by Jane Henry
“So, tell me about this guy.”
She groans. “He’s a pompous jackass, but when we were in third grade, I kissed him.” I smirk. “Third graders do stupid shit, but our parents were insistent it was some sort of premonition or something. They had this grand idea that the businesses would merge, families would become one, and we’d all live happily ever after.”
I don’t respond, focusing my eyes on the road. I do not like the fact I’m walking into this with her.
“So what happened?”
She shifts a little, pursing her lips, and finally blows out a breath. “I dated him, briefly, in high school, but it was only to appease my parents. I resisted every advance he’s made on me since then, and wish he’d leave me the fuck alone.”
“Wait. Leave you alone? You mean you’re still in contact?”
She looks back out the window and shrugs. “You know, Facebook and stuff.”
I do not like this. “I see.”
“And he’s so excited I’m coming to the wedding, and I couldn’t be less excited about seeing him or my parents again, but it’s Chantilly’s wedding, and I can’t miss that for anything.”
The plot thickens and I’m not too thrilled. “Ok, then. So… do your parents know you brought a guest?”
She cringes, her eyes apologetic. “I may have… neglected to mention that.”
“But didn’t you RSVP?”
She shrugs. “Well, yes, but… remember I was late? Chantilly manually added me, and I didn’t want to push things, so what’s one more?”
I frown. I don’t like this at all.
“I’m not ashamed of you, Zack,” she says, which somehow verbalizes shit I don’t want to hear. “I just couldn’t deal with my parents and knew that when they saw you, they’d see why I’m with you.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Nice save.” She’s in a hard situation, and I can’t blame her. The truth is, I hide shit from my parents, too. “Yeah, I get what it’s like, sorta,” I say. “I mean, my parents live in a residence home south of Boston, on the Cape. They play cribbage and volunteer at the food pantry. They’re proud of Zachary the cop, but they would be appalled at Zack the Dom.”
She giggles. “If my parents had any idea…”
Now that we’re out of the city, the road widens, and is lined with huge maples, turning red and gold and chestnut. The autumn wind kicks up, wind whipping in the opened windows as we drive. For the first time since we set off, we’re seeing residential homes line the streets, as big as football stadiums. They’re magnificent. This isn’t anything I’m familiar with at all.
“Almost there,” she whispers, “God, I want to turn around and go back home.” Her voice wavers, and whatever doubt I had about her parents flees with the sudden knowledge that I need to take care of her.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I say to her, but I don’t know if it’s me or her I’m speaking to.
We drive in silence for a time until the GPS says we’re only a short distance away. She grows visibly nervous, wiping her hands on her pants. “I don’t want to do this,” she whispers. I look at her in surprise. Beatrice is not a wallflower, not easily cowed by any stretch. Just last week, the bouncer at Verge got on the case of a girl Bea knew from work, and I had to practically pull her off a guy twice her size. She’s a spitfire, this one. I don’t like that she’s subdued like this even if I’m dreading going to her family’s goddamn home. I grew up with the white picket fence and Friday night pizza. We watched TV and camped in the summer and my mom canned her own veggies and preserves. My life was simple, and homey, and comfortable.
At least until the summer of my senior in high school... But I still remembered times my mom had gotten food stamps, and the hand-me-downs we used to get from the rummage sale at the little church we frequented.
“So when was the last time you heard from this Judson guy?”
She sighs and bites her lip but doesn’t respond at first. That’s weird.
“Bea?”
“Welllll…”
I feel my stomach clench and I grip the steering wheel a little harder.
“Beatrice Ann.”
“Oh, I hate when you pull out the middle name,” she sighs. “Um. Last I heard from him was last night. He Facebooked me.”
An unpleasant prickle of cold trickles down my neck. “Was that before or after I fucked you?”
She winces, and I immediately regret the snap. God, what the fuck is my problem?
“Zack,” she whispers, a plea.
I huff out a breath. “Sorry, babe,” I say, reaching for her knee. “I’m kinda keyed up about all this. That wasn’t cool.”
“Hard to answer anyway,” she said. “Considering we fucked at the club and then when we got home.” She’s teasing me, but her voice is tremulous. Jesus, I’m an asshole.
Her fingers entwine with mine. “I hate this guy. I can’t stand him. Two minutes in a room with him, you’ll see why. I only responded to his Facebook message to be polite, and then he just slammed me with message after message. My mom will give me shit if I don’t respond to him, so I did.”
“Your mom will give you shit?”
She looks away with a sigh. “Yeah. You’ll see.”
Jesus.
“Do I need to make it clear to this guy who I am?”
Do I need to make it clear to her who I am?
We’ve been dating now for a while, and we’ve moved into an easy routine. I’ve asked her three times to move in with me, and she’ll have none of it. She loves her friend Diana and is happy for her but insists the whole wedding and kid thing isn’t her gig. I don’t know how I feel about that. I only really know how I feel about her.
She leans in and puts her head on my shoulder. “Yes,” she whispers. “We need to make it clear to everyone.” She sighs again. “Swear to God if this was anyone but Chantilly, I wouldn’t be going.”
“That bad?”
“That bad.”
We drive in silence until the houses give way to nothing but a long stretch of road, lined with elegant trees that leave dappled shadows on the ground in front of us. To the right I see what looks like a barn, a stable with a white picket fence, though it doesn’t appear there are any animals there. And further up, ahead, lays a creek, lined with rocks, and though it’s far off from the main road, it looks like a wrought-iron bench sits alongside it.
“God, this is beautiful,” I say.
“I know,” she whispers. “That’s my family home, up ahead.”
And then I see the shadow of her house. Can I call it a house? A mansion is more like it. Estate? This is the biggest place I’ve ever laid eyes on. The balcony extends over the grass below, ivy hanging from the black fence that surrounds it. Huge glass windows dot the house, and to the left is a large, kidney-shaped pool. A garden flanks the right side, with a trellis laden with vines. Though it’s early fall, roses still bloom at the entrance to the garden. Far, far in the back I see a small treehouse of sorts, a wooden structure beside a swing set that looks like a child’s fantasy plaything.
I feel suddenly way, way out of my element. Why hasn’t she told me this? Her family’s fucking loaded.
“This is where you grew up?” I ask, incredulous, as we approach the locked gate.
“Well, one of the places where I grew up. We own a house in Maine, a vacation home in Florida, some property on the West Coast we traveled to, and um… a chalet in Paris.” She says it all in a rush.
Holy shit. Wow.
“We went camping in the Berkshires of Western Mass,” I say with a forced laugh. How could I have dated her for seven months, asked her to move in with me… fucked her more times than I could count… have actually thought about marrying her, and not known this about her? I’ve asked her about her family but she always evades questions. I knew they were wealthy and she didn’t talk to them much and that she has no siblings.
That was it. We both worked so much I hadn’t taken her to see my folks yet but planned to over the
holidays.
“I can’t believe I didn’t know this about you,” I say.
Her jaw tightens, and she looks back to me, pulling her hand away. “This is not something you didn’t know about me,” she says. “And it’s exactly why I haven’t said anything to you. Because this isn’t me. This is a small part of who I am, for the sole reason being that I grew up here. It doesn’t define who I am even a little, and I’ve spent my entire adulthood distancing myself from this life that is no longer me.”
I’m not sure I agree. I clench my jaw. “Bea, I get that. And I respect it. Still, you grew up with bank, babe, and I should’ve known that.”
She purses her lips and turns away. “Well now you know.”
She’s pushed it far enough. “Watch it, sweetheart.” My tone is hard, she knows better than to push me with the disrespect.
She sighs and nods. “I’m sorry, Zack.” She takes my hand. “I’ll behave.”
“Good girl.” I know this is not easy for her. I’ll do the best I can.
We pull up to the gate. “Punch in…” she hesitates and releases a deep sigh. “Princess 0822.”
That’s her birthday.
“Princess?”
“Please don’t ask,” she whispers.
Something tells me pretty soon, I won’t have to.
Chapter 5
Mom comes out to greet me the second Zack puts the car in park. She looks, as usual, completely stunning. Despite her age, her hair is still platinum blonde, and she’s dressed like she just stepped out of a studio, in a form-fitting silver and moss-green dress that hugs her slim, svelte figure. Her skin looks as beautiful and unblemished as the last day I saw her, which, if memory serves, was over two years ago. I wonder if she got another injection of botox.
She looks, if possible, even haughtier than I remember, and a little thinner. Her blonde hair, once as golden as mine, looks lighter, whiter even. Her arms cross on her chest, and I can tell she’s taking in Zack’s coupe. I love driving in his car, and I like it so much more than the shiny Mercedes parked in the garage. I know the pristine leather interior still looks as if the car was driven off the lot. It’s only one of several cars they own, but the Mercedes is the one they drive on “regular” days. It’s the supermarket car. The Lexus or BMW accompanies them on travel; the limo escort when they go to a benefit or anything in the public sphere. They scorn little cars like Zack’s and would be utterly horrified if they knew of my propensity for dirtying myself within the interior of a random Uber.
Zack whistles. “Holy shit. Is that a classic Bugatti?”
“Yeah,” I say, bored. Whatever. So the car’s worth more than most people’s homes.
Zack’s eyes widen. “For real?”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t care less about the car. The only memory I have of the thing was when I stole it my senior year in high school to escape with my boyfriend of the hour. They didn’t care about the car and cared less that my boyfriend had dumped me unceremoniously when the homecoming queen flirted with him. They were appalled that I’d dated someone below me. I went to private schools, and the ex had gotten a full scholarship. He was a “charity student,” according to my parents. I could still feel the pain of his rejection, the sting of my parents’ scorn when I looked at that car.
Unpleasant memories settled on my shoulders at being in the presence of my parents’ estate again.
“This was a mistake,” I whisper to Zack. “I don’t want to be here. We should’ve gotten a hotel and stayed just for the wedding. I should’ve skipped the rehearsal dinner and just gone to the wedding.” The rehearsal dinner is here tonight, a catered party in the back planned for afterward. Chantilly had begged me to come, and I’d finally agreed.
“Come home, Beatrice,” she’d begged.
“We can still leave,” Zack says. He hasn’t opened the door yet. “I’ll make the plans right now. Wave to your parents, and we can—”
“Beatrice! How are you?” The high-pitched greeting of Aunt Veronica makes me nearly jump. “Get out of that car and let me see you!”
She’s coming around the corner of the garage, a cigarette held in between her chubby fingers. Aunt Veronica is my dad’s sister, a plump, fairly innocuous relative of mine who’s every bit as rich as my father is. She’s nicer, though. More real. And though she wouldn’t know what to do in a taxi if her life depended on it, she was always good to me.
“Hi, Aunt V,” I greet, shutting the door and bracing myself as she reaches me. She gives me a bone-crushing hug, then releases me and takes another pull on her smoke.
Zack shuts the driver’s side door and comes around to us.
“Aunt Bea, meet my boyfriend, Zack.”
Her eyes go wide, and her brows shoot up. “You brought a date, darling? Your mother didn’t tell me.”
“I kept it sorta quiet,” I answer, as Zack extends his hand.
“Nice to meet you,” he says. He’s tired from all the driving we’ve done but still hot as hell with his sandy-brown hair falling over his forehead, his dark eyes, and the scruff that lines his jaw.
“Very nice to meet you,” Aunt Veronica responds. She turns to me. “And honey? That was a good call.” She turns around and we follow her after Zack gets our bags from the trunk. He hands me the tiniest one and takes the other four, and though I protest, he insists.
Mom stands at the top of the steps and waits for us. My stomach churns with nerves. Figures she can’t be bothered coming down to see me.
“Who’s here?” I ask Aunt Veronica.
“Oh, everyone,” she says with a wave of her hand.
My stomach lurches. It isn’t until we climb the stairs that lead to the balcony that we get a good glance at our backyard. She wasn’t kidding. Literally everyone is here. My cousins, my aunts, my uncles, my grandparents. I’m suddenly eighteen years old again, and the years I’ve spent defining myself in NYC evaporate.
Zack raises a sandy brow at me but doesn’t say anything.
“Hi, mom,” I say, needing to get this over with. Zack puts our bags down and extends his hand.
“Mrs. Moore, nice to meet you.”
She doesn’t take his hand and merely points to the entryway door.
“You can tell your driver where to put your bags, Beatrice. You’ll be staying in the guest room on the first floor.”
I blink before I realize she’s talking about Zack. She thinks he’s my driver. Zack’s brows shoot up, and he looks to me.
“Mom,” I stammer. “This is Zack. He’s my boyfriend, not my driver. God!”
She blinks, her lips thin, and her gaze narrows on him. I see his husky, seriously hot form in worn jeans and a faded rust-colored tee, and she, no doubt, sees nothing but faded. Zack stands his ground, holding his hand out, and still she doesn’t take it. Anger coils in my belly and I fight the desire to slap her perfect face. I haven’t even been here five minutes and she’s already insulted Zack.
This was such a fucking mistake.
“Beatrice? Oh my God! Is that Bea?” A familiar, lyrical voice reaches my ears, and a blur of white and brown stun me before I nearly fall over in a tackle hug from my cousin.
I stand back and hold her at arm’s length. “Chantilly? Oh my God. You look amazing, honey!” And she does. The last time I saw her she was a very curvy, wide-eyed high school senior, and she still looks the same, with her beautiful sky-blue eyes, thick, chestnut-colored hair that cascades down her shoulders, but she looks a little older, and she’s lost a little weight. She wears a white lace sheath dress and silver flats. A corsage adorns her right wrist, the smell wafting up to me as she holds both of my hands in hers. “I’m so glad you came,” she whispers, effectively turning her back on my mother, her eyes sincere and filled with joy. “I was afraid you wouldn’t. It means so much to me.”
I lean in and kiss her cheek. “Wouldn’t miss it, sweetie. I can deal with them for a few days to see my baby cousin say I do.”
I pull back and reach for Zack, putting my h
and on his arm. “Meet my boyfriend, Zack.” Zack takes her hand in his and shakes and they exchange pleasantries as my mother bristles in the background. Zack looks hot as hell but sticks out in this crowd. I don’t care. I won’t care.
“Your boyfriend?” Chantilly asks. “Oh, it’s so nice to meet you.” She looks him straight in the eye. “And I’m glad you came with her.” She leans in and whispers, “She shouldn’t have to face them alone.”
Before he has a chance to respond she releases his hand. “Oh, for goodness sakes, you guys haven’t even put your bags away yet. C’mon, c’mon.” She turns to mom. “They’re staying in the downstairs guest room, right?”
Mom’s lips are so thin I’m surprised she can still speak. “She is,” she says, her back rigid. “I’ll find another place for him.”
“Mom, he stays with me,” I begin, but she narrows her eyes.
“And somewhere along the line you married him without telling me?” she asks.
“Well, no, I—”
“Then he stays in another room.” I feel as if someone’s dumped ice water on me.
“Let it go, babe,” Zack says in my ear.
Chantilly looks from me to Zack, and I make a decision. “Just put the bags in there for now, Zack,” I say. “We won’t be staying here. We’ll stay at the hotel tonight.”
“Good call,” Zack says, but Chantilly’s face falls.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, but all the hotels are booked from here and thirty miles out.” Her face winces apologetically. “Big wedding.” She sighs.
I swear I see my mother’s lips curl up.
“Let it go,” Zack says in my ear. “We’ll survive.”
He has no idea what he’s getting into.
After we put our bags away, Veronica, my mother’s housekeeper, finds a vacant room near mine for Zack to stay. We dress for the evening and freshen up, and he joins me in my room, shuts and locks the door.
“Charming family,” he says, but his eyes are twinkling.
I groan. “You haven’t met my dad yet. Maybe reserve your judgment until then.” Apparently, dad was out with Uncle Herb the night before, and had more to drink than he had in years. Mom says he’s “under the weather,” and Chantilly confides with a laugh that both dad and Uncle Herb were “three sheets to the wind.”
