by Nikki Wild
“And where has that gotten you?” I asked, growing weary of his tone.
“Happy,” he explained. “Once I understood the ramifications of losing the inheritance, it was just William Carlyle versus the world. I made do. I survived. Nay, I persevered. And from that perseverance came my life now, with this wonderful woman, a well-paying job, and a son who has proven me proud.”
“I don’t think I understand where you’re going with this,” I stated bluntly, taking another deep swig of the whiskey.
Father sighed tiredly. “You’ve always been so focused on the bloody money. Every major decision you’ve ever made has included your grandparents. Your entire life since adolescence has been run by their expectations. Don’t you wish you had freedom? Don’t you want to know who you are without that in your future?”
“I can have my freedom when it’s mine,” I grumbled through gritted teeth. “When I can do whatever I want for the rest of my life.”
“That’s not technically true,” he replied.
“Excuse me?”
My father paused, choosing his words carefully. “You realize that there are stipulations, right? Ways to lose access to the Carlyle Fortune?”
I didn’t know that, and my stunned expression seemed to convey the point.
“What, did you really think that you could play the game and just wait out the clock?” He chuckled condescendingly, with a heavy shake of his head. “Don’t be stupid, boy. The inheritance has passed down the family line for generations. How, do you think, it has managed to keep itself together, instead of being completely blown on the first gluttonous maniac to wield it?”
Anger started to boil up inside me.
Why am I hearing about this NOW?
Father watched my reaction for a few seconds before he continued. “I’m not surprised that they didn’t explain that part to you. If I’d known, I would have done so years ago… you can’t do whatever you want with the money. That’s foolhardy, and it compromises the succession. You can only use so much of it a year, and you have to inject some money back into it. That’s how they’ve held onto it all these years.”
“But what about their extravagant lifestyle?”
“Extravagant lifestyle?” Dad laughed riotously. “You must not know your grandparents well. They barely spend any of that godforsaken money. They’re always obsessing over keeping their little dignified nest egg safe – particularly your grandfather.”
“What about the house? The servants?” I asked, thinking about the prized Carlyle Manor, high in the hills.
“The house is part of the inheritance, and the servants are paid out of the interest earned by the family investments,” Dad shook his head. “I’m quite flabbergasted that you didn’t know all of this.”
“Your parents are somewhat lax on the details, it would appear,” I bitterly remarked.
This wasn’t part of the plan. I was supposed to just inherit a vast sum of money and cruise on it for the rest of my days. I wished I had been allowed to discuss it with my father – he might have filled me in on some of the details if I had bothered to ask. However, Raleigh Carlyle was very specific in that I should only talk to them if I wanted to know more… and I hadn’t wanted to come off as too eager.
They didn’t exactly favor eagerness, when it came to inheriting their wealth.
“There are responsibilities; inherit the Carlyle Fortune, and you’ll find yourself caught between the binding chains of succession. To fail to meet the ongoing criteria is to forfeit the fortune to the next in succession – and to be legally barred from ever receiving any of it, unless you want to risk their birthright to it as well.”
“This is bullshit,” I grumbled furiously.
I’d planned for the contingency, but if what he was telling me was true… then taking the money was to submit myself to a lifelong screening beneath their standards.
“Your ancestor, Reginald Carlyle, was very particular in his wishes,” Dad muttered. “His will was signed by the reigning King of England, and cannot be overturned by a successive will. His rules dictate when his wealth should be stripped of an inheritor and proceeded down the chain.”
“And what happens when there are no successors?” I angrily asked. “What if you drop dead and I never have a child? I’m the last Carlyle in the chain. Can I dictate where the chain goes next?”
“What you have to remember about Reginald is that he became fiercely determined to restore the family name to glory, no matter the consequences,” Dad grunted. “Upon demise of the family name, the entire Carlyle Fortune returns to the Crown.”
“The monarchy takes it all,” I realized with horror. “If there’s no direct blood successor, it gets piled into the endless coffers of the King and Queen.”
“Precisely.”
We sat in silence for a moment.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. All of this was complete, utter bullshit. It had never really occurred to me that I’d ever turn down the Carlyle Fortune. The inheritance apparently came with a plethora of binding strings…
All those strings would be attached to me.
It’s not fair. This wasn’t the plan.
“So, did you just call me down here to rip away my dreams and send me back into the night, or was there some sort of ulterior motive to requesting my company?” I asked bitterly.
“Ah, yes,” Father remembered. “I hadn’t even meant to really broach that topic. But you will have all the time you need to question Raleigh Carlyle, so long as you act quickly…”
“What do you mean?”
“Your grandfather is growing old,” he replied, taking a final swig from his beer. “You can’t really tell, just looking at him, but his health is vastly deteriorating. According to Mum, he’s not expected to last the end of the year.”
“Granddad is dying?”
“He is, the old bastard,” Father nodded, his eyes lost straight ahead. “The two of them will be here in the States shortly. It’s likely that this will be your last chance to see him before he finally keels over and slides back down into whatever pit of Hell he first crawled out from.”
This was all a lot to process.
But I wasn’t prepared for the real bombshell.
“What’s bringing them stateside? I don’t recall ever hearing about my grandparents flying our way.”
Dad looked at me with surprise, before finally curling his face into a warm smile. “Oh, that’s right, neither of you know… Sarah wanted it to be a surprise, after all. She’s not telling Clara for a week.”
“Sarah wanted what to be a surprise?” I asked, feeling fear mount in the back of my head.
My father flashed the backs of his knuckles, revealing a modest silver band. “As much as I might hate your grandparents, I wanted them to be present – both of them, alive to see it, and how far I’ve come without them.
“You see… I proposed last night.”
8
I grew concerned when Dalton didn’t answer my texts all weekend. It wasn’t like him to ignore me, and I was beginning to think that something was really wrong.
It was Sunday night when he finally rang. On misguided principle, I almost didn’t answer.
“Hello, stranger,” I greeted him bitterly.
“Clara,” he replied over the phone. Something was wrong with his voice. “I’m sorry that I’ve been distant the last few days, I’ve just been… dealing with something.”
“Oh? What might that be?”
There was a pause over the line.
“My grandfather is dying.”
Regret instantly panged inside my heart. Here I was, furious that he hadn’t been in touch since leaving early Friday night, and he was grieving the coming loss of his grandfather?
Way to fucking go, Clara.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry, Dalton. Is there anything that I can do?” I asked tenderly, trying to quickly kill the residual frustration inside.
“I want company. Can you come over?”
I paused. This was a big step.
“Are you… are you sure that’s what you want?” I asked, swallowing my hesitation. I had a faint idea of the kind of comforting he’d want if I drove over there, and I wasn’t quite prepared to give that. “I mean, I just don’t want you to be disappointed or anything…”
“You’re right. Forget it,” he replied tersely.
Second time I’ve fucked up today.
“No, Dalton, I didn’t mean it like–”
“I said forget it,” he insisted. “Anyway. I’m going to just watch some TV and go to sleep. Have a good night. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”
With that, he hung up.
I stood there, holding the silent phone to my head like an idiot for a couple of minutes. All sorts of thoughts spiraled through my head – How could I be so cold? What would really happen if I went? Would he even open the door if I did?
Lowering my phone, I stumbled out into the apartment like an emotionally drained zombie. Natalie was lying on the couch with her boyfriend, Jared. Her head was in his lap, and he was absentmindedly stroking her hair while they watched something together.
As if she had some sort of Super Roommate ESP, she bolted upright as I came out.
“Hey. What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing,” I replied apathetically, glancing up at her.
Her eyes slid from mine down to the phone in my hand. “You finally got him on the line, didn’t you? And you heard something you didn’t like?”
“He, uh, his grandparents are dying. I mean, just his grandfather, I guess,” I responded mindlessly. “He asked me to go over, but I didn’t think it was a good idea. When I said that, he got mad at me.”
“Of course he’s mad at you, you big, dumb oaf,” Natalie chuckled, shaking her head. “Look, so you’re not exactly the most comforting chick on the block. Whatever. You know where he lives, right? Go see him.”
Jared nodded quietly, trying to contribute to the conversation in some way.
“But he’s angry.”
“So what? He’ll be fine when he sees you. Maybe not immediately, but if you work some of your feminine charm on the guy… eh, he’ll come back around.”
“You want me to sleep with him?”
“You do you, girl,” she smiled cheerily. “If that’s what you want, then yeah. Just don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. I don’t think he’ll exactly be ready to totally jump your bones if this is still sinking in.”
“That sounds reasonable,” I agreed.
“Good. So, get out of here and go to him.”
“You just want me out of here so that you two can fuck,” I grinned sort of slyly, placing my hand on my hip. “Because you guys are. Loud. As. Fuck.”
“If fuck had a volume, I guess it would have to be pretty loud,” Natalie nodded to herself. “But the loud sex is how you know it’s great sex. You’re totally right, though. I want to take this beautiful, stupid boy to Pound Town until the night’s halfway gone.”
“Did you just call me stupid?” Jared raised his eyebrow at her.
“Oh, baby,” Nat replied with a high, cooing voice, caressing his cheek. “Of course I did. Honey, you’re as dumb as a burlap sack of crap. But you’re cute, and your cock fits so good inside me…”
“I am not listening to this,” I loudly reminded.
“You sure as fuck are if you’re not getting pretty and hopping in that rust-bucket car of yours!” She replied airily, turning towards me and ignoring Jared’s contemptuous look. “Go forth, young padawan. Your man doth require thy supple, womanly figure! Fulfill thine destiny and fuck until the sun rises!”
“I’m not fucking him tonight!” I declared, covering my ears and retreating from the room.
Natalie was loudly continuing her awful old English accent and reciting pseudo Shakespearean gibberish, but I playfully muffled out the noise as I changed into something more flattering than loose pajamas.
Confident in my selection, I modeled it off for her beside the couch.
Natalie responded in her most outlandishly regal voice, accentuating practically every syllable: ““Oh, darrrling, you look magnificent.”
After a smug, countering smile, I snatched up my keys and bid them goodnight. As far as I was aware, I was coming back, but I didn’t want to make any presumptions about the night.
Especially when Dalton was mad at me.
Pulling up the directions on my smartphone, I kicked my car into drive and navigated into the streets. It was awfully convenient that he didn’t live very far at all. Even with some congestion, it was insisting that I could be knocking on his door within a tentative fifteen minutes.
After a few red lights, some jackass almost sideswiping me to get into my lane, and a flock of pedestrians stalling traffic for a moment, I was pulling in front of his home.
Dalton appeared to be renting a small house, located on the edge of the city. There was enough room for maybe two cars in the driveway – I could see his motorcycle, as well as a car I didn’t recognize. Makes sense that he has one of each, I figured to myself.
Instead of trying to fit in there, I found a spot a couple of houses down and parallel parked out in front.
My confidence wavered for the first time since leaving my apartment. Confronted with actually seeing him again within a matter of seconds, I wasn’t precisely sure what I was going to say to him.
Way to think this through, Clara.
I double-checked the address twice before knocking on his front door. His house was wrapped in white wooden siding, with his front patio receding beneath the overhang of the roof. There were a couple of windows, with the curtains drawn, but I could see light filtering out.
A shadow moved. The curtain drew apart slightly, and I couldn’t make out who was behind it. But the silhouette moved back into place without greeting the door.
Oh great, I thought to myself. I’ve gone through all this effort, and he just doesn’t want to see me at all?
Swallowing my frustration, I knocked again. This time, the silhouette moved out of sight, and there came the sound of creaking footsteps from just on the other side of the door.
I noticed the peephole, and stepped back from it to give a better look, although I fully expected to be recognized.
“Hi?” I heard from the other side of the door. The voice belonged to someone else – a guy, somewhere between both our ages.
“I’m here for Dalton?” I replied, guessing I was speaking to a roommate. “Do I have the right house? This is where he said he lived.”
I heard the sound of the door unlocking, and it creaked open enough for a grimy face to peer out. The stranger was clearly trying to grow out a beard, but he wasn’t getting anything more than a thick, scruffy mess. His eyes were jittery, and he could stand to wash his face off.
“For Dalton? Who’re you?”
I sighed.
“My name’s Clara. Is he here?”
The guy looked at me suspiciously before shouting over his shoulder. He conspicuously kept his eyes glued to me, as if I were the shady one here.
“Hey, Dalton? Some girl’s here for you. Clara? Ring a bell? Want me to make her go away?”
A muffled response came, and the guy looked over at me with a half-sneer. “Uh, come in, I guess. Make yourself at home. Don’t touch my stuff.”
“This is my first time here,” I told him in barely-covered exasperation. “How am I gonna know what things are yours?”
The strange roommate froze, apparently contemplating that. “You know what? Don’t touch anything then. My stuff is mine. Not yours.”
“Duly noted,” I replied crisply, following him inside. He pointed me towards the couch as he took up residence in a comfortable recliner, snatching up the remote. He turned the volume back up on a TV that practically dwarfed even our own, and I glanced around at my surroundings.
The house was decorated sparsely, but it was surprisingly clean for a place where this character lived. Clearly
, I didn’t have to worry about touching any of his things… there’s no way that any of this belonged to him.
The furniture was nice and reasonably expensive, with the exception of the filthy chair that the stranger occupied. There were some throw pillows on the couch and a folded blanket, lying over the back; it seemed like it had been bought without much consideration, just to fill the space and look good.
The walls were a soft opaque tan color, which worked well with the furniture selections and the sprawling Persian-style rug. It seemed that the whole house bore beautiful hardwood floors, which probably meant that it was going to be chilly as fuck when the winter finally came.
As for mental stimulation, a nearby bookcase carried a number of interesting books, including a lot of literary classics and authors: Mark Twain, Stephen King, Anne Rice, Isaac Asimov, and a number of others whom I barely recognized.
While I remained seated, glancing around my new environment and taking in a few pieces of art on the walls, I heard a lazy clamoring from deeper into the house.
A door opened, and heavy footsteps brought someone our way until Dalton’s face finally peered in around the doorway.
“Pete, I thought you said Clara was–”
He looked surprised when he saw me on the couch. “Wait. Clara, why didn’t you just come back here?”
“I, uh, was pointed this way?”
His face settled on his roommate. “Look, Pete, the next time I tell you to let someone in and send her my way, I’d like you to actually let them in and send them my way.”
Pete shrugged, his eyes glued to the screen.
Covering his face and sighing, Dalton motioned for me to follow him. He led me down a long hallway and towards the light of an open door, presumably his bedroom.
“You’ll have to forgive my, uh, guest,” Dalton replied tersely.
“Is he your roommate?” I asked.
“For a little while, I guess,” he conceded. “This place is mine alone, but Pete is an old marine buddy of mine. He’s suffering from some flashbacks from his days in the service… something I can sympathize with.” He paused a moment, changing his tone. “Pete’s getting back on his feet, and I told him that he could stay here a month or two. Turns out that he’s a bit skittish of unfamiliar company, I guess.”
