Gilded Wings

by Laura Miller

  "Hello Vivienne", I smiled politely at her.

  Her un-naturally bleached blonde hair had been curved around her overtly tanned face. Small golden glasses framed her green eyes, the only naturally beautiful feature left on her fabricated face. Vivienne was now quite literally glaring at me. Oh God what, what have I done.

  "Jeans?" She practically screeched at me, like a high pitched banshee. Her eyes were pinched at the corner, scowling. Disapproval radiating from her like a soaring fire.

  Holy crap, it’s nothing life altering at the very least. I hadn’t planned to wear to jeans. I had a conservative black shift dress picked out, the perfect attire for lunch with the evil witch Vivienne. Why did I talk to Lucy for so long? So what, what does it matter that I was wearing my sexy ass jeans? I was comfortable and we were having brunch for God’s sake, brunch!

  "Sorry Vivienne, I though jeans would be suitable as we were only meeting for brunch."

  "Suitable? Take a look around you Everline, do you see anyone else in jeans?" Her arms launched out from her sides, wavering dramatically at the room of guests that surrounded us. My eyes obediently followed her arms and glanced around the room, taking in the men in formal tailoring and business suits, and women groomed to perfection in pencil skirts.

  "Um, No,” I stuttered. God, how did she do this to me? I was strong. Or so I thought. I had always been independent; I had to be. But since being with Henry, I had found it slipping away, each and every day. Managing to lose a little more of myself along the way.

  "Sorry Vivienne, it won’t happen again." She intimidated me more than any other human being in this world. She was glamorous and strong and the protection she felt for Henry, her only child was immense. She had to be involved in every decision and every part of our lives. What was worse was that she practically hated me. I was not what she wanted for her precious son. I was not educated enough, pretty enough or from the right social background for me to even be considered by her. She was still seething that her best friend’s daughter, Antonia had not won Henry’s heart. She was positively the perfect socialite.

  "Good, make sure you don’t," she sneered.

  We sat in awkward silence. My voice not strong enough to think of the correct thing to say which would be a suitable topic of discussion. I noted the fine cutlery which sat placed in front of me on the off white linen, three of everything.

  "So Everline, I hear that you got offered a job?"

  This was surprising, was she pleased? Maybe she could see I didn't want to live off of Henry's wealth. I lifted my head softly, allowing my eyes to focus on her facial expression before answering. Her face was bitterly unreadable.

  "Yes," I said softly. Trying to gauge where this was going before I exuded to much enthusiasm.

  "Well. . .” she paused, “Although I think although this may have been a Nobel gesture on your part you have to realize this is not a suitable way to behave. If you wish to try and become the woman my Henry deserves, then I suggest you get these ideals of being a working woman out of your head. Henry needs a responsible woman who he knows will make a good housewife and mother to his children". Children, housewife?

  "Do you understand that you have to change your ways Everline, and start to be more responsible? Try engaging in more literature, try pushing yourself to being more intellectually capable of socialising around more of the family associates."

  I could feel tears welling up in the corners of my eyes; I would not let this woman make me cry. Well at least not until I was out of her view.

  "Yes" I mustled up, “of course.”

  “Good, at least we are clear.”

  I was deep in thought, confused and hurt by the conversation we just had. Not that it was much of a conversation, more of a dictation. I thought I had left this behind, but I found myself back in familiar circumstances and all I wanted to do right now was sob into my pillow.

  "Can I take your order?" I heard a sweet woman's voice ask. As I turned to look at her I saw sympathy in her eyes. I had to presume she had witnessed our encounter.

  "Can I have the bacon, eggs bened . . ." I was abruptly cut off.

  "Two Caesar salads please waitress, light on the dressing". She bit out at the waitress. Not even taking the courtesy to lift her eyes from the menu. I stared at Vivienne bemused at her ignorant manner.

  "Dear you need to start eating healthier. You have seemingly put on a good few pounds and could do with losing them."

  I was mortified, a few pounds?? Admittedly I did not have a stick thin models figure but I was happy and comfortable in my own skin. I was a petite 5ft2, one hundred pounds, my petite waist highlighted the womanly curve of my hips and full bust. It had taken me years to accept my body respecting it and the curves I possessed. For this woman to demoralize me like this sliced through me like a knife.

  We sat through an uncomfortable silence. Vivienne focused on her Blackberry. I started through the windows out on to the lush green grounds, trying to stop myself from whimpering like a scorned child. When our salads arrived I felt a sense of release. I picked at the lettuce leafs knowing that Vivienne enjoyed eating in silence. Not much longer, then I will be out of here. The salad was delicious, everything on the menu was of course. But my stomach was still yearning for more food. Hmm, To–do list. Run out of here, wallow in self pity in my car, then head to the bakers for exceptionally large, warm, freshly back pain au chocolate. Perfect.

  "Thank you for lunch Vivienne, it was good to see you.”

  "Likewise, just make sure you take head of my advice Everline.”

  The cool September breeze rushed against my face. Instantly lowering the burning temperature of my heated skin. I felt the tears start to gather fuelling my overwhelming urge to cry. I rushed towards my car as quickly as my legs would let me. Bodies in suits started to bump into me along the busy pathways, London was hectic at noon. All of the workers ran out for their hour lunch breaks and didn't think twice about walking straight into me. Their hunger was a shrewd partner next to my emotional turmoil.

  I swung open the door to my ridiculously over sized, over priced Range Rover Vogue. It was tacky and represented everything I hate about wealth. It was a statuesque. A car which determined the treatment you were entitled to as you pulled into certain establishments. I hated the idea of this pretentious car determining my place in society. Henry insisted on it. I was happy with my little VW polo, it was compact and efficient. Better still it was not a gas guzzling monster that pounded emissions into our atmosphere.

  As I slammed the car door shut the tears started to pour like a wave on unrepressed emotional angst. They were uncontrollable. I was breaking down because of a bitch of a woman who found it suitable to convince me that I was anything but right for her precious son. Really, who refers to their son as 'my Henry'.

  "Excuse me.”

  A light tapping against my window startled me. “Are you okay?"

  I practically jumped when I noticed a male figure through the driver’s side window. Trying desperately to focus through my water blurred sight. I swiped the back of my hand across my eyes. Looking directly at me was the most intensely flawless face I had ever seen, just inches from me. Still sobbing I wavered my hand and mouthed yes through the glass. Praying this stranger would leave me to wallow in self pity.

  "You don't look okay," he called through.

  What does he care, why is he even still here? Staring at me with his unreadable, beautiful eyes.

  "I'm fine," my voice broke on the fine.

  He pulled on my car handle and the door swung open. Damn it, why didn’t I lock the doors. I am going to be murdered in a car park in Mayfair because I didn’t lock my stupid car door. I leaned back ready to jump across the passenger seat and out of the other door before looking into his eyes once more. But instinct told me I was safe with him, his eyes held no threat. He crouched at the foot of the door making no attempt to come near me. He had merely removed the partition that divided our space. His eyes only looked at me with
compassion and sympathy, they were warm, inviting, sea blue flecked with glistening amber. I wanted to melt as I gazed into them. I couldn't help but want to look at him, wanting to take in every part of him. I realized his face was almost perfect. There was one small scar above his right eyebrow. I liked it, he looked raw, primal. His hair was ash brown. Short with a little length on top which had the messy-bad boy-just-got-out-of-bed-look going on. His jaw was chiselled with a little light stubble over. He was, wow, and now I was more than mortified that he had found me sobbing my heart out in my car.

  How could I tell him that my boyfriend’s mother had upset me? It sounded so juvenile and pathetic. I was pathetic. This was my personal space, why did he have to invade it with his charming face, kind nature and muscular frame. I started to sob harder as I realized this day could not get any worse. Without saying a word he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and just held me. My body instantly tensed at the thought of another man touching me, holding me. His hold was like a warm comforting cocoon offering my body the support that it needed. As my body relaxed I tilted me head and rested my face on his shoulder. It felt so natural. My heart rate began to settle and in turn my tears subsided.

  I pulled back suddenly in the realization that this was wrong, morally wrong. What was more disturbing to me was that I didn't want to let go, I didn’t want to allow my body to be removed from his hold. I didn’t want to look into his eyes and know that I would never see them again.

  "I, I, I'm sorry, I didn’t meant to, um, soak your t-shirt.”

  His snow white t-shirt was blotched with tears and smudged mascara. I didn't even want to contemplate what my eyes must look like.

  “It's okay, don't ever apologise for being upset. Are you okay?" His voice was soft, caring.

  "Not really, but I will be, thank you for lending me your shoulder." I let out a slight smile, trying to lighten the reality of the scenario, me being held in another man’s arms.

  "I should really get back."

  "Oh right, you don't wanna talk about it, we could get a coffee?" he said looking a little deflated.

  "No, I am sorry, but thanks.” I sighed. “I should go”.

  I reached for the car door handle. He stepped back allowing me the room to clutch the handle, his eyes never left mine. I pulled my car door closed and drove away from the car park. As I glanced back in the rear view mirror, I saw him standing there looking directly at me. My heart fluttered and my eyes held onto his image for as long as possible before he disintegrated into the distance.

  Chapter 3

  I put the key in the front door lock and wiggled it as I turned it. I really needed to get a locksmith in to fix that. I hoped that I had some time alone to process the day quietly before Henry arrived home. As I walked into the hall I glanced around taking my surroundings in. We had lived here for a little over a year. As I looked around the hall and wandered through to our lounge I realized that none of this felt like home, not to me. Everything was eccentric, ridiculously grand and far too expensive. Everywhere was cream or white with solid oak flooring scattered with the odd antique Persian rugs. Priceless art work adorning the walls. None of which I even liked, a splat across a canvas, that was not art to me. I was proud of my artistic streak and loved to indulge. It was the only thing other than Lucy that helped me keep my sanity through my mother’s death. When I moved into this house Henry allowed me to create a studio in the loft room, it helped fill my monotonous days of cleaning and wandering around aimlessly trying to feel useful. It was my serenity. I could sit there for hours, painting and musing. None of my artwork found a suitable wall to hang from in our home. Henry did not find my art work priceless enough for his walls. I felt a little like a child whose scribbles only managed to find placement of the refrigerator door, yet at least theirs were loved and their parents had pride in them. No, mine were just paintings which sat in my studio. Alone.

  I walked along our split stair case and around the grand landing, looking at all of the doorways, six bedrooms. Why did we need six bedrooms? There was only the two of us and Henry was insistent that there would be no children in our near future. He wanted the next five years available to focus solely on his career and his company. I felt a little cold and lost in this big house. I reached the next staircase and climbed the fourteen steps to my loft room studio. This one single room was home to me. Colour filled the walls, memories of my life covering the canvases. The good and the bad. Images of frustration, emotional healing and lastly love. I sank into my chair, closed my eyes and let myself remember back to the happier times.

  ***

  He looked at me with solemn eyes and cupped my face in his hands. I looked into his bright green eyes and my heart started to race. He had heard it, he must have, he must have known the reaction he was causing my body to have. Without hesitation he leaned into me, touching his lips with mine. His kiss was soft yet wanting. Every inch of me was alive with desire. I leaned into him pursing my lips and running my hands through his dark chocolate brown hair, the kiss turned eager, passionately sliding his tongue into my mouth and massaging mine with his. His breathing rhythm increased and without at first realizing it he was laying me back against his desk. For a moment he stopped kissing me and pulled his head away. Stepping back he looked at me, "I have to give you something" as he said it he reached into his drawer and pulled out a large brown envelope and handed it to me. Intrigued, I carefully peeled it open and pulled out the papers inside.

  "Are you serious, my P45, your fucking firing me" I screamed at him. "What have I done wrong? I need this job."

  "No you don't, not anymore" he said calmly.

  His lips turned up at the corners smiling at me. I could tell he found my reaction humorous which enraged me further. Feeling confused and vulnerable, I opened my mouth to speak when he placed his index finger over my lips to silence them. Shit, I should have known there would be ramifications for sleeping with Henry, I just had not expected this. We were not official; we had just been having office fuckery fun for the past six months. There was no nasty break up of issues to work around, so why? Why was he talking my career away from me?

  "I have a company policy to not date or fuck my employees; since you have ever so kindly let me delve into your sweet panties I now find it the suitable time to end your employment for my company. I do not expect my girlfriend to work in a workshop filled with men that want to have their wicked way with her." I was dumbfounded, girlfriend? Henry and I had exchange mutual sexual relations but not in a million years did I expect him to want more of me than my body. What had just happened, all of these thoughts raced through my mind and then he kissed me again, sending the spiral of confusion completely out of my head. I let out a little squeal as the desire that ran through me was hard to control.

  He smiled at me, "I have wanted you since the first moment I had laid eyes on you. You will be my wife one day Evie."

  A sense of euphoria surrounded me. I was twenty two, the man of my dreams wanted me, simple old me. Everything in my life was changing for the better, everything was perfect.

  ***

  I awoke to the sound of the front door closing. I looked at the time and realized I must have fallen asleep, shit, it was 6.02pm and I hadn't even started dinner. I was starving and my stomach agreed by letting out a rumble. I ran down the two flights of stairs as quickly as my legs would carry me. Henry was standing in the hall kicking of his black lace up loafers. That was the one thing I always found awkward about Henry, he never relaxed or wore sneakers, jeans were as casual as he got, but they were always teamed with a shit and loafers, always.

  "Hungry baby?"

  "Starving" he returned. I smiled and kissed him on the cheek. I walked into the kitchen and started to get the ingredients out of the fridge.

  "Just jumping in the shower Evie" he called.

  "Okay, I’m making a lasagne so it will be about half an hour," Okay, time keeping isn’t my best quality, more like an hour.

  “Okay baby” he cal
led down the stairs.

  I started to chop the garlic and onion, tossing them into the sizzling pan which was laced with olive oil. I flicked the stereo on and started to dance and hum along with the rasp of Ed Sheeran’s music, swaying and smiling.

  I had just layered the lasagna and after a last sprinkling of parmesan, placed it into the oven when I felt his arms slide around my waist. The palms of his hands rested just above my pelvis.

  "I love you baby", he whispered softly into my ear.

  "I love you too", it came all too naturally, like a pre-embedded text which was returned all of his ‘I love you’s’.

  We danced around the kitchen for what seemed like an eternity. Twirling and spinning, laughing and smiling. We were not the most co-ordinated pair of dancers but it was entertaining to see Henry try and move to the music.

  "Oh wait, wait, wait, dinner!" I exclaimed.

  I nearly forgot, my stomach would not be pleased if I managed to burn it. After the small salad at brunch and then forgetting to get my pain au chocolate I could not risk losing this dinner. I rushed over and grabbed the oven gloves, swung open the door and pulled out the tray.

  "Phew", I sighed.

  "Disaster avoided baby?"

  "Yes, thank goodness.” I make a mean lasagne and did not want to have to feed it to the bin tonight!

  We sat around the table enjoying each other’s company, good food and a little tipple of wine.

  "How was tea with Mother today?"

  “Oh, um fine I suppose, she um, said I had put on a few pounds and ordered me salad", I grimaced remembering her bitter tone.

  “I am sure she didn't mean it darling.”

  "Perhaps", I sighed. “Do you think I am fat?”

  I knew picking with him about his mother was a losing battle. I would never expect him to choose her over me; she was of course his mother. It would however be nice if he happened to realize how much her comments upset me and considered discussing her remarks with her.