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“How are you?” I ask, this phone conversation is already awkward.
“I’m fine, dear. When are you coming home?”
“I don't know...” I start to say, but she cuts me off.
“You don't know? What do you mean you don’t know? You cannot stay up there in that God-awful cabin. Richard is going out of his mind, and you owe him an explanation for your behavior.”
“I don’t owe Richard anything. We broke up months ago, mom, you know that,” I say, getting defensive that even now she is still on his side.
“You didn't, he merely gave you space to be with your father, and now he wants to marry you. He is a fine man, Isabelle, you could do a lot worse than Richard,” she states.
“But I don’t love him, mom,” I say in a whisper.
“What’s love got to do with it, Isabelle? He will be a Senator one day, and you will be his wife. Your social standing will skyrocket!” she says with glee, and I can’t believe this crazy ass woman is related to me.
“Mom, I really don’t want to talk about it right now,” I say to end this now, wanting to unpack the Jeep and finish this conversation.
“Well, you will have to talk about it soon. Richard reached out to me today to ask me where you were, so I gave him the address. I know your father wanted to keep the location of the cabin a secret, but I don’t think that matters now. Richard is planning on coming to Hancock to collect you if you're not home soon, so get it sorted and get back here to D.C.,” she demands and then the phone goes dead.
I look at my phone and shake my head. I am not sure when mom became so focused on social standing. Perhaps she was always like it, and I just never noticed, but she is challenging.
I look at the driveway as I grab the groceries from the Jeep, and I can’t imagine Richard driving up this gravel patch in his shiny BMW. If he does come to Hancock, at least I will get plenty of warning because he will probably drive 2 miles per hour, so he doesn’t scratch his paintwork.
No sooner am I inside than my phone rings again. I dump the bags on the kitchen bench and look at the screen, I notice it is Mrs. Rothschild.
“Hello, Mrs. Rothschild,” I say with as upbeat of a tone as I can muster.
“Hello, Isabelle darling. How are you, dear?”
“I am well. Everything is on track for the event, and we are well prepared.” I want to assure her that we are all organized, which we are.
“That’s what I was calling about, dear,” she starts, and immediately I feel a little panic.
“How can I help?” I say, again upbeat.
“Well, I know you are out of the state at the moment, Isabelle, but this event is really important to me, and I want to ensure you are back for it.”
“I can assure you Kelly and my D.C. team are most experienced…”
“No, I am sorry, Isabelle, I want you back for this one, can you come? We need to raise as much money as possible, and I want it to be perfect.”
I internally sigh. It is such a simple event; any of us can do it with our eyes closed. But it is for a good cause. Human Trafficking is a major concern in the US and has been for a little while. The money raised will all go toward helping women and girls who have been rescued from traffickers, with counselling and other support to help them on their recovery. I pause and take a breath before replying.
“Of course, Mrs. Rothschild. I plan to be back in D.C. soon, so let's meet once I am back and go through all the final arrangements,” I say, once again upbeat, but feeling anything but.
“Excellent, see you then.” She ends the call, not waiting for a reply.
Mrs. Rothschild is a lovely lady, extremely wealthy from old school money and very used to getting her own way. Her family owns quite a lot of land and property both in D.C. and Maryland, and her husband and her four sons are very active in politics and run highly successful businesses, many of which have been handed down from her family. Her eldest son, Harrison, is currently looking to run for Senator in Baltimore, I believe. He is one of Maryland's most eligible bachelors and often is seen with a different woman on his arm at every event he goes to. I have met him once, at a charity gala, he seemed like a nice guy, but for that family, appearances are very important for them.
I sigh as I dial Kelly to make the arrangements for my return to D.C.
16
Jake
I got home from darts early because Phil was beating me easily, and I just didn’t feel like being there with the boys tonight. I wanted to get back to check on Isabelle, and also things are heating up in Boston. Sebastian, who is now head of the New York mob, is back from Sicily and things are tense. Marco and Frankie are okay, staying at Marco’s place and locked up tight. But I have a feeling that the situation is going to get worse before it gets better. The whole thing has us all on edge, and I am trying to get my head around all the moving pieces of the puzzle.
After spending time with Sebastian and his right-hand man, Dante, in recent months, we have formed a bond, especially after what happened in Sicily. Sebastian, Marco, Dante, and I now all share a significant place in history, one not dissimilar to those I share with my former Berets—albeit for different reasons.
