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Four peaceful days at sea in the Caribbean aboard my family’s boat have been more pleasant than I expected. Unlike years in the past, my sister has not joined us for this voyage. Being newly married, she’s spending the holiday skiing with her husband at his parents’ vacation home in Vermont. Her lacking presence has taken the constant pressure off of me since my parents are enjoying their time alone. I’m more like a tag along on this excursion, which is fine by me. I’ve been spending most of my days enjoying the sun from the seacraft’s deck while only meeting up with my mother and father for evening meals.
However, our time floating over the crystal turquoise waters is coming to an end. It’s Christmas Eve, and we’ve pulled into port where a small island houses a private hotel owned by longtime friends. Here, we will meet up with the Beauchamps, like we do every year for the holidays, at one of their most exclusive properties.
The Beauchamps and my parents have been close friends since their days at college, meeting while attending Yale for graduate studies. My father was a business major, as was my mother, and the Beauchamps—Guy and Sophia—were all in the same program. It was a college romance as well as a partnership made for a lifetime. They were married within two months of each other, stood for each other at the other’s wedding, and have been tied together by friendship and business for years.
The Beauchamps have a lucrative, large global hotel business. My parents’ advertising company, The Boyce Agency—founded by my grandfather on my mother’s side—has handled their advertising and marketing account for almost three decades.
The importance of this family to mine has been ingrained into my being since birth. Their only son, Gerard, is three years my senior, and it’s no secret that it has always been the hope of both of our parents that we wed one day, joining our families as one in a more permanent fashion. If there’s such a thing as being betrothed in this modern society, Gerard and I are it.
The boat has been docked for the past hour, and I’m dressing for the impending festivities with our lifelong family friends.
There’s a light rap at my door.
“Evelyn,” my mother’s voice calls.
“Come in,” I answer, attaching the emerald earring to my left lobe, completing the set. Along with the matching necklace around my neck, they were gifts from my grandmother on my sixteenth birthday.
My mother, dressed smartly in an ethereal cream ensemble, enters my quarters. “I thought you were going to wear the green dress,” she states, observing my festive red outfit.
“I thought this would be more seasonal.”
“They’re both nice,” she offers innocently, “but the green has a little more flair. There’s still time to change.”
“Would you like me to change?” I ask her reflection in the vanity mirror.
“I think the green one is more suited for the occasion, and it would match your earrings.”
I cringe internally.
The blonde matriarch hasn’t asked much of me this entire trip, and an outfit change isn’t a great deal to argue over, but I hate that she is always trying to micromanage me in these situations. It’s annoying.
However, to make the evening run smoother and without any added tension, I acquiesce by saying, “You’re right. I’ll change.”
“Good. It shows off your beautiful figure better, too.” She reaches for the door handle to give me some privacy. “Gerard’s favorite color is green.”
She exits my room, and I grunt, feeling tricked into being her lap dog once again. Her ability to control me is so seductive and cunning. When it comes to me, she only has one thing in mind—finding the perfect husband. Scratch that. Making about ten-thousand babies with Gerard, so she can finally call the Beauchamps family is at the top of her list.
With reluctance, I change out of my red dress and into the green one, and then I meet my parents on deck where they are watching the sun set over the pristine waters, glimmering where the light meets the quiet waves lapping at the surface.
“There she is,” my father states with a smile, bringing youth to his face. “You look wonderful. Absolutely stunning.”
“Thank you,” I respond, grasping the matching designer clutch tighter with both hands.
My mother gives me an approving look as her keen blue eyes trace my form up and down, clearly satisfied with my entire ensemble.
I’m a fucking prop.I wonder if she actually sees strings sewn to my limbs like a marionette.
“We should get going,” she says to my father, rubbing her delicate fingers along the shoulder of his suit.
“Of course.”
My mother leads the way across the bow of the ship, and a staff member assists my family onto the dock. My parents walk arm in arm down the wooden planks toward the parking area where a car is waiting for us. We shuffle into the vehicle and travel twenty minutes up the hill to the secluded hotel.
When the luxury vehicle comes to a halt, I straighten my posture in preparation for an evening of smiles and formalities. The Beauchamps are wonderful people, but being under their watchful gaze, as well as my parents’, always has me feeling like a guppy in a fish bowl.
We exit the cocoon of leather seats into the warm night air. A humid breeze skates across my shoulders, so I adjust my shawl to keep off any chill from the nearby ocean. A finger, my mother’s, lightly grazes my hairline to place a small flyaway strand of light-brown hair back into place. She smiles at me, warm and approving, before my father offers her an arm to enter the lavish building. Our driver begins to unload our luggage for the evening’s stay as we head up the steps to meet our family friends.
Within view, visible before I’ve even reached the top, stand Guy, Sophia, and their son, Gerard, waiting for us. This moment is such a foregone conclusion, like I’m walking into some strange dating game. With my sister out of the picture, it’s obvious who I will be expected to spend most of my conversation time with while here—Gerard.
