by Nikki Wild
Honestly, I preferred the life that I had over the one she led. While she had her simpleton boyfriend (although he apparently came with quite the cock on him), she was bound by formality when she wasn’t home.
There was always someone important to her family to see, or another social event that demanded her attention and presence, or another crazy demand from her parents. They gave her this apartment and plenty of spending money, and Natalie had never worked a real day in her life, but she was definitely kept on a tight leash.
And she made sure to remind me sometimes.
“Whatcha doing, Claire-Bear?” Natalie asked one afternoon, dropping her keys off on the counter as she strolled in and spotted me at the dining room table.
“Buried under homework, unfortunately,” I mirthlessly explained as I sipped more coffee. “What about you?”
“Oh, another stupid little gala,” she muttered. “It’s like, come on, people. How many fucking galas do you folks need? I swear, they’re just goddamn bored. All the freaking time. They do this just to piss me off.”
“That’s right, Nat,” I smiled and shook my head. “They have little council meetings where they decide to spend vast sums of money and time in the exclusive pursuit of interfering with your life.”
Natalie shot me a dirty smirk. “It’s a conspiracy, I tell ya, a damned filthy conspiracy. They’re out to get me.”
“How do you think they dress when they’re plotting your imminent demise? Long, purple robes, like wicked monastery monks?”
“You’re right on the money,” Nat chuckled as she poured herself a glass of orange juice and leaned against the counter. “Probably a dozen of them around some ancient stone table, consulting a dark and mysterious prophecy. It probably rhymes. All the good prophecies rhyme.”
Before I could respond, the bathroom door popped open, and Dalton wandered over to take back his seat at the table.
“Hiya, Natalie,” he grinned chirpily.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite British bar dude,” she crossed her arms with a grin. “Goes without saying now, but welcome to mi casa.”
She flashed me a sarcastically aggravated look, and I returned it with a cheeky grin.
“Were you saying something about the rigors of the wealthy life?” He asked, taking his seat beside me and rubbing his palm across my upper back. “Must be exhausting.”
“Yeah, yeah. You might joke about it, but it comes with strings,” Natalie shrugged. “I have to jump through a lot of hoops to keep this gig going strong, and that means keeping up to date on the latest fashions, the latest beefs between my family and others, cordial appearances, galas… it can be exhausting.”
“Oh, no, I wasn’t being condescending,” Dalton looked serious for a moment. “There are, uh, rich people in the family. I heard a lot of stories about that kind of thing while I was growing up. I can only imagine how stressful that must be for you.”
I turned my head. “You’ve got wealthy relatives? And I’m just hearing about this now?”
“Yeah, well, they’re a little on the distant side,” Dalton laughed, but I noticed the edge to his voice. “I haven’t seen them in something like eight years, at least…”
“Weren’t you in the Marines?” Natalie tilted her head. “For, what was it, two terms? Then that would line up pretty well… I mean, hell, you can say you haven’t seen anyone in something like eight years…”
“Yeah, well, they were never really a big part of my life,” Dalton responded with measurably less warmth than usual. “I don’t particularly care to dwell on them all that much.”
I wanted to push him a little more on the topic, but he was clearly trying to deflect it, and I didn’t want to corner him while we had company.
Natalie caught my eye. With the kind of understanding that only close, old friends have, she switched gears and laughed off the tone.
“Well, I know what that’s like. I have relatives like that too. I’d rather break a heel than deal with them, any night, so you’ve definitely got my sympathies there, Dalton.”
She stepped away from the counter and reached for her keys. “Anyway, I’m afraid I can’t stay long, I’m supposed to be meeting that dull boyfriend of mine for dinner or something. If I leave now, I might be able to squeeze in a little shopping first…”
Dalton looked visibly relieved that the topic had shifted away, and I rose up to give her a quick hug. “Say hi to Jared for me,” I told her.
“Like I’m reminding him that other girls are out there in the world, are you insane? Can you fathom the leash I have to keep this boy on?” She chuckled on her way out the door.
We resumed the homework, but I couldn’t keep my mind off of the previous topic. It was clear that he was uneasy about it, but what was more telling was that he was clearly hiding some of the details.
There was something he wasn’t telling me.
We made it through the rest of the hour before I finally couldn’t take it anymore. He apparently sensed this coming, because he was growing more and more agitated.
“I’ve gotta ask,” I started to say. “You have–”
“Don’t.”
I tried to look him in the eyes. To my surprise, there wasn’t any warmth there. He was staring quietly at me, his gaze just slightly not meeting mine.
“Dalton, my best friend is rich. You don’t have to worry about money becoming this big deal for me, or anything like that. I just want to know.”
He sighed heavily. “It’s not the right time.”
“It’s not the right time,” I echoed with disappointment. “That’s kind of a big deal for me, though. You can’t just sit on that.”
Dalton laughed. “I knew I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. The second I started talking about that, I knew it was a mistake.”
“Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, then that’s fine,” I hesitantly told him. “But… I don’t like the thought of you hiding things from me, okay? If there’s something big there, I just want you to feel like you can talk to me about it.”
“Okay,” Dalton muttered. “But not now.”
“Not now,” I repeated again, nodding. I regretted bringing the topic up again, and I knew that I couldn’t let him leave with that thought weighing heavily on his mind.
“Listen… we’re about done here, right? With the homework?” I indicated our textbooks, and waited for him to nod. “Why don’t we just curl up on the couch and watch some television for a little bit?”
“Television is pretty much all that you do, isn’t it?” Dalton grinned. Before I could respond, he had closed his book and was crossing over to the couch.
I followed after him; soon, I was comfortably curled up beside his large, warm form. “Why don’t you choose?” I asked him. “Let’s see what you’re interested in…”
“Alright,” he grinned, reaching for the remote. “My tastes are pretty eclectic, though. Kind of come with the territory of swapping countries, jumping into the military, and already having a rebellious streak straight up my arse beforehand…”
He cycled through some options, hovering over a few documentaries and action series, before selecting a stand-up comedian I hadn’t heard of.
“Oh, this is one of my favorite guys,” he chuckled. “Hope you enjoy it.”
“I’m sure I’ll enjoy myself,” I grinned, and we nestled up a little closer together. That’s how we spent the rest of the evening – pressed against one another, his arm around my shoulder, and laughing hysterically at a string of fantastic comedians… with some leftover takeout on the coffee table.
As far as home dates go, it was pretty great.
Seven
Clara and I were just falling into a routine as a text out of the blue caught me by surprise. Even as I made eye contact with my father, sitting halfway down the bar with a few empty stools surrounding him, I couldn’t fathom why he’d contacted me.
> Need to talk. Drinks tonight?
I brushed past a few bar patrons as I
made my way over. To my surprise, instead of being the life of the party, my father was apparently deeply lost in thought. Taking my seat beside him, I reciprocated his warmth as he firmly clasped his hand against my opposite shoulder blade.
“Thanks for joining me on such short notice, son,” my father greeted me happily. He seemed to be glad to be free from whatever thoughts were in his head. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Whiskey neat,” I answered.
“Alrighty then.” He clicked his fingers a few times for the bartender, ordering me the drink. We sat in silence for a moment, watching the man quickly pour my refreshment before sliding it to my hands.
“So, what’s gotten you rattled?” I asked politely, preferring to get straight to the matter of things.
“Little blunt there, aren’t you?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Don’t you want to catch up a few minutes, first?”
“Dad, I just saw you maybe two weeks ago,” I reasoned. “I figured that we were essentially past the small talk stage again…”
“Hogwash,” he replied in a half-mutter. “We were visiting together for the first time, all of us as a family. It was different. This is more about you and I.”
“I was under the impression that you and I were good,” I told him, sipping my drink. “Is there something new that I’m not aware of?”
“No, no, everything’s fine between us,” my father deflected calmly. “It’s just that… I wanted to know where you’re going in life, now that you’re out of the Marines and you’re in school.”
“This is an odd time to ask that question. I’ve been out for the entire summer, after all. Only been an hour’s drive away.”
“I know, son,” he groaned, ignoring his beer for the moment. “I’m sorry that I’ve been a bit distant, it’s just that I haven’t seen much of you since your days in high school, and I’ve… forgotten, maybe, how to be a better father to you.”
Oh, it’s this again.
“You’ve been a great father,” I told him. “I know we didn’t see eye-to-eye all the time, but you did the best you could with raising me. I know that you’re busy with work, and with your girlfriend. I’ve been tied up too. I could have picked up the phone myself, so it’s not just your fault.”
He looked like he wanted to say something, but then didn’t. “I understand. I just… I still feel bad about things. I wish I could have been better. That I could have given you more.”
“It’s not your fault,” I retorted.
“Yes, it is, son. I made a mistake. That mistake cost me a great deal.”
“You learned from your mistake. It’s not your fault that the Carlyle Fortune was ripped from your hands. I have never held you responsible for that.”
“Right,” Father nodded, sipping from his beer again. “Well, it’s just that…”
Things suddenly clicked.
“You want to know my plans for the future? Is this because of the money?” I asked, trying to determine where he was going with this. “Are you hard up for cash?”
“What? No, of course not!” He replied almost indignantly. After a second, the anger calmed down out of his eyes – the last vestiges of his former self, sometimes threatening to resurface out from his calm and pleasant demeanor. “This has nothing to do with the money… for me. I’ve made my own way, and I’m lucky that my career has paid as well as it has.”
“You were robbed of it,” I contested.
“Be that as it may… I want to know what your designs for your inheritance are. As you’re aware, you’ll receive it on your 30th birthday, assuming that you’ve fulfilled your grandparents’ criteria. You’re 26 years old now. What are you doing until then?”
I was taken slightly aback by the question, but I drank from my glass and answered anyway.
“Seeing as I’ve done nothing to diminish the family name, not that they’re aware of, at any rate, I’m certain that I’ll be–”
“The whoring around?” He cut in, questioningly. I knew that he meant it as an innocent question, and not an insult.
“–Yes, they’re none the wiser. This leaves my place of standing in society, and my higher education. It would appear that things lined up properly. Eight years in the marines, a veteran of the Iraq War, and now four years of college until I obtain my degree. All of that, just in time to have my 30th birthday and win my birthright – the birthright that should have been yours.”
“So that’s the plan, then? No surprises?”
I felt suddenly compelled to mention Clara, but banished the thought. Why on earth would I do something as stupid as that?
“If there are any surprises, they’ll be as much to you as they are to me,” I replied coolly, taking another sip of whiskey before the ice began to melt in earnest. “Being preoccupied with these things means that I wouldn’t have the time to get into too much trouble.”
“Wise choice,” he nodded approvingly. “What are you pursing for your degree?”
“Haven’t quite decided,” I mused aloud. “I’d like to say something practical, just in case I manage to piss off my grandparents before the inheritance kicks in… but honestly, I’m thinking something easy. I think I’ve got this in the bag.”
My father took a deep swig, watching me carefully over the tip of his beer. “You realize, of course, that dearest Mum and Dad have incredibly high standards... what makes you so sure?”
“Simple,” I shrugged. “The worst thing I’ve done is fuck a lot of women, a detail that they won’t ever need to know. They’ve already accepted my Marine career as meeting their needs. School is literally all I have left to do… that, and bide my time.”
“And what will you do with all that money?” He asked curiously, clicking his fingers to request another beer for himself. “What happens when you earn your birthright?”
“I give you yours, and I travel the world.”
“No, son, my time’s passed,” he shook his head. “That’s all yours. I have enough money to live happily. I can retire in ten years and call that that until the end of my days.”
“Yeah, but Dad… you shouldn’t have had to work,” I countered.
“Originally, no,” he conceded. “But I made do. I made my own way in the world, without their support or their money.”
“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?
<
br /> 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.”
