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How was she supposed to raise a five-year-old? Oh, that’s right. She’d hire in help until Ivy got old enough to send away. That’s what she’d done with them. In hindsight, it was probably the best thing that happened to him and Chloe. Their parents didn’t raise them. They were nurtured by well-paid teachers who cared more about them than Annette and Sebastien Richmond did. It wasn’t like that for all the kids. Many had warm, loving families waiting for them at home. For most, boarding school was a way to enhance a child’s learning experience and social environment, but for the Richmonds, it was a way to have children but not have to deal with them. His mother took “children are to be seen and not heard” to a whole new level. She took out the seen part and largely banished them from the time they were born.
The plane landed, and he quickly exited. His phone sounded with a text alert as he rushed toward the terminal.
Hey, Ivy got off to school just fine. She asked me to walk her inside, which I did. I also arranged for school lunch for the week since Rachel forgot to pack her one. All’s well here.
He hadn’t thought about school lunch. He’d left several hundred dollars on the table if they wanted to order pizza or needed groceries. He didn’t know what emergencies the girls could encounter but wanted them to have resources if something came up.
Once again, I’m grateful to you. You always seem to be there when we need you.
He found his driver waiting by baggage claim, and since he had no luggage, he could go straight to the car. Traffic was heavy, and it took nearly an hour to get to his Tribeca loft. That was one of the many arguments he had with his mother. She thought he should live on the upper east side, where many of her socialite friends were, but he loved his view and appreciated all the fine dining available within a few-block radius. They would have been neighbors if the young John Kennedy had been alive. That certainly would have made his mother happy.
He paid the driver and walked into his building. Tony, the doorman, greeted him with a smile.
“Welcome home, Mr. Richmond.”
“Hi, Tony.”
The rotund man with a balding head fumbled to open the desk drawer and retrieve a large manila envelope. “This came for you today.” He passed it across the desk. One look at the return address of Bexley and Brown Attorneys at Law and he knew exactly who it was from. His mother wasted no time putting her lawyers to work. She was probably on the phone the second he pulled away from the curb at the airport. Or, knowing her, she had it in the works before she left Atlanta.
“Thanks, Tony.” He pulled out his wallet and tipped the man before he walked to the elevator. The ride to the tenth-floor penthouse was short—there were no lofts in skyscrapers in Tribeca. Bastien’sArchitectural Digest-worthy apartment was perfectly appointed, but he knew his heart and his life were not—a fact driven home like a lightning strike by the envelope from his mother’s lawyers still in his hand.
He unlocked the door and stepped into the dimly lit foyer. Introspection was not Bastien’s strong suit, but he was seeing that his sister’s dying wish might be as much for his benefit as Ivy’s. He thought he’d find comfort in the familiarity of his place, but all he came home to was the smile of the doorman, albeit sincere, and what felt like cavernous space with a sweeping view. At least it wasn’t the soul-less shrine to capitalism his mother would have wished on him, but the chic loft he had fought to win in a battle of bids suddenly didn’t feel like home either. He’d never had time to make it one. Homes develop a vibe and a soul from the laughter, love, hopes, and dreams shared with the people who inhabit or visit them. Bastien’s endless client meetings, the creative cocktail parties, his fleeting relationships, and the weekly visits from the housekeeper had not filled his apartment with more than the odd fading fragrance, dropped drink, or superficial memory of a good time.Had it taken his sister’s death to realize this would-be pleasure palace was not a home?Bastien wondered.
At the same time, thoughts of funerals, wills, and work obligations swung back into his consciousness, leading to a feeling of exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him. He knew he needed to focus on what responsibilities lie ahead to take care of Ivy, so he poured himself a glass of wine and opened the lightning bolt.
Laid out in front of him was his mother’s attempt to bury Chloe’s wishes. But he’d made a promise, and he intended to keep it. Wasn’t it enough they had just buried her?
He dialed his mother and listened to the phone ring three times. His mother believed that answering on the first or second ring gave the impression of desperation, like you had nothing better to do in your life than wait on their call. Letting it go to the fourth ring was pure disrespect for the caller. The third ring, in her mind, was the perfect timing.
“Hello, Bastien. How can I help you?”
“Are you seriously suing me for custody of Ivy? That’s not what Chloe wanted.”
Annette sighed heavily. “Yes, I’ve filed for custody of Ivy. You know it’s best for Ivy, and if Chloe had been in her right mind, it’s what she would have wanted,” she said in a sharp tone.
He knew his mother didn’t like to be challenged, but he also knew he’d never betray Chloe’s deathbed wishes for her daughter. She had entrusted him to take care of her daughter, and he would not let her, or Ivy, down.
He spoke firmly but calmly, “How do you know what she would have wanted? You never asked.”
“We weren’t talking.”
He sighed. “She talked to me and told me under no circumstances did she want you taking Ivy.”
“She would have never said that.”
He laughed. “Not to you, because she knew how you’d respond, and she didn’t have the energy to fight you. She made me promise, and I’ll fight you every step of the way.”
“All I want is what’s best for my granddaughter, and I can’t believe Chloe imagined it would be you.”
He tried to remain calm as he responded, “And what do you believe is wrong with me?”
Annette replied with a hint of anger, “I don’t think you are capable of taking care of a child or that you’d even want to. You’re always so busy. Too busy with work, too busy with women, too busy thinking only of yourself. What kind of life would Ivy have with you? You’re constantly traveling and working.”
Bastien released an exasperated exhale. “I’m making the necessary adjustments.”
“If Chloe chose you, it’s because she thought it would be easier on me.”
Bastien nearly dropped the phone. It was like his mother to make everything about her and twist and turn the narrative to fit her needs. Chloe didn’t spare her final thoughts for a mother who treated her like a designer accessory. She thought only of her daughter and what was best for Ivy. Bastien knew that.
