by J D Worth
“Ooh, let me guess! Your mother and father spent ‘magical’ summers here as children.”
“My mother’s family did. William came for short stays. He mostly grew up in boarding schools. Warren traded precious family memories by morphing his personal vacation home into the resort as soon as their clientele grew. Jonathan built cottages for his grown children. He wanted his family to stay close. They were so kind and loving…”
“And their children had a passionate affair possibly over one very hot summer,”—Fredrick winks, trying to get me to laugh—“so they had to get married, which now makes you the heiress to the empire.”
“Yes, they did.” I frown.
“What happened to the love birds?”
“My grandparents, my mother, and my uncle. My other grandfather. They all died. I’m the last of the Wakefield line.”
“This is turning out to be quite the tragic tale. I was routing for a happily ever after.” He pouts.
“This may be more of a Grimms’ fairy tale. Aster Holdings eats people alive.”
“Wow.”
“Yes.” I swallow hard before my throat closes up. “That is what it takes to run the Aster Empire.” Goosebumps break out on my arms as the haunting words my mother shared before her death settle over me.
The cancer had beaten her down by the time I returned from my European semester abroad. She spiked a high fever and landed in the hospital. Her cancer diagnosis was no longer a secret. She wasn’t sick; she was dying.
“Sparrow,” she said, running her limp hand over my long hair. I lay my head against her shoulder, snuggling with her in the hospital bed. I clung to her, not willing to let her go. “I messed up. The day will come when you have to forgive me.”
“What are you talking about, Mom?” Through damp eyelashes, I peeked up to her.
“Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Don’t be a fool when you wager on love, and don’t let yourself be blinded either. Find a love that burns so deep, your soul will feel the scorch marks for the rest of your life. No matter how scared this makes you. Or how hard the obstacles may seem. Love. Real love is worth every sacrifice you make.” The cancer had reached her lungs. Bloody coughing fits were the new normal. Her health deteriorated after that, and we never discussed her wishes for me again.
I rub my arms, willing warmth back. I won’t spend my life regretting a failure when I have so much to accomplish ahead of me.
Fredrick asks, “How did you acquire the ‘wild child’ moniker I’ve heard from Lilith and Georgina?”
“They’re the Witches of Wall Street.”
“Oh, shit!” Fredrick drops his bronzer brush to the floor and fumbles to pick it up. “You heard that?”
My eyes light up. “Fredrick, that’s the best thing I’ve heard in ages.”
He grimaces. “Yeah, the phrase used to be funny. Not so much now.”
“Why? Am I associated as one of the ‘witches’?
“Absolutely not. This morning you were joking with me about your trashed suite while taking it in stride. After Lilith stormed your suite, it dawned on me, disrespecting you wasn’t anything new for either of them.”
I shrug. “It’s not. Do you know why I laugh and joke as much as I can? I admit I’m silly. I have a limited berth of normal social interactions, so I’m awkward half the time. I rant and ramble. I stick my foot in my mouth and up my ass. Even my funny bone is sarcastic.” I grin. He softens his rigid posture. “Staying humble. That’s the key to surviving my world. Lilith and Georgina are acting as they always do. I bet Lilith was disrespectful to you over the phone. Wealth grants you an immense amount of power. It shouldn’t, but it does. People say yes to your demands all the time. There is absolutely no accountability. The same standards don’t apply. Wealth buys people. Used to be slaves. Now its politicians, lobbyists, laws, and regulations that help the one percenters earn even more money. Because controlling half of the wealth in our world isn’t enough for them. The game is accumulation. I have my own Titians of industry idols who make real differences with their money. Either you immerse yourself into the lifestyle and become a jackass. Or you stay humble, maintaining your moral compass while doing good for others. That’s the dirty truth of growing up wealthy.”
“And that’s the honest answer I was seeking about wealth. I’m still puzzled. Where does the ‘wild child’ persona originate from?”
I laugh. “Oh, that’s my superhero origin story, which explains my wild hair. The Witches’ hire stylists before social events, and Georgina demands Saturday spa days with me. I get blowouts that hide my ‘wildness’ behind a sleek sheet, given I’m not acceptable as is.”
“Nope, not the hair.”
“But my hair is the focal point because I refuse to settle for the status quo. Therefore, they cast me as the villain because I don’t do a damn thing, but yank my hair back in a ponytail.”
“That just means you’re fierce.”
I nod in appreciation.
“You have a wicked secret, don’t you?” He hums under his breath. “Hmm, planning for your own happily ever after? Working out a detailed and elaborate secret revenge plot? Or better yet, a plan to rule the entire universe.”
“All of the above. And all of my superpowers hail from cupcakes.” We snicker together. “Do you mind if I rest while you finish my makeup? Tonight is going to be enough of a challenge, and I already have a massive headache.”
“Oh, I almost forgot, you’re going to be handling two men at once. Chaz and Jack.” He winks. “The last time I tried juggling, I crash landed so hard that the carpet burns lasted a week. Never underestimate kneepads.”
I bite back a laugh. “I’m more than capable.”
My eyelids droop, and my mind wanders back to when the Witches took over my life. My mother came home to our country estate to die. That day snow fell in large clumps, glinting across the landscape. The scene was so beautiful and peaceful. Days like that shouldn’t be beautiful. There’s no peace when someone lies dying. Nurses come and go. Machines beep. The body lets out the last fight, a startling death rattle as life winds down. The rattle marked the end for my mother.
An insulating silence always accompanies snow. The same is true for death. Breathing stops. Machines no longer beep. The room empties. The house falls into a quiet mourning. Footsteps are lighter. Voices drop to whispers. Even tears are silent. And when your heart shatters, no one can hear that either.
Lilith entered the master suite as I held my mother’s cold hand. “Where is my father?” I waited for him to follow behind her. He never showed. She had no answer.
“Come now, Audrey, we must plan for the service.” With one glance at my tear-stained face, she tugged me away. Neither bothered to pay their last respects.
Lilith gathered everyone in the hallway entrance. Grief and murmurs of dismay worked their way around the expansive space. Her clanking heels shattered the stillness. She took a few steps up the grand staircase, announcing, “As you know, Charlotte’s passing concludes your employment here at Chatsworth Manor. You can direct any questions to my assistant Claire.” Each staff member gave me a quick parting hug. Lilith whisked me out to the town car, leaving Claire behind to deal with matters. Nobody could’ve prepared me for the loneliness that befell like an ice age.
Lilith dumped me at the Fifth Ave apartment. I waited for my father to show. He never arrived. I sat by myself for hours and wound up crashing in my bed from exhaustion. No more tears came after that day. I went through the motions without processing the grief.
My first day back to school, my father explained, “Audrey, I’ll drop you off to school on my way in to Aster Holdings. A driver will pick you up. Lilith has arranged a tutor after school to assist with schoolwork. I’m not sure how your mother handled matters, but you are not to contact me while I’m working. Lilith is steering all school matters. The staff will attend to your needs. In the evenings, you’ll represent the Aster family while we atte
nd social functions. You will be on your best behavior at all times. One slip up, you’ll spend all of your time in the strictest boarding school Lilith can find. Do we have an understanding?”
With one weak nod of my head, my father and I formed a rhythm of cohabitation. We had a quiet breakfast set to the business news every morning before he’d dump me at my new Manhattan prep school. I was on my own the rest of the time, diving into my schoolwork as a distraction. He’d come back late after dinner if our social agenda was clear and head to his third floor office for additional work.
Three months later, I got the jolt of my life. I arrived to a blonde-haired, blue-eyed bombshell making herself at home. I stormed away from her, dialing my father in the process. Ready for the battle, he answered on the first ring. “Audrey.”
“Why is there a woman—”
“I’d think twice if I were you about getting too sentimental.” He ended the call. I continued to phone him. The discussion wasn’t over. He forwarded my calls to his executive assistant. We both knew he wouldn’t return them. That was the first and last time I contacted my father at the office. Ten minutes later, Georgina’s phone rang instead of mine.
“Darlin’, Will wants a word.” With her smug voice, her hair full of long extensions, her nails even faker, she handed over the phone.
“Care to explain why—”
“Audrey, you’ve had a difficult time accepting your mother’s passing. You need to move on and accept my relationship with Georgina.” My father’s cold, stern voice cut through me. “She’s an important part of my life now, so please, no more interruptions.” The line went silent. Her smile turned triumphant.
“Georgina Wells.” I sank into the couch cushions, recalling her presence at key social events my family hosted the past few years. She didn’t handle her family’s business matters. No, her hands were on my father’s “personal” business. An intelligent woman never depends on a man for her future. She carves her own. I studied her designer wares and glinting diamond jewelry. Georgina didn’t buy those pieces herself. She was trading her future for a few measly diamonds. Well, this was going to be fun.
She snatched her phone back. “Yes, that’s me.”
I sat there in a daze while she scrunched up her nose at my mother’s vintage and rare formal gown collection spread across the large living room. “Oh, did you want any of these old things?” Georgina asked, scrubbing my mother from our apartment.
Laughing, I asked, “You have no idea what vintage Valentino looks like, do you? Or custom designs by Gucci and Versace made solely for my mother.”
She glanced over me, eyeing my figure. “I don’t think they’d fit you anyway.” She tossed the gowns towards a new maid. “I’ve already talked to the chef here. No more extras for you! Someone has to straighten you out.” Did Georgia really think she could fuck with my cupcakes? What an evil witch!
“The golden broker rule: buy low, dump high. William picked you up at a rock bottom price, huh?” She blanched at the question. “What are you now, thirty? Don’t they usually put mistresses out to pasture by then?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m only twenty-seven. I’ll have you know, I’m on the boards of several important charities.”
I snorted. “Those boards take years to land. How’d you cut the line? Through Lilith? Let’s be honest here, you’re a placeholder. Your sole purpose in life is to marry rich, which makes you the worst kind of social climber.”
“How dare you speak to me like that!”
I pointed to the spare bedroom she was claiming as her own closet. The room was overflowing with racks full of designer goods and tons of shopping bags from a recent spree. She repurposed my mother’s matching china cabinets as display cases for her pageant trophies and tacky crowns. She really had been making herself at home. “These nauseating ‘status’ symbols, not to mention this ridiculous Southern belle routine, might make you perfect trophy wife material. If you wanted to establish an authentic relationship with me than you would be treating me with respect. All that matters to you is how you landed in William Aster’s bed. You won the big prize, correct?”
Her puffy lips gaped like a fish, but it was hard to tell with all her fillers. I glanced over her perky breasts, just large enough to accentuate her tiny waist, and shook my head.
“Your peer group has lost the old school class by having ‘tasteful’ plastic surgery and green tea smoothies. Your generation only concerns themselves with high society and social status while filling your days with personal trainers, shopping, and spas. This is the curse of the perpetual spoiled rich socialites bred with a sense of entitlement. You go from your father’s money to your husband’s wealth. You learn all the tricks of the trade that keep you in the spotlight while social media inflates your egos. What a shame your generation is perpetuating the norms that the old boys’ club of Wall Street demand, thinking you’re being clever by sneaking into their beds behinds their wives’ backs. William will screw you over like he did with my mother.”
“You’re a little bitch!”
“And you were screwing my father while my mother lay dying.”
A high-pitched screech died in her throat while she parked her fisted hands on her hips.
“Don’t want that dirty little secret getting out?”
“William told me he had separated from his wife.” Her voice lost its glossy luster as she seemed to shake with rage. “Honestly, I didn’t know.” My knees almost bent under me. She pulled out a plain silver cross hidden beneath her silk top. “I’m a good Southern Baptist girl. When someone like William Aster tells you he’s ready to move on after his wife left him, you believe him since he has everything to lose.”
My voice hovered above a whisper. “It doesn’t matter what he says. You have to pay attention to what he does. My father certainly didn’t divorce my mother. Not even for you. She only left to redo her cottage after the hurricane, and he tricked you into becoming an adulteress. How exactly does that sit with your ‘good’ Southern Baptist values? You chose to keep sleeping with a married man after he lied to you.” I motion to her sparkling jewels. “I guess all the glittering greed blinded your values.”
“I’ve given up everything to be with William.”
“Oh, you poor thing. You have to put the nail polish down when he calls.”
She puckered up her face. “Look at your momma’s actions. She sent you away and left him high and dry when she ran off to North Carolina. Only to turn around and beg him for another chance once she got sick. He took her back for you.”
“Don’t speak of her again. You only know one side of their relationship.”
“And so do you.”
“Georgina, you have no idea what you agreed to once you started dating William. You’re better off learning your own family’s peach farming and schnapps business inside and out so that you can take over when the time comes. Start with a business degree and control your own destiny, never having to bow to any man again. If you stay here, you’re bowing to William and Lilith the rest of your life.” I made my way into my bedroom where I slammed the door and slid to the floor. A new era of hell begun. William was making her presence a permanent feature. It was a chilling thought, forced to associate the word “stepmother” with Georgina.
The proximity alone of my mother’s cottage is bringing back many thoughts and emotions I haven’t allowed myself to think or feel since her death. Lilith has told me a million times that emotions are for the weak. I learned to live by this mantra. In some ways, my life is easier without having to feel anything. According to Lilith, love is not a part of our Aster nature. The earlier I learn this fact than the easier my life will be. Love only exists in fairy tales anyway.
Fredrick says something that pulls me back as he finishes with my makeup. I’m slow to open my eyes. The weight of the day presses down on me like an elephant sitting on my chest again. Fredrick asks if I want a mirror.
“Are we ready for the
dress now?” I ask instead. “I wish to move on with today.”
He places his hand on his chest. “I’ve never had a client refuse to look in a mirror at her own beauty. I can see now where you stash that beautiful rebel you’re determined to hide.” He jerks his hip out and places his hand under his chin. He adds a sly smile. “You’d own the catwalk.”
I eye the larger-sized dress, questioning why he’s talking about a catwalk at all. In the fashion world, the standard is a size zero and perhaps a size two, depending on the designer. I’d know after listening to Georgina complaining all the time how a size two doesn’t always fit. According to her, the designer didn’t use the correct measurements. In reality, she’s bloated half the time from her unhealthy dieting.
