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Penny's laugh cut through the cloud of anger and wrapped me in a warmth that melted the icy gaze of my father. If he wasn't such an asshole, I may have never met Penny.
I trailed into the library like I could see the notes of her laugh weaving through the air, pulling me toward her. I paused in the doorway, crossing my arms as I watched her spin as she took in the two level room. Books that no one read wrapped on pristine shelves that surrounded us.
Branson gushed about the extensive collection of first editions, and how my mother was working on a monthly story hour for local children. He left out the fact that my mother had been talking about setting that up for years.
Penny’s rotation stopped on me and her smile wavered. I expected another glare, but this time, it was concern that rounded her features. Her lips parted and she mouthed, are you okay? She'd seen my father’s portrait, not that you could miss it, and caught my reaction to it. Despite what I'd said, and how I hurt her, she was concerned about me.
I didn't deserve her, in a fake or real world.
Her hazel eyes shifted slightly just as Chanel no 5 stormed its way through my nostrils.
“Xander, darling!” My mother barely waited for me to turn around before she wrapped her arms around me. Stilettos vaulted her to my height and a diet of skinny lattes and Xanax made her a quarter of my size. I embraced her hesitantly and it just made her squeeze me tighter, like she wanted me to break her.
“It’s so great to see you, darling!” She gushed, stepping back to look at me. She inspected my face with the care of a plastic surgeon, documenting every flaw. My inspection just left me with a hollowness in my gut. My father was the one who was dying, but she looked as languid as he did. Her skin was pulled to tightly over her bones, making her large blue eyes devour the rest of her face. Her salt and pepper hair was pulled into a ballerina bun. My mom was a beautiful woman, working as a model before she met my father. When they married, she put aside the runway for a house on the hill and life as a wife and mother. She never talked about those days, but when I was a kid, I snuck in her room and found a chest full of odds and ends from her career. Casting calls, laminated photos with her looking wan and glamorous, wrapped gifts from designers with handwritten notes that read how excited they were about her wearing their clothing—it filled me with such pride that she was my mother, and once upon a time, she did more than sleep until two pm. She'd caught me though, yelling at me for the first time, tears spilling down her cheeks as she shoved me out of her room and slammed the door in my face. My nanny had taken me to the park and when we got back two hours later, she still hadn't emerged.
“Hi mom.”
When she smiled it looked like it hurt. “We weren't expecting you today!” She glanced over my shoulder and her smile broadened. “And you brought a guest!”
She didn't wait for an introduction, maneuvering around me and wrapping Penny in the same smothering embrace. Penny went rigid with shock at first, then relaxed, her eyes softening when she met mine.
“I'm Mariah Wade.” She released Penny and stood tall, like she was expecting applause. “But you can call me Mimi. Hopefully, some day you'll call me Mom.”
“Jesus,” I groaned, rushing forward before Penny made a break for it. “You don't even know her name.”
She let out a schoolgirl giggle, complete with a wink. “Silly me. What's your name, dear?”
“Penny. It's a pleasure to meet you.” Penny answered with a gentle smile.
My mother stepped back like Penny was a puppy that just reared up and started walking on two legs. “You have such lovely manners!” She nudged me with her elbow. “She's a keeper.” She knew I was about to tell her to turn it down so she skated toward Branson, giving the man a set of air kisses and sending him off to get drinks for us all.
“We're actually not staying,” I interrupted. Everyone in the room looked at me with disdain coloring their eyes. I ignored them all, holding out my hand to Penny. “We need to get back to the city.”
My mother frowned. “But your father-”
“Please give him my love.” As soon as I felt Penny's hand slip into mine, I pulled us back toward the elevator, then decided to take the stairs instead. She didn't say anything until we were back in the car, headed down the hill.
“Are you okay?”
The truth? No. I couldn't lie to her.
I adjusted my tie and set my eyes on my phone, all the work I'd dropped for this impromptu getaway lighting my phone up like Christmas in suburbia.
“I will be.”
Chapter Nine: Penny
I felt a tickle in my throat.
I burrowed deeper in my covers, letting myself fantasize about a reality that would never be. I wanted to turn the tickle into a full on cold and text my sister, telling her I couldn't come to the final fitting. Then I’d ignore her texts ordering me to put a band aid on it and get my ass to her suite. Eventually she'd send someone to fetch me, using force if possible, probably Lara since she'd be pissed at that stage. I'd save up all the saliva I could and as soon as Lara got close I'd cough as hard as I could. Lara would run for cover, scrambling for Purell as she confirmed that I was bedridden. My sister would let it go and have a good morning, commenting that I didn't matter anyway. I'd have a good morning because I didn't have to put up with Bridezilla and her minions...and I could re-read all the texts Xander sent me last night, apologizing for the cruel comment he made and for dumping me into his family's lap, then snatching me away at the last minute. The anger that made me want to remove his head from his body had gone from a raging river to an annoying trickle from a leaky faucet, but he didn't need to know that. Not yet anyway.
Even though I knew my phone would just confirm that I couldn't stay in the bed any longer, I pressed the button. 8:43 AM. The fitting was at 9.
I turned to the nightstand and the neon numbers taunted me. I clutched the deliciously soft down comforter, pulling it up to my chin and pouting like a kid who didn't want to go to school. I knew that whether I got out of bed or not, at 8:45 on the dot, my room would 'wake up'. The blinds would open, bombarding me with the sun and a city that already had a few hours on me, classical music would pour out of the speakers that was more patronizing than relaxing—and that's just the way my sister wanted it. She'd set up reservations at the most expensive boutique hotel in San Francisco, complete with a pretentious concierge with a haughty British accent and rooms filled with unnecessary amenities like a bidet to wash your butt and a pre-programmed system that my sister arranged to summon me whenever she wanted me.
I groaned as the system kicked in and daylight streamed into the room. I couldn't burrow deep enough to escape any of it. And even if I cried wolf about being sick, hell would freeze over if I thought I wasn't standing by her side tomorrow.
I stared up at the ivory colored ceiling, letting my imagination run wild. I pictured the best day of my sister's life. The flowers that turned the already lush garden the ceremony was being held at into a literal Eden. The string quartet that hummed a classical arrangement of their song, 'Just The Way You Are'. The white chairs that held family and friends and a who's who of Bay Area society. Everyone smiling, thrilled for a ticket to the event of the century as Victoria graced us with the very first look at her vintage Carolina Herrera. Her ken doll hubby would be waiting in his suit and tie, eyes welling with emotion before he shut that girly crap down, and everyone would oo and ahh and we'd all believe in love and happily ever afters because we saw it with our own two eyes.
