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And now I’m back.
For the funeral of the one family member I’ve ever looked up to. My heart squeezes in on itself for the thousandth time since I got the news of my grandfather’s death, but I tuck the emotion away and try to remember the Émile that I am here.
If I hadn’t wanted to show my respects for Pa, I never would have come. I’ve been working on myself while I was away, figuring things out, and one of those things is that I don’t want to inherit C.W. Shipping. As one of the largest shipping companies on the planet, I’m supposed to be desperate for the position. It was founded by great-relatives in England, before they opened locations all across the globe. Gran was set to inherit none of the company until she married Pa and he stepped in and took the reins.
Which means their direct descendants have first dibs on prime position.
I don’t want any of it.
I’d have told them all already, but Pa’s funeral isn’t the place to go into all that.
I’m here now, and that means playing this pompous game.
I fix my smile and open my arms wide. “Mother.”
I swear her eyes brighten, just a touch, but nothing else on her face changes. “You’re home, Émile. How was your flight?”
“Comfortable.” It’s a total lie. I swear coach was created as torture for the masses. The first time I flew in those cramped quarters was a shock to the system, but I refuse to be a hypocrite. The only times I touch my trust fund is when I’m stateside, or need to keep up the Cromwell appearances.
Mom leans in to press a kiss to my cheek when her gaze drifts to Elle.
“Giselle Cromwell, where is all of your beautiful hair?”
Elle shrugs. “The trash by now, I’d presume.”
Mom pales so fast she looks ready to faint, and the fact I take pleasure at her annoyance makes me as bad as the rest of them.
“You … your …”
Oh, okay, she’s actually in shock. It’s not often Mom is lost for words. I step forward and wrap my arm around her. “It’s only hair.”
“Only hair …” she repeats faintly. “What will your grandmother think?”
“Who’s this random person at my party?” I manage in a bored voice.
Elle snorts a laugh. “I love how everyone’s assuming she’ll pay me a second of attention in the first place.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’re acting out? Attention?”
Before Elle can reply, Dad’s booming voice crosses the room. “Giselle Cromwell, tell me I’m not seeing what I think I’m seeing.”
The spark Elle held while she was facing down Mom fades. The same blank Cromwell stare comes over her, and my gut twists at having to stand there complicitly while Dad orders Elle to leave and make herself more presentable.
Perception is the most important thing. No one gives a shit about feelings when we’re not supposed to have any.
I learned to shove mine down from a young age, but the older I’ve gotten, the less room I have to hide everything.
Dad’s attention slides from Elle’s retreating back to me. He looks me over, then, when I apparently meet his approval, he holds out his hand. “I’m glad you made it back in time.”
“Wouldn’t dream of missing it.”
“Excuse me, sir,” the house manager murmurs. “Further to our discussion yesterday, I wanted to confirm that we’ve relocated the wedding ceremony from next door to an outdoor area farther down the hall.”
“Excellent. Any issues?”
“None. We were very accommodating.”
Dad gives his curt nod and the house manager scrambles away.
