every summer to swim,” I mock her. “I’m very aware of what rich people wear.”
She looks shocked. “You poor dear. I’ll let you unpack. I’ll be around if you need me.”
I watch as she walks out of my closet and out my bedroom door. I go lock the door so I won’t be surprised again. I fall back onto my oversized comfy bed.
Hello, Kihanna Evers, goodbye Kihanna Foster.
6:23 PM
Because I love you.
I am woken up by a buzzing sound.
I look around, trying to figure out where I am, and then I realize, I’m home. I shake my head, and sit up. My phone is sitting on the nightstand, and I look to see my mom is calling me.
“Hello,” I answer.
“So? How is it?” she asks, excited.
“It’s… huge,” I answer, unable to think of another word. “Their house is a mansion, and there is a chandelier in basically every room.”
“That sounds nice.”
I roll my eyes. “Right. If it were a museum.”
“How’s your father?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him yet. He’s working.” I’m still annoyed that he hasn’t come to see me yet. What is more important than his daughter?
“And your stepmom and stepbrother?”
Ugh. “I don’t want to talk about it. Can’t I just come home?”
“You are home, Kihanna. You will get used to it, I promise.” Her voice is tight, and I can tell she’s trying not to cry. I’m still wondering why she sent me here. She obviously wants me there with her. It’s not like Mark made her send me here.
I feel tears start to build up in my eyes, but I blink them away. I refuse to let her hear me cry. “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. Don’t forget to keep me updated. I love you.”
“Love you too.” I hang up the phone, letting a few tears drip from my eyes. I liked my life better before I was Mark Evers’s daughter. More than anything, I want that life back.
I hear a knock on my door, and I quickly wipe away my tears. I’m hoping it’s not Veronica or Toby. I jump off the bed, and open the door. I’m relieved to see Mark… or, err… Dad, standing on the other side.
“Hey. I got a surprise for you.” He’s excited. He pulls me in for a big hug. “I’m so glad you’re here, Kihanna.”
And for the first time since being here, I’m glad I am too. This hug feels amazing. I’ve missed him being in my life for seventeen years, and I want to make up for every second… I just wish I didn’t have to be a thousand miles away from my mom to do it.
I follow my dad down the stairs and out the front door. When we walk outside, I see a very expensive-looking black car with a huge purple bow on it.
“Your mom told me your favorite color was purple,” he says, and then holds out a set of keys to me. “It’s a Porche 911 turbo.”
I look at the sleek black car — it even has black rims. It’s nice — way too nice for me, considering I just got my
license about three months ago. Mom doesn’t even like me driving her slightly used SUV. She’s never said anything, but I can always tell by the look on her face when I ask to borrow it.
“Are you sure you want to give me such a nice car? I’d be okay with something less expensive, and maybe even used…”
“I want you to have the best,” he counters.
“But…”
He cuts me off. “Kihanna, I just gave you a Porsche and you’re trying to talk me out of it. Just accept it. I bought it for you because I love you. It’s the least I can do for missing seventeen years of your life.”
It’s the first time my dad has ever said I love you to me. I can’t help but smile. “Thank you, Dad. I love you, too.”
I walk out to the car, and slowly walk around it. It’s a beautiful car, and it’s convertible. “If I was a blonde, I would pretty much be the cliché California girl,” I tell my dad. “Maybe I should dye my hair.”
He laughs. “Don’t. Your hair is beautiful.”
My hair is long and wavy. It goes halfway down my back. It’s caramel-colored with natural copper highlights. Everybody always asks me if I die it, because of the unique color. I always wondered where I got it from. My mom’s hair is dark brown. Now I know. It’s very similar to my dad’s, except his is lighter and is starting to turn gray.
“Thanks,” I say, almost timidly. I know it seems silly, but it’s the first compliment I’ve gotten from my dad. I can’t help but be excited.
“Now, let’s go get dinner,” he says, getting in the passenger side of my car. I get in the driver’s side and let out a little squeal. Even though this is way too much car for me, I can’t help but be excited. It’s a beautiful car.
“Wow, this is amazing!” It smells new. I’ve never been in a new car before. My mom always buys used. I think I get what all the new car smell fuss is about now.
“I’m glad you like it.”
