by Ava Claire
"I can empathize, Branson," she pouted, moving down the stairwell step by step, looking like she was transported from the The Great Gatsby to 2015. She was utterly ridiculous and ambivalent to everyone but herself. "I know I'm just tore all up about Daddy."
"Oh, we can all see just how distraught you are," I bristled. "The cigarette you're puffing on while dad is upstairs dying of cancer gave it away."
She didn't even flinch, her aquamarine eyes glittering as she continued her descent. "You're so cute when you're pretending you're concerned about our father."
I opened my mouth to stake my claim, to...what? I'd barely been in Marie's presence for two minutes and already I was back to defending myself. Trying to prove that I was a good son. Worthy. A glance to my right, to Penny, reminded me that I was worthy. I had nothing to prove. "You and I need to have a conversation, Marie. And when I say conversation, I'm politely saying that you're going to shut your mouth and listen to what I have to say before you start dropping lies."
Marie joined the rest of us, clasping her hands together gingerly and mustering her best innocent expression. "I've never told a lie my whole life." She winked at Branson and he giggled like she was the funniest comedienne he'd ever met.
"Marie-"
She held up a slender finger, her crystalline eyes settling on Penny. "And you must be the girlfriend." Her inspection was slow and meticulous, like she was measuring every perceived defect. Penny held her own, barely acknowledging Marie's presence at all.
When she realized Penny wasn't about to run for cover or kiss her ass, Marie clicked her heels together. She drew her hands to her hips and frowned. "She's a little plain for your tastes, isn't she?"
I was ready to take my sister down a peg, but Penny just smiled brightly and fired back, "Next to that Oscars worthy gown, anybody would look a little plain."
Marie's nostrils flared, betraying her, but she just let out a haughty chuckle. "She's got a backbone, eh? That's definitely new. Jenna told me she made quite the exit. Almost like she couldn't take the fear of your true colors shining through."
"What are you afraid of, Marie?" Watching her slither down the staircase, dripping in designer crap, all but waving her trophy like this was a game, I knew the answer to my question. The cigarette, the gown, the drama with Jenna; it was her way of getting attention. Of being seen. I guess we had something in common after all.
She tossed a look of pure disdain over her shoulder. "You should know that answer by now." Her voice darkened. "I'm not afraid of anything."
Branson, the consummate professional, perked up, trying to steer the conversation back to something respectable. "How about I prepare drinks?" He turned to Marie first, all smiles. "What can I get for you, Miss Wade?"
She took a couple of bored puffs. "Long Island iced tea." She blew the smoke in my direction. "A bourbon or something manly for my brother-"
"No drink for me, thanks."
Marie was suddenly in a hurry to get out the door, even though I knew she wouldn't get very far. She owned several cars, but preferred to be driven around like someone important. I intercepted her nonetheless, solidly between reality and escape. "About that conversation-"
"Oh my gosh, Xander!" She was so over it that an eye roll just wouldn't cut it. She rolled her entire head. "Let's just get this over with." She held out her dainty wrists, her eyes like steel pools of quicksand. I dove in, wanting to believe that years of disappointment and seeing and experiencing her utter lack of compassion for anyone but herself was just an elaborate ruse. Maybe she did care somewhere deep, deep inside.
"Go ahead," she urged. "Slap my wrists. Your little sister was out to get you again. I just suggested you needed to settle down, and how worried I was about the legacy of our company. I told Daddy you just needed a push in the right direction. It was just a kernel of an idea. I figured I'd at least get to watch some matchmaker person bring in ditzy bimbos for the dashing CEO. The addendum to his will was even better." She did us both a favor and returned her hands to her hips, dropping the charade. She would never suffer the consequences of her actions voluntarily. "I had a little fun, things went a little too far-"
"Thank you, Marie."
Three words I never thought I'd say to my sister fell from my lips.
I'd stormed the castle, ready to raze everything to the ground; to call my sister every synonym of 'evil' that I could name. I'd planned to fly up the stairs, my mother next in line. There was one word that would cut her as deeply as her failure to stand up for me cut me: weak. I'd save the best for last, finding my way to the patriarch of this fucked up family. I wouldn't honor him with words. My middle finger would suffice. He could try and take my company, but I wouldn't take it lying down. The cost of the damage to the brand was higher than even he could stand. His legacy was everything. All around us was excess, a monument to him in every custom piece of furniture, every glass bead on the chandeliers, every art piece that glorified the magnificence of Robert Wade. Hell, he could even be helping me make my own mark on the business world with my own company. Everything I touched turned into money. I'd taken a company that was treading water and gave it wings. Who was to say I couldn't start from scratch and create something incredible?
But I wanted off this ride. Me giving my family a piece of my mind was business as usual. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and hoping for a different result—and I'd never felt more sane in my life.
All the eyes in the room were bulging, but I only focused on Penny. I took both her hands in mine, my heart beating double time. "I don't have the words for how special this girl is.” I tossed my next words at Marie. “If things had been different, like say, you had a heart and didn't treat everyone like a means to an end or chess pieces to manipulate, I never would have met her. I never would have learned that love isn't supposed to hurt."
Tears brimmed Penny's hazel eyes as she nodded slowly and whispered that she loved me.
Branson was the first to speak, whipping out his handkerchief and dabbing his eyes like this was Masterpiece Theatre. "How beautiful!"
My sister made a gagging sound. I'd expended so much energy being angry at her that just letting it go felt damn good. My plans to take them all to task evaporated. Who knew how long my father had left on this earth? Hell, who knew how much time I had left? The words I needed to say to him before I put this house and family behind me had no venom. It was just my truth. And I wasn't leaving here without saying it.
I dipped my lips to Penny's forehead, breathing in her scent, feeling like the future would be just fine, incredible even—as long as she was in it. "I need to say something to my dad." The smell of Marie's cigarette and the heat of her glare zeroed in on us. "You can come up with me."
Penny stroked my cheek and shook her head. "I'm not afraid of your sister. You go talk to your dad. I'll be fine."
I gave her a tender kiss to a chorus of applause from Branson and more gag-like sounds from Marie. I let her go and started up the stairs.
Chapter Seven: Penny
"So you're my big brother's happily ever after."
I watched Xander's ascent, reminding myself that I was a fighter too. If there was one thing I was an expert in, it was bullies. They weren't always some sneering Goliath who could crush you without breaking a sweat. Sometimes they were built like Barbie with personalities just as plastic and words that cut like a knife. Sometimes they were teachers who remembered days of being outsiders themselves and now had a little power and used it to ignore the teasing and pain. They could be co-workers that turned a blind eye to their kids, seeing their job as little more than clocking in and clocking out and collecting a paycheck. A bully could be a mother who knows you're different but insists on forcing you into her acceptable mold, a father that chose long hours at the office over being a dad and husband, a sister who stood silent while her own sibling was being hurt.
You didn't fight a bully with more bullying. Brute force may feel good at first, b
ut it doesn't fix the hurt. Ignoring it just nurtures the pain, forcing it inward where it eats at you. Poisons you. The way to stand up to a bully is to disempower them. To look them dead in the eye and say, 'I'm not afraid.'
I turned around to do just that, but Xander's sister had a smile as sweet as pie on her face.
"I think you and I may have gotten off on the wrong foot." She held out her free hand, her smile broadening. "I'm Marie."
I didn't shake it. "I think you know who I am."
Not one to be left hanging, she brought the denied hand to her forearm, clapping like I'd just done a backflip. Ash rained from her dwindling cigarette, smudging her expensive dress. "I like this one, Branson! Hopefully he doesn't get bored with her too quickly since he's finally dating someone interesting." Her eyes drilled holes into my skull. "To be honest, I couldn't stand Jenna. She had this annoying manic pixie dream girl meets Manson-esque hippie thing going. Bo-ring. You seem like much more fun." She crept forward and I almost stepped back, but held steady instead.
"Marie..." Branson said with a surprising amount of warning. On one hand it made sense. From what Xander had shared, the man had been with the family for years. He knew them in and out and probably had more contact with Marie growing up than her father did.
She threw him a scowl. "Aren't you supposed to be making drinks?"
Hurt flickered across his face, but he just smoothed the front of his wrinkled jacket and looked to me. He asked if I wanted a drink, but he was really asking if I was okay.
"I'm fine, thank you," I assured him with a sad smile.
He dipped his head and whisked from the room, leaving me alone with Marie.
“You sure you don’t want a water?” Her smile darkened. “You’re looking a little flush.”
I hated that I couldn’t stop the heat from rushing my cheeks. I wanted my inner strength to shine as brightly as my involuntary blushing. The nerves just intensified when I took stock of how much Marie reminded me of my sister. Same dismissive beauty, walking into a room and making everyone else invisible. Same pale eyes that could reduce a person to ash or make them feel like they deserved to be in her presence. There was a dangerous magnetism that I shied away from with Victoria, but with Marie, she was like a cyclone. If you didn’t quake and tremble in wonder, she’d tear you to pieces.
I swallowed hard and flipped my hair over my shoulder as I tossed aside the creeping apprehension that I’d let rule my life for years. My sister liked to pretend she had it all together because that’s how she dealt with her own insecurities and lack of control. She wasn’t infallible, or perfect, or the queen of the freaking universe. She was broken too, and afraid, just like the rest of us. Marie was no different.
“I know what you think you’re doing, but you’re wasting your time.”
Her curls danced playfully into her eyes. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“You’re trying to intimidate me. It might have been an easy thing to do once upon a time, but not anymore.”
Branson strode back in the room, napkin on arm, her drink and garnish balanced on a tray. She swiped the drink and dropped her still burning cigarette on the empty tray. He clenched his jaw, but hustled back out of the room, presumably to take care of the fire hazard. I couldn’t stand being so close to her for one more second. I spied an ornate wood bench near the door and put a good, normal sized room between us.
She was loudly sipping her drink and moaning like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted. I took the time to take in the opulence of their home. The marble accents, the woodwork, the way everything glittered and shone; it was easy to get lost in it all. To feel out of place.
“You’re probably figuring you have your very own estate in your not-so-distant future, eh?” Marie prodded. “All the quirky little odds and ends and interior designers from whatever celebrity magazine you flip through at the supermarket.” She raised her glass. “A true Cinderella story.”
I’d wanted to cut her off several sentences ago and say that she didn’t know me but I could tell she liked the sound of her own voice. “Cinderella is a fairytale. I don’t need an estate or an interior designer. The only thing I need is Xander.”
She clapped her hand to her chest. “Gosh, I can see why he’s in love with you. I’m practically falling for you myself!”
I rolled my eyes and dug my cell out of my purse. I fought the urge to text Xander and ask for an estimated time of departure. Whatever conversation he was having with his father was a long time coming. How he put up with his sister, even just home on holiday, was deserving of some sort of award. I could handle a few minutes of dodging the bullets and the biting, sarcastic remarks that she flung my way.
“So since you’re not a fan of Cinderella, how about you share the Penny and Xander story?” She missed or ignored my need for space and glided over to the bench I was sitting on and slid onto the cushion beside me. The remnants of the cigarette and the sharpness of the alcohol crept into my nostrils, souring my appetite and any lingering desire to be cordial.
“You could care less about our story, Marie.” My hands were rattling, but I was glad that she was too busy slurping on her cocktail to notice. “We don’t have to make awkward small talk. You’ve made it very clear where I stand.”
She paused mid sip. “And where exactly do I think you stand?”
“Somewhere close to the bottom of the heap.” We faced off, and this time, I didn’t blush. “Why else would you and your friend seek out my sister. Ruin her day, practically ruin my relationship-”
“I’m going to cut in right there.” Marie’s delicate features turned shallow as she looked around like she’d lost something. When she came up blank she craned her head toward the sitting room. “Branson, I need you!”
He scurried into the room immediately. “Yes, Miss Wade?”
She held out her glass. ignoring the fact that it was still half full. “I’m done.”
Branson obediently took her glass. “Can I get anything for you?”
She just flicked her wrist. She couldn’t even spare a thank you.
“Marie Wade, I know your father and I didn’t spend all that money on etiquette lessons for you to not treat Branson with respect.”
Xander's mother wasn't dressed as absurdly as her daughter, but she still glided down the stairs like some silver screen movie star in a violet dress with pearl buttons that twinkled in sync with that smile. It was nearly identical to the one she'd flashed me when we met. A practiced thing. I could picture her standing in front of some ornate mirror, coaching herself to not pull the sides to high, show a respectable amount of teeth, clearing her face of all emotion but friendliness. It all seemed forced and uncomfortable. It was just exacerbated by the fact that she'd just scolded her daughter; not because she was rude to Branson, but because she took etiquette lessons and should know better. My mother would have splurged for such things, especially if all the 'cool' moms were doing it, but having compassion for other people was a life lesson that I'd learned early on, free of charge.
Marie didn't backpedal, turning her charm up to 'grating' as she grinned at Branson without an iota of empathy or concern. "Branson knows I love him." When the man stood quiet, probably thinking some very choice things, she added, "Don't you, Branson?"
As if the man had any other choice, he quickly said yes, turning his attention back to Mrs. Wade. "You look beautiful, madam!"
She ducked her chin demurely. "You're too kind, Branson." Her gaze flitted over to me. "And I see my son brought his friend for another visit!"
I opened my mouth to add 'girl' to the front of that, but Marie graciously jumped in.
"Miss Penny Robertson is far from Xander's friend, Mom. They're practically engaged."
Mrs. Wade let out an uncomfortable giggle that devolved into a coughing spell that had Branson dashing over to save the day. "I'm fine, I'm fine!" she insisted, swatting him away. The last time we'd met she couldn't wait to hug my neck and welcome me. Now she kept her d
istance like I was asking her to buy something. I tried to not take it offensively. Her son hadn’t dated anyone seriously since college, was worth a lot of money, and depending on how much her husband had divulged, I was just a temporary thing so Xander could keep the company.
I knew that I didn't owe them an explanation and our story could very well fall on deaf ears, but I was done tiptoeing and letting my fears and anxieties keep me silent.
I suddenly wished that I'd taken that drink Branson offered earlier, but it was too late for that now. Marie was sitting there, gleefully delighting in what she was sure was the most embarrassing moment of my life, at her hands. Mrs. Wade was probably picturing me with my hooks in her son, trapping him with my feminine wiles, then heaven forbid, a bouncing bundle of joy.
I was never good with the whole meet the parents thing; social anxiety mixed with my crappy relationship with my own parents was a recipe for nail biting catastrophe. But I knew something with everything in me. I belonged with Xander Wade.
"I know we've only just met," I directed my attention to Mrs. Wade, since Xander's sister had already thrown down the gauntlet. Beneath the dresses and jewels and phony smiles, maybe I could reach his mother. "I wasn't looking for love when I met your son." From the way she arched her eyebrow and her lips twisted skeptically, I had a feeling she wanted more context, or was reading into the statement. I was definitely giving her the unfiltered version, but I rushed to tell her more. "I met Xander and in him, I found someone broken and dying to be seen, just like me. He's built this empire, and he's very good at what he does, but like me, he's not so good at letting people in. When I got a peek behind the curtain-" Emotion that even Marie's eye rolls couldn't snuff out filled me and the words stalled. Every emotion from fear, to excitement, to desire, to hope, raged inside me and the tears wouldn't be contained.
