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Spinning on my heels, I face her. “Hi. I’m looking to sign up, please.”
She narrows her eyes at me as though she’s not entirely convinced. “Okay, Miss…”
“Miss Daniels,” I tell her without hesitation. It’s not my first time using an alias or being put on the spot.
“Right. Miss Daniels, you’ll need to complete some paperwork before we consider your application. You’ll also be required to undertake a medical once your paperwork has been completed and as the final step in the process.” Her well-practiced speech rolls off her tongue but with a level of scepticism about my motives, and she’s clearly attempting to put me off with all the talk of paperwork and medicals. What I can’t figure out are her reasons for trying to deter me.
Handing me a large, weighty envelope, I realise she wasn’t kidding about the paperwork. As she continues to talk, I casually look over to Alicia and the others, noting that they have been joined by a much older woman. The woman is dressed in a black-on-black pinstripe suit jacket and matching flared trousers, paired with fire-engine red stilettos. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but from her wild and animated hand gestures, I’m guessing it’s not a ‘it’s so good to see you’ kind of conversation.
I turn back to the receptionist just as she finishes talking and placing some other documents on the countertop. I give her a picture-perfect smile and nod my head as though I’ve been listening all along.
Collecting everything else and stuffing it all in my bag, I see Alicia exiting to the stairwell. Saying a quick thanks to the receptionist with a promise to be back, I hurry off after Alicia.
Damn she’s fast on her feet because as I push through the doors and step outside, Alicia is nowhere to be seen.
I track back to my car, not seeing her anywhere, and I’m pissed that I lost her. At least I have somewhat of a lead, although I really hadn’t planned on signing myself up to an escort agency when I left the house this morning.
Having wasted so much time waiting for Alicia, my shopping trip is cut short, but I do manage to find the perfect dress. Feeling like a teen all over again, I smile when I think of my father’s face when he sees me in it.
You’d think that given the high-profile lawsuit against me, having just threatened a journo, which I’ve no doubt he already knows about, and the fact that I’m the bad apple of the family, my father would want me to stay away from such a prestigious event. No such luck. Archie Collins believes, as Oscar Wilde once said, that the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.
So here I am.
Keeping my head dipped slightly, I step from the car, flashing the photographers the top of my thigh thanks to the slit up the left side of my floor length gown. I lift my head, dropping my keys into the hands of the valet, and as I begin to walk up the steps, I’m met with flash after flash as cameras go off all around me. My name is called several times and questions are thrown at me regarding my ordeal, the court case and Lottie. I ignore them all this time.
God, I hate this shit.
Inside, I’m greeted by a waitress holding a tray of champagne. I accept one with a smile and nod of my head and move into the main room.
As always, my mother has done a fantastic job with the decor. Every year, for the past five years, she and several of her high society cronies organise a charity auction in aid of war veterans. Of course, my father uses it to his full advantage, inviting the cream of the crop, those with the power or position to allow him to make his next political move.
My father, not content with his lot as a Crown Court Judge, has set his sights on becoming a Justice of the Supreme Court. He’s currently bribing, blackmailing and buying his way to the top.
My father has always been rigid, stuffy and willing do anything to get what he wants. As a kid, I never really took too much notice, but that changed as I got older. He was never loving, and I certainly wasn’t the apple of my father’s eye, but my mother more than made up for his lack of affection. For a while at least.
I make my way through the crowd, sipping my champagne and ignoring all the scornful looks cast my way. I hear several gasps too, and it brings a satisfied smirk to my lips. My dress is obviously having the desired effect. The sheer white rhinestone adorned dress is cinched at the waist with a silver chain belt before flaring out over my hips and hangs seductively off one shoulder, like a toga, whilst the right sleeve drapes down to cuff my wrist with a slit all the way down my arm, matching the one up my left leg. It’s beautiful, but in a room full of black tuxes and dresses in an array of colours, none of which are white or showing as much skin as I am, I stand out like a sore thumb. I deliberately chose white as another fuck you to my father. He’s not going to be impressed.
Stepping past a couple, I finally catch a glimpse of my parents talking with one of my father’s acquaintances.
My mother sees me first, and her eyes light as a smile spreads across her face. As she gets a full view of me, the smile falls, and her eyes widen. Excusing herself, she hastily walks toward me, planting a hard, forced smile on her face.
“Jessica,” she greets between tightly gritted teeth. Leaning in to kiss my cheek, she hisses, “What the hell are you doing?” Gripping my shoulders, she pulls back to take in my features.
“Mother. Such a lovely welcome as always,” I sneer, all the while keeping the appearance of an adoring daughter greeting her mother, when really I feel conflicted.
I’ve always loved my mother, and as a child I couldn’t have wished for a better mother. As I got older, I began to see the differences between how my father treated me compared to my brother. My brother hated it, and I would often hear them arguing about it. But my mother, the one person who should have always had my back, never said a word. Not that I ever saw or heard anyway.
After Christian’s death, the final thread holding the mother-daughter relationship together fractured, and whilst we do talk and meet when possible, the truth and bitterness is all carefully masked with happy smiles and small talk.
“Your father is going to be very displeased, Jessica.”
“When isn’t he, Mother?” I retort. My eyes catch on movement to the left, and I see my father striding towards us, eyes narrowed on me and displeasure flashing like a neon sign across his face.
“As if you haven’t caused enough drama, you have to do this on such an important evening for him,” she mutters the last part just before my father reaches us.
Gigi steps aside as Archie Collins moves in front of me, dominating the space. He grasps my arms, tighter than is comfortable, and leans in to kiss my cheek as my mother did. Only he misses his mark, and instead whispers in my ear.
“Is your sole purpose in life to embarrass and shame this family, Jessica?” Stepping back, his face is alight with a wide smile, but his grip on my arms tightens further, and I’m sure there’ll be bruises there tomorrow. However, his deceptively happy smile can’t hide the disgust in his eyes.
