Who Loves Them? (Who--? Series)

by Storm, Taylor

  Daniel nodded his assent. “Meet me on Monday morning at the office then. We’ll have our lawyers draw up the paperwork.”

  Chapter 2

  New Orleans, Louisiana, 2009

  Christina Elise Fontenot was certain that she had never felt more like a living China doll than she did today.

  It was her eighteenth birthday, and like every other event that had ever happened in her life, the day was being coordinated to fit the high-fashioned taste of her family. Her mother, in particular, had always seemed overly concerned with pandering to the wishes of her in-laws, no doubt in an effort to try to erase the taint that overshadowed her own family, and thus, her marriage. Marrying Andre Fontenot had been quite a coup for her, at least in the eyes of the Fontenot family. The blush carried over to Christina, and so her mother had spent the last eighteen years trying to make her as perfect a Fontenot as possible, no doubt in an effort to make sure she secured some grand marriage, Christina thought grimly. Somehow, making a good marriage seemed to be the highest achievement a good, social lady could achieve.

  It was 2009, but that fact seemed to escape nearly every member of the class to whom her family belonged. Nobody seemed to realize that times had changed. Antiquated customs such as coming-out parties, charm school, and sending well-bred young women to Europe for the summer in hopes that they might catch a titled husband, were still par for the course. It was an expected tradition that would probably never fade from the well-off respected families of the area. It would appear as though, in their “genteel” society, women’s liberation had never occurred. She thought uncharitably that maybe she should tell all of the women in their social circles that women had actually been given the right to vote. It was, Chris reflected, not unlike a very anachronistic fishing tournament, with blushing, giggling young ladies for bait. In a way, it sickened her. She felt like she was living in another century than those around her. Women were not opposed to staying out at all hours of the night, courting more than one man at a time. And yet she would never dare of shaming her family in such a way.

  Had she had her choice of how to spend her birthday, she might have spent it down at the old swimming hole, jumping out of the tree into the icy cold water and taunting her timid best friend to follow her cue. The bolder girls in her circle might “accidentally” lose their bikini tops, cajoling the cutest boys to retrieve them, and then rewarding them with a kiss. Her friend Marc might grill on the old, crumbling charcoal grills nearby and Kate would make a chocolate cake with berries. They would lie on the grass until the stars came out, and then they would all wonder and whisper about what was in store for them. She often wondered what “other” girls got to do on their birthdays.

  Instead, her mother had carefully crafted a garden party for ten of her “closest” friends, that is, not her true close friends (who were often deemed too “common” for her to keep company with) but carefully handpicked girls whose parents and society connections would prove to Chris’s benefit, according to her mother. It was really just a chance for her mother to invite the girls’ parents along for a bit of a chin wag. Gossip was the only thing that kept her mother going these days, especially since she found out about Lilly.

  Lillian Baltimore was the Prima Donna of the socialites. She was blonde, tall, and willowy, with smoldering gray eyes that seemed to follow you wherever you went. She had many suitors, but much to her parents’ chagrin, she rejected them all. There was nothing wrong with these men; they were as equally attractive as she; however, she preferred the company of giggling women, something of which she had confided in Chris only a week ago.

  “Oh, but women are just so much more beautiful than men, don’t you think?” Lilly had said, as she and Chris strolled around the grounds of her great-aunt’s manner house. “I mean, they are ever so polite, always smell so delightful, and they wear the most beautiful gowns. Men do not interest me at all. They are just idle playthings.”

  Although Chris enjoyed Lilly’s company, she didn’t know why her father insisted on setting up luncheons with her and her family. She wondered what she would need connections for, since they all seemed to go from one social event or committee meeting to another. There would be “nibbles,” as Elisa liked to call the petite tea sandwiches, small pastries, and tea. Chris privately thought that those kinds of food were hardly enough to keep a bird alive, but she kept that opinion to herself. Despite the fact that Chris’s frame was slender and firm, with lean hips and small breasts, and a narrow, pixie-ish face, her mother constantly fretted over her appetite, often telling the cook to send out smaller portions for Chris at the dinner table. Her mother had been micromanaging Chris’ weight as long as she could remember. There was never a free-for-all junk food party at their house. The cake would no doubt not be Chris’s favorite, chocolate with dark frosting and fruit, but some spongy, towering iced confection. And as for what she was wearing….

  Chris sighed dispassionately as she looked into the mirror. Sometimes she wished she were as carefree as Lilly, who seemed to pay no attention to her attire at all. She would often wear plain dark blues and greens, colors that would hardly attract a husband. Today, Chris was wearing an eyelet top, padded at the bosom with short, fluttery cap sleeves, and a knee-length skirt that fluffed out with layers of lightweight lacy filler underneath it. It did nip in her waist nicely and made her look as though she had something resembling breasts, but the look, when coupled with the strappy white high-heeled sandals and girlish makeup that her mother had insisted upon, was altogether too grown-up Shirley Temple for her taste. She felt like she was turning ten in the outfit her mother had chosen. When you turn eighteen, shouldn’t you get to pick your own clothes? Chris thought grimly. Chris preferred long, flowing skirts with strappy tanks and flat sandals with her hair left to its own devices, a look altogether too bohemian and “witchy” for her mother, who demanded that she dress “according to her station.” Sometimes, Chris reflected, her mother sounded just as if she had stepped out of the nineteenth century. It didn’t surprise her, given her archaic views on how women should look and act. Chris often wished she was born in a family less concerned with looks and more with overall happiness. She sometimes wondered whether her mother cared about her feelings at all.

  The maid had somehow cajoled Chris’s masses of curly, auburn hair into a sleek updo, twisting and spraying and pinning until it all stayed in place. The hairstyle gave her a headache, but, while not Chris’s usual choice, did show off her earrings nicely, a birthday present from her father. He had given them to her early this morning, before her mother awoke. “I thought you should have something special for your eighteenth birthday,” he had said, handing her a small velvet box. Aside from the pearl set she had received from her parents for her coming-out debut, Chris had never had any real jewelry of her own, always borrowing from her mother if she needed something. Her mother’s logic was that fine jewelry, apart from the pearls, was for a woman, not a girl. It was sort of ironic, Chris thought, because her mother was always harping on her to act more like a lady.

  The box had contained a beautiful pair of emerald earrings, deep green oval stones bordered by a thin band of rose gold with a woodgrain pattern carved into the gold. They looked simple, elegant, like something a wood nymph might find in a forest and wear to a fairies’ ball. They were exactly something Chris would have chosen for herself. She had looked up gratefully at her father. “Oh, thank you so much!” she had exclaimed, excitedly taking them out of the box and trying them on. The rose gold looked beautiful against her hair, and the emeralds made her blue eyes sparkle and shine in her pale, narrow face. Her father had smiled, leaning against the doorjamb. “Today is all about your mother showing you off. I thought for your birthday, you should have something that was all about you.” There was a shadow in his eyes when he said the last part, and Chris wondered at it for a second, but she quickly brushed it aside. Her father had been often brooding in the past few weeks, but when anyone asked, he would shrug it off, unwilling
to talk about whatever was on his mind.

  The party went exactly as Chris had expected. Which meant nothing went the way she wished it had gone. She entered the back garden after everyone had already arrived and been seated, so all eyes were on her, something that made her profoundly uncomfortable. She was seated at the table with her mother, who kept one eye on her throughout the entire performance, making sure Chris’s plate was never overfull, and orchestrating the conversation artfully. For someone who had spent all of her youth outside of the circle to which she now belonged, her mother had certainly adapted quickly, Chris thought grimly. According to her father, Elisa had once been a sharp-witted, intelligent young woman, but years of marriage in the Fontenot clan had turned her into another vapid society lady. Being intelligent and quick were not admired traits in a society wife. It was little wonder, Chris mused, that her father’s sparkle dulled whenever her mother walked into the room. He must be bitterly disappointed in the loss of the vibrant girl that he had married. Chris wondered if her father thought it had been worth it to go against his father’s wishes when he married her mother. She wondered if she was destined to become her mother, and if so, when would the brainwashing begin? Was this all some kind of test? Had she broken the rules?

  Elisa had frowned sharply when she saw her daughter’s earrings, but said nothing, no doubt knowing her husband’s hand in their selection. Besides, she had too many other things to concentrate on today. She made sure Chris engaged in conversation with each of the girls that she had invited, a few of which she was fairly sure Chris had never met before. No matter, though, they were girls whom Chris needed to know, and Chris, to her credit, and conscious of her mother’s gaze on her, behaved just as if she had known each one all her life. Chris had been raised to act a certain way, and she managed to do so, despite her discomfort. She wouldn’t do anything to embarrass her mother.

  Chris was surprised that Lilly had been invited, granted her mother’s disposition towards the girl. “A full grown woman and not married!” Her mother was bewildered. “What is the matter with the girl? Is she barren? It’s not that hard to please a husband.” Chris had shrugged off her mother’s comments, saying that Lilly had many suitors, and she was waiting for one of them to ask her hand in marriage. But she knew, in her heart, that Lilly would most likely grow old without a husband, and live a happy life with a countless string of lovers, something Chris would have preferred. She felt caged by her mother’s wishes for her to marry early and have children. She wished she could sort it all out in her own time.

  The cake was as Christina had expected, a white, fluffy, towering concoction covered in flowers and berries, and while it tasted delicious, Chris kept herself to a small sliver, knowing she would hear about it later if she ate more. Besides, her appetite was not much anyway. She had expected all of this, but it was still a bit of a disappointment, to have her birthday turn into just another stage for her to be paraded on. She truly hated feeling like a pampered poodle that was paraded in front of judges who gave her a score on how well she behaved, and how perfect her hair and attire were. She blew out her candles without much fanfare, wishing quietly on the candles: Please, let something change this year.

  Perhaps she should have been more careful about what she wished for.

  After the party had died down, the girls all said their goodbyes and the servants came to clear out the garden. Lilly waited behind and pressed a small box into her hand, no bigger than her palm. “Open this in private later,” she whispered, hugging her firmly around the waist. “It’s a surprise.”

  Chris nodded and walked inside with her mother, tugging fretfully at a hairpin. “I have a bit of a headache,” she said quietly. “I think I might go upstairs.”

  “Not yet, dear,” her mother said, smiling as her husband walked into the room. “Your grandfather is here, and he wants to speak with you.” She looked down in disapproval at the little box in Chris’ hand. “Give that to me. I’ll put it with the rest of the gifts.”

  Chris felt the sudden urge to keep the box on her person. She had the feeling that her mother would open it, and she didn’t want her prying into her affairs any more than she already did. “It’s fine, mother, I want to hold on to it. “ She paused, lost in thought. “Did you say my grandfather was here? He is here right now?”

  Chris’s eyes widened. Her grandfather had spent quite a lot of time with her when she was young. He was fond of calling her his favorite granddaughter, to which she had always cheekily replied that she was his only granddaughter. As he grew older, however, he had confined himself largely to the house and grounds where he lived, rarely venturing out. She had missed him the last few years. She might have expected, however, that he would make an appearance for her eighteenth birthday. She smiled unexpectedly. “Is he here now?” she repeated.

  Andrew and Elisa exchanged a glance. “He’s in the study, dear.”

  Chris started toward the door, and then looked over her shoulder. “Aren’t you coming?”

  Elise shook her head. “We’ll be along shortly.”

  With a sudden sense of trepidation, Chris knocked on the door and then walked into the study, closing the heavy oak door behind her. Her grandfather was sitting in the chair near the fireplace, his walking stick in hand. His white hair had grown thinner, she noticed, and the wrinkles around his mouth seemed more pronounced. She felt a sense of dread at seeing how her grandfather had aged. He had always been so lively, bringing her toys and candy as a child, and later, when she had grown older, indulging her other whims, such as her love of riding horses. The thought of him not being there any longer was painful. She hadn’t realized how long it had been until she saw how much he had aged.

  She leaned over to give him a hug. He seemed thinner, and his normally mellifluous voice had grown a bit raspy.

  “It’s good to see you, Christina. How is my favorite granddaughter?”

  “I’m your only granddaughter,” she teased back as usual, but her voice had a touch of a quaver in it. She knew something was up. This was not an ordinary visit.

  “Sit down, Christina,” he said, and she did so, the sinking feeling in her stomach growing stronger. She noticed he had a thin black briefcase sitting next to his feet. “What do you have in your hand?”

  “Oh, it’s just a gift from a friend.”

  Her grandfather smiled. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  Chris hesitated, and then pulled open the ribbon. Her grandfather was not like her mother, and didn’t care who she befriended. As soon as she opened the box, she gasped. “Oh my goodness.”

  She gently pried the love token from its clasp and held it in front of her. The token was small, silver, and had the letter C engraved in the middle, with the date and year on either side. Chris’ heart swelled with affection.

  “From a secret lover, I presume?” her grandfather asked.

  Chris shook her head. “No. Just a very good friend. It’s beautiful.”

  Her grandfather nodded, and then looked wistfully out the window. “It’s good to have friends, Christina. Especially at your age.”

  Christina smiled, knowing she was blessed to have such close friends. It was just a pity her mother saw them as intrusions. “Yes, I’m glad I’ve got them. I don’t know who I would turn to, otherwise.”

  Her grandfather smiled sadly. He sighed and folded his hands in his lap, leaning forward. “There’s something I need to tell you, Christina. It may come as a bit of a shock at first, but I want you to remember that your parents and I have only the best of intentions and want only your happiness.”

  Christina put the token away and nodded mutely.

  “This may seem a little strange to you, being a modern girl, but it really isn’t, when you think about it. Just before you were born, my dear friend, Mr. Olivier, who has since passed on, came on some hard times. I agreed to help him out, and in exchange, he made a deal with me.” He paused as if unsure of how to proceed.

  “What deal?” Christina asked
nervously. “And what does it have to do with me?”

  “The money I gave him was a dowry--your dowry. I gave him half then, and I will give his daughter the other half in two years, when you marry his grandson.”

  Christina felt like laughing; surely this was a joke. No one arranged marriages. When she looked at her grandfather to share the joke, Christina thought her jaw would hit the floor. It was obvious from his expression that he was serious. The room felt like it was spinning in circles around her. She remembered how her parents had been so insistent about her staying away from boys her age, gently suggesting in firm voices that she focus her attention on other things rather than dating. That was why they had been so supportive of her spending so much time with Lilly, even if they disapproved of her wayward ways. She had always assumed they were being overprotective parents, and truthfully, she hadn’t cared much. She had slipped a few kisses here and there with boys that she and her girlfriends hung out with, and fooled around a little, but having a boyfriend had always been far down on her list of priorities. But now her parents’ behavior took on an entirely new light--they hadn’t been protecting her, they had been keeping her from dating because she had already been sold! They were protecting their investment!

  Suddenly angry, Christina stood up abruptly. “How could you do this? This is…” She struggled for the right word “…archaic! We’re in the twentieth century, Grandpa! You cannot just sell me to your friend’s grandson! If he needed money so badly, why didn’t you just give it to him?”

  Christian Fontenot sighed. “My friend, Mr. Olivier, was a proud man, God rest his soul. He would never have accepted a hand-out, not even from me. Not even for his precious daughter. And I didn’t sell you, Christina. You know that you would be expected to marry, and marry well. Your mother’s dubious…past…made that prospect difficult at best. Any suitor of yours would have had to have your father’s approval, and mine as well, God grant that I live so long. We’ve simply skipped a few steps and chosen the man for you.”