AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“But I don’t contribute to the family. I only take resources and attention.” Which they had to resent. Who could want that in a child?
“There are plenty of resources to go around.” Her father gave her a lopsided, charming grin that lit up his entire face so one would hardly believe he was a man of sixty. “And money isn’t everything. Isn’t that what Mr. Zisskind likes to drone on about, ad nauseam?”
“The theories and ideas aren’t bad. Some of them have promise, if correctly applied.” Her mother coughed a little and lowered her voice. “Even if that Marx lives off his mother’s family’s fortune, made from the tobacco trade.”
Her father emitted a strange, choking sound.
“What?” Her mother straightened a bit. “Once upon a time your great-uncle had him on a list of potential grooms for me.”
That was met with a full snort from her father as Amalia stared at them. She really needed both hands to work so she could pinch herself.
“Anyway, wealth and retaining it isn’t paramount,” her father said. “It’s a means to an end and don’t get me wrong, pays for a great deal of wonderful things, including, it seems, men your Uncle Bernard would’ve preferred your mother to marry over me to live well in England.” He straightened his rather expensive jacket and tie with his free hand.
“It’s a privilege and a responsibility.” Her mother gazed into Amalia’s eyes, ignoring her husband. “But I think you understand that. Which is why you don’t hoard it and spend in an appropriate manner.”
“So I can use it for my charity?” she managed to ask as her head spun with all the information. Inside, a tiny version of herself was leaping and jumping for joy.
“Yes. All you had to do was ask.” Her mother shook her head, even, natural curls tumbling over her shoulders. “Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know.” Amalia slumped a little as she worked to gather her thoughts, to explain, somehow. “I guess I was afraid you’d confirm what a failure I am.”
“That’s the thing. I don’t see a failure at all. Do you, Jay?” Her mother turned to her father, her back straight as a railroad spike.
“Nope,” her father said without hesitation.
“But you hate all my decisions. Called me a waste and said to behave myself and never marry again.” She wagged a finger at her father. “That’s what you told me.”
“What?” Her mother frowned and stared at her father. “Jay? You said that to Amalia?”
“I didn’t mean it.” Her father blinked before squeezing his eyes shut and pinching his nose. “I was frustrated at the time. And I never literally told you not to marry again. It might have been implied, but not intentionally.”
“How could you? Especially without speaking to me first.” Her mother swatted her father’s shoulder with the back of her hand. “You know she’s sensitive. Like you.”
“I’m not sensitive.” Her father placed a hand over his mouth and glanced at her mother, who was glaring. “I’m sorry, Amalia. I’m usually better at this. Much better. I only intended to make you pause, not to hurt you, not to make you feel like you had to behave only in a particular manner, be something you’re not because if anyone knows how impossible that is, it’s me.”
It was her mother’s turn to make a snorting sound.
“But you were right.” Amalia sighed, because in a great deal of ways he was. “I was so foolish. And you tried to stop me, but I ignored you about Ethan, which is what caused all of this in the first place.” If only she had listened. If only she’d thought more and acted less.
“I—we understand why you did it. You lost Simon. You weren’t thinking clearly,” her father added. “No one could blame you for trying to be happy. I just didn’t want to see you hurt again.”
“Sometimes lessons need to be learned by experience. Luckily, we can provide a rather soft landing for your rather painful ones. Though...” Her mother inclined her head. “We never did understand why you married Bloomenstock in the first place, without really knowing him. You’re such a romantic and though on paper he was a practical choice, the way you did it...”
“David.” The confession roared through her body.
“What?” Both her parents stared at her in unison. “David Zisskind.”
“Don’t tell me I’m going to have to punch him again.” Her father glowered.
“You didn’t punch him, dear. I stopped you, remember? And you won’t. I abhor that sort of patriarchal nonsense.” Her mother pursed her lips and screwed them to the side. “Though I’m not above matriarchal nonsense if he did something bad enough.” As if to emphasize her point, she began unbuttoning her pearl trimmed gloves.
Amalia grimaced. “It isn’t his fault. It’s mine. I’d lied to him and told him I was engaged so I needed to find a fiancé with some alacrity.” She swallowed as guilt rose in her throat like bile. Oh, if she could just go back and shake some sense into the teenage version of herself. “I described said faux fiancé as well. Very specifically, in a way that would hurt David—poking at his insecurities.”
“Why on earth would you ever do that?” Her mother dropped her father’s hand, wrinkles on her brow now.
Amalia squirmed against the sheets under the older woman’s glare. “Because he didn’t—doesn’t believe in marriage and I wanted to be married so badly, wanted a family like ours—with two people who loved each other at the head. And I’d wanted it with him and when I couldn’t have it, it hurt. But I wasn’t fair. He’d been very upfront with me.” There was a catch in her throat now.
“So you directly asked him if he’d be interested in marrying you and he told you no, but engaged in...whatever you did the other night?” Her father leaned forward, hands under his chin, intent on her.
