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“Do you remember your first party?” I ask, hoping it will remind him of who he was and bring back the brother I knew then. “I always envied Mum when she went out with Dad. She wore the prettiest dresses, adorned in jewels with soft, elegant makeup done by the best. I was sixteen when they allowed me to go to my first party, and I felt like a princess.”
“No, I don’t remember it.” He easily blocks my change of topic. “And you can forget the jewels now. If you want them, find a husband to buy them for you on top of a custom dress.” I ignore his remark because I’m still reliving my first party.
It had been everything I had fantasised about, and it’d felt like I was walking straight into one of my dreams. The women were elegant and strode over the dance floor in dresses that could be worn by royalty and the men looked the part of true gentlemen. Soft music echoed through the room, while couples swayed left and right to the classical numbers played by the orchestra.
I loved every second of it. The music, the delectable food and the respectable people who wanted to know my name, but then the curtains fell, andthe beautiful spectacle evaporated before it showed its true colours of greed and jealousy. Now I’m here for one thing only and that’s to fix my brother’s mistakes.
It may offer the illusion of a fairy tale from the outside, but it’s downright hellish when thrust inside its belly.
Frederic moves his watch so that it’s positioned perfectly on his wrist, staring at it a bit too long.
“Peacock,” I mumble under my breath. Frederic grabs every opportunity to flaunt his expensive wardrobe or to surround himself in wealth. His eyes shine with happiness when we walk towards his business partners.
Frederic spent longer on picking out a watch than I did on a dress. He debated which one would spark the most questions about where he obtained such a piece. It’s his life. The hope that he can hang around the upper class. My brother believes they live much different lives than our own, especially now that we no longer have money, which is the absolute worst thing that could happen to him.
When we finally reach his partners, I paint a polite and serene smile on my face. If they only knew just how much I hate it here, loathe how they act like their image and reputation are everything.
“Evangeline, you look absolutely stunning,” Meredith says, reaching out to kiss both my cheeks. The slightest flutter of her lips is the only thing I feel, proving just how disingenuous people in this society are. Why can there never be genuine greetings and friendly interactions — ones that don’t make me feel like I’m about to be stabbed in the back?
Here, these interactions are just a formality, and a dreadful one at that.
“Meredith, you are the gorgeous one,” I compliment, staring at her sparkling, grey dress. She laughs before hitting her husband’s chest softly.
“It’s Steven who gave me this one as a present.”
“What was the occasion?” I ask.
“Oh … nothing, my dear. Just a token of his love.” A smile stretches on my face before I nod my head, hiding the sympathy I feel for her.
I temper the thoughts that spark in my mind at her words. Their love is a lie. Does she know that her husband shags his physical therapist every Wednesday? Meredith has been married to Steven for over twenty years now, and I’m certain it has never been a union of love and commitment for all those years.
They both like to pretend everything is perfect and that wealth and status make them blindingly happy. But it’s Meredith who rarely knows what’s going on in her husband’s life as she waits at home for his eventual return each day.
Love … it simply doesn’t exist in my world.
And that fact has never been more clear than when Frederic points out a forty-year-old man — one that makes my stomach turn in disgust, and my mouth yearns to make him stop.
Because I cannot stand it.
I cannot process it.
And I cannot yell, scream, or cry.
Instead, I suppress the emotions that want to break free. I swallow the hate, the longing to claim my freedom and the opinions that would only raise eyebrows out of shock. But, in the end, I’ll fail to win the battle for my pathetic life because I’ll soon marry someone only for money.
With no other choice, I nod my head to let Frederic know that I’ve seen the bald, short man in the corner.
“Meredith, you picked the most wonderful husband. But I’m certain I will have the best one out there.” At my comment, the look in Frederic’s brown eyes is both disdainful and daring. But even though I know I’ve taken things too far, I simply don’t care anymore about what he thinks. I’ve accepted my fate, and I’d much rather mock it than fight a losing battle.
“How is your mother doing?” Steven asks.
“Oh right, Susan is still in New York,” Meredith adds with a polite smile on her lips.
“I don’t think we’ll see her anytime soon. New York is her home now and her new husband won’t let her go.”
The absurdity of my brother’s lie is almost too much to bear. Mum hates her life in New York and that husband of hers is a deadweight she won’t shake for reasons unbeknownst to me.
But Mum is afraid of hearing as well as feeling the scrutiny of wealthy Londoners when the news breaks of our financial situation. She can’t bear the mistakes Frederic made. How easily the reputation of the love of her life, my father, evaporated into dust, despite how hard he worked to establish it in the first place.
