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“Another box of shit from the manor,” he answers despondently as he slides it over to the couch. “That’s what I was doing the day of your accident. I had to go pick it up. They brought it to the gate of course. Wouldn’t even let me pull up to the door.”
“That was…nice of your mom I guess…to give you more of your things?” I wince awkwardly, knowing very well that there’s nothing nice about any of this. A box of stuff? Great. How about a bed or the rest of his clothes. Money for food. Or any number of things she could still be providing her son who’s barely eighteen.
“Oh, it didn’t come from my mom,” he grunts. “The house staff of course. I guess they felt sorry for me.” He rummages through it, pulling out random items. A baseball, a t-shirt, and a few books. “It’s all pretty useless.”
One leather-bound book with no words on the front catches my eye just as he grabs it and tosses it to the ground. I quickly snatch it up and open it out of curiosity. There’s handwriting on the front page, in perfect cursive, that reads Property of Marissa Vanderbilt.
“Who’s Marissa?” I ask, trailing my thumb over the old ink.
“My mom,” he shoots back curtly as if it stings to say it. “I don’t know why they threw that in there. Must have been a mistake.”
“Her diary,” I gasp, rolling over to my stomach at rapt attention. “Did you read it?”
“Hell no,” he groans.
I can tell he wants nothing to do with it, but something about it seems important to me. Nothing about his family makes any sense. They’re corrupt, greedy, and heartless
. But reading his mother’s private thoughts seems like the perfect way to try to make sense of it all. It could provide some insight into what goes through her head that allows her to treat other people so terribly. I can’t resist stashing the book away in my coat.
With the diary hidden away, I look back up to Emmett. He’s standing over the kitchen counter chewing on his microwaved burrito, but he’s staring ahead in deep thought.
“You okay?” I ask.
He barely moves, making me think he didn’t even hear me at first. “Yeah,” he says blankly. “Just tired I guess.”
But I know he’s lying. What his family has put him through and the position they’ve left him in is still a big, raw wound in his life. I know it hasn’t been easy to go from being a spoiled rich kid living in a manor with his whole privileged life laid out before him down to the slums. A crappy apartment with nothing in it and no job. All while still walking through the prestigious halls of WJ Prep where any student would be literally disgusted if they saw the way he was living.
He was almost relieved at the thought of withdrawing and going to a public school, but Thomas Jameson had paid his tuition up long before his death. I think the only reason his mom didn’t make a point to have him kicked out was so Malcolm would be able to fuck with him up until graduation.
“I should probably get going,” I announce as I pull myself to my feet, still feeling dizzy from the amazing sex. Emmett nods slightly but still seems as if he’s off in another world. “Unless you want me to stay,” I suggest with concern. “Keep you company?”
“Nah,” he shakes his head, pushing around the last bite of his food. “Like I said, I’m tired.”
“Well…then…I’ll see you tomorrow,” I nudge my way into his arms, pulling myself against his chest. “I’ll meet you there. I finally don’t need a ride.”
“Hey. I gave you a ride plenty of times even when you did have a car,” he reminds me playfully. “I kind of liked our morning drives before our first class.”
“I know,” I smile fondly. “But I’m so excited to have my own car again, I’m looking forward to driving myself. At least for tomorrow.”
He kisses my forehead and walks me to the door. After I’ve driven home, I plop down onto my bed and am almost half asleep before something brings me back to life. I see the diary on the floor, poking out from underneath my hoodie. I grab it and slide under my comforter, thinking I’ll be asleep in no time. Marissa’s private thoughts may be disturbing, but I can’t imagine them being entertaining enough to keep me awake. I switch on the lamp next to my bed and turn to the first entry, dated January 1995.
“January, huh. Same month it is now,” I muse to myself as I start to read.
Dear Diary,
Today my parents informed me that I’d be attending prom this year. I thought I might have to wait until my junior year, but the family they have decided I will marry into has a son who is a senior. The Jamesons. The founders of the town and the automobile company that this whole place revolves around. Their son’s name is Thomas. He is one of those untouchable kids at school. I’ve seen him and his friends picking on the other students a lot. The only reason they haven’t bothered me is because my parents befriended the Jamesons as soon as we arrived. They know we are old money and therefore in the club.
I’m excited to go to prom, but I’m scared about what it means. I know there’s no use arguing with my parents about it. But I don’t want to rush off into marriage and kids as soon as I’m done with school. And with Thomas being next in line to take over the automobile company, it means that if I’m married off to him, I’ll be stuck in Jameson forever.
I want to travel and see the world! I know my parents will never allow me to do that on my own. Not when they’re determined for me to secure the future generations of our family. The only way to do that is for me and my siblings to marry into other families who are just as wealthy. I have always known that this was expected of me, but I had secretly hoped I would by some miracle be married off to a man who would show me the world. Someone I could travel and have fun with.
Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to judge. Who knows what Thomas will be like. I guess I will find out tomorrow when he officially invites me to prom.
~Marissa
I force myself to close the book as my eyelids grow heavy, but I am already sucked into this time capsule of Marissa’s life. I have to double-check the date to make sure it is actually Emmett’s mom’s diary and not her mother or grandmother’s. Arranged marriage? It seems like such an ancient practice, but I guess the ultra-rich do have different ways of doing things.
My mind drifts back to the moment Emmett asked me to prom. How good it felt to hear those words and the flurry of butterflies it set off in my stomach. I can’t imagine having that stolen away by not even getting to choose your own date and being informed of the decision before the guy even has a chance to ask. The Elites sure do have a strange way of running their kids’ lives, but I guess I’m not surprised given everything I already know about them.
