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In other news, they were still completely oblivious to my presence. Not that I was surprised. I wondered where Gracelynn was. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet since I got there, no doubt thinking of ways to kill me without leaving traces.
“I was thinking I’d have my husband’s support! Sue me for making the assumption.” Miranda grabbed a vase from the center of the table and hurled it at him. He dodged artfully—expertly—reminding me that throwing objects at one another was a daily occurrence in this house, akin to passing the jam across the table at breakfast.
“Well, you now stand corrected. Iusedto care. I no longer do. You’re not even half as beautiful as you were when we met, and twice as temperamental and problematic. I’m done.”
I suspected Miranda and my father were on the brink of divorce. Not because she was terrible to him. She’d always been that. But because he was starting to notice, for a change, and it didn’t look like he was as agreeable to her mood swings and demands.
Miranda stared at him with a combination of panic and disbelief. I sat back. I was enjoying this. Why shouldn’t I? This woman had been nothing but horrible to me, and it looked like she was finally getting hers. As for my father, he was no angel, either, and watching him grow old alone was a sight I’d relish.
“What are you saying, Doug?” Miranda inhaled.
“I think you should spend Christmas away.” He pushed off the wall, heading toward the door.
“Are you serious?” She rushed after him now.
“Yes. The kids can stay with me. The cook’s making a big enough meal, and I don’t want the food wasted.”
Ho, ho, ho. Merry fucking Christmas.From my dysfunctional family to yours.
“One of them is sitting right here,” I said blandly, highlighting a passage in my book. No one acknowledged me. “Speaking of food, you’re ruining my appetite.”
“I’ll ask Gracelynn what she wants to do. I bet she wouldn’t want to spend the holiday with you!” Miranda said spitefully.
“Don’t be so sure,” Doug replied, already halfway through the door. “She’s fond of me, and I know for a fact she hates your guts.”
Oh, lookee here. Trouble in paradise?
It was comforting to know that Gracelynn’s childhood had ended up being just as fucked up as mine. Miranda lingered in the dining room, panting, when I took a bite of my oatmeal and flipped another page.
“I’m sure you’re just delighted with this whole scene.” Miranda pivoted my way with snark, trying to pick a fight.
I swung my gaze from my book to her, smiling. “I’m amused more than delighted. Glee is such an acute feeling—I doubt you could do or say anything that’d prompt me to such emotional heights.”
“Ah, you and your stupid riddles. I never understand what you mean.” She bared her teeth. “You’ve always been odd and awkward, just like your mother.”
To this jab, I gave a full-blown laugh. “She was weird, awkward, and the first lawful wife of Douglas Corbin. The mother of his firstborn. His sole heir. And she might be dead, but these facts? They fuckingkillyou, Miranda.”
“Tell me.” She leaned forward, toward me, her eyes dancing in their sockets. “Why are you happy about all of this? It’s not like you’re having a bad time at Andrew Dexter.”
Sitting back, I drummed my fingers on the back of my hardcover, giving it some thought. “Guess I enjoy seeing karma in action. You convinced this man to throw his son—his own flesh and blood—to the curb. And you expected him to stick around for you? Loyalty is not a tree. It doesn’t grow with time. Either you’re a loyal person or you’re not. Douglas isn’t loyal. What’s more, I bet he isn’t faithful either.”
She still stared at me as I picked up my empty oatmeal bowl and my book and left the room, knowing that she wanted to hurt me but that she no longer had the power to do so.
Dad turned out to be right. Gracelynn decided to stick around at the mansion for Christmas while her mother ran away to our Hamptons house, surrounding herself with her New York divorcée friends.
The benefit of this whole thing was that over the years, I’d relocated my residence whenever I was here for vacations, and I now lived in a separate wing of the house, far away from her. It was entirely possible for me not to see her at all if I wished to.
And I did wish to, because she was a pain in the ass.
I managed to avoid her the entire duration of the holiday, save for Christmas Day itself, on which the three of us exchanged gifts.
Dad got me a 1966 Shelby 427 Cobra and my stepsister a vintage tiara—the real deal, full of diamonds. Gracelynn got me funny socks and a sweater. I gifted Dad an engraved cigar box and for Gracelynn, arctic mice—snake food from PetSmart. The gift drew an awkward giggle from her and an annoyed hum from him, but he was too preoccupied with the collapse of his marriage to chide me for it.
I endured the day, hour by hour, minute by minute, until it evaporated into the night and I was able to breathe again.
Another day passed, and then another. It was a beautiful thing to look at the calendar and see that tomorrow I was going back to AndrewDexter, and Miranda was still not here, and Gracelynn, whowashere somewhere, was as miserable and lost as I’d felt my first two years at Andrew Dexter.
The occasion called for a celebration, and I decided to go downstairs to the kitchen in the middle of the night to raid the wine fridge. I hadn’t planned on drinking tonight, but I’d bring some bottles with me to the dorms. Riggs and Nicky would appreciate it, and we’d have enough alcohol to hold us over until Easter.
