5. Order for a Barbie Bride
5
ORDER FOR A BARBIE brIDE
CHARLES
As the car pulls into the family estate, my fists clench. It’s been ingrained in me since childhood that I’m destined to be the next leader of the Hawthorne name. Not accepting my fate was never an option for me, and I never questioned my destiny, which was set in stone before my birth. This estate is my heritage, a legacy passed down through generations.
When my forefathers built this town, they had a vision—bringing prosperity while keeping traditions alive. And I want to be a part of that legacy and make my contribution to leave a mark. I was ready to work hard and give my everything, but I didn’t know it’d demand the only thing I’m scared of—intimacy, allowing someone to get close to me and giving them an opportunity to hurt me.
The car comes to a halt, and I’m snapped out of my thoughts. Steve opens the door, and I step out to find my mother waiting for me at the entrance. Kristy Hawthorne, dressed in a casual chiffon dress and high heels, her red curls resting over her shoulders, looks as stunning as the day Dad and I proposed to her together. While she may not be my birth mother, I know she loves me just as much as she does my half sister, Chloe, and worries about me probably more.
“Mom, you really don’t have to wait for me at the door every time. I always feel like I’m late for an appointment.” I inhale her floral scent, which is synonymous with home to me.
“I love waiting for my son. Don’t you even dare ask me to change my habit, Charlie.” She pats my cheeks like I’m four.
“If it makes you happy, I won’t.” With my arm around her shoulders, I guide us inside. A house staff member takes my coat and laptop case before we enter the dining room. My great-grandmother, or GG, my grandmother, and Dad are already seated at their places.
I make my way to GG, who’s sitting at the head of the table, ready to win the award for being the best-dressed person. Her short white hair is styled to perfection. Her huge black frames hide her small eyes as they crinkle with warmth. I’m enveloped by the puff of the oversized sleeves of her yellow pantsuit when I hug her, and her many bracelets jingle when she pats my cheeks.
“How have you been, peanut?”
“I stopped being a peanut long ago, GG.”
“Oh, you’ll forever be my peanut.” Her beaming smile radiates as she adjusts her necklaces. “How do I look today?”
“Stunning, as always. I’m surprised you don’t have fashion reporters after you. You’d go viral in a heartbeat.”
Her eyes shine as she mashes her lips together to hold back that wide grin and leans in. “Don’t tell your grandmother, but Chloe is already talking to Vogue about my interview. Do you know I have a fashion portfolio now?”
I chuckle. Chloe and GG have been partners in crime since my sister was a kid.
“If you need any help or want to speed things up, just give me a call. I’ll make it my top priority.”
Her smile widens as she pats my cheeks once again before I move over to my grandmother. As opposed to GG, she’s dressed in a burgundy dress and a matching jacket.
“Charles.” She kisses both my cheeks. “How have you been?”
“Can’t complain, Grandma. How are you?”
“I’m okay. Had some meetings this week with our trust fund managers. My team will email you all the information tomorrow.” Grandma Irene has always cared about the Hawthorne name and its glory, sometimes even over her own children’s interests.
I’m both intimidated and awed by her determination. After Grandfather’s passing and my father’s decision to officially step back from the family business, she became the face of the Hawthorne family, and she excelled at it. I know I have big shoes to fill.
“I look forward to it, Grandma.”
Finally, I reach Dad, and we share a hug before I take the chair beside him.
“How’s it going, Ace?” he asks.
“Can’t complain. How about you?”
“All’s under control.” My dad rarely discusses work at the table, perhaps his way of ensuring no one catches wind of his involvement with Hawthorne businesses or how deeply he’s immersed behind the scenes.
As we eat, conversation flows about upcoming town holiday events, with GG reminiscing about how she and Great-granddad used to dress up and attend the local Christmas market in disguise. I welcome the distraction.
“By the way, did any of you catch E! News this week?” GG grins, directing her gaze at me, and I groan.
“Not you too.”
“You know the media won’t relent until you give them what they want.” Unlike GG, Grandma Irene’s tone lacks playfulness.
“Irene, the paparazzi just want to boost their own ratings. I’m curious what they’ll spin about my Vogue interview.”
“Mom, we need to discuss this beforehand. You can’t just say anything on camera.” Grandma Irene sets her fork down, fixing her gaze on GG, who simply shrugs.
I know well that GG brought up her interview to shift focus from me, but before I can relax, Grandma Irene’s eyes flicker over to me, proving she’s not someone who can be easily distracted.
“I know much of what’s been said is nonsense, but some people genuinely wonder if this is the end for the Hawthorne family. The easiest solution would be for you to marry, Charles.”
I wring the napkin on my lap as my teeth grit. “I’m not going to marry because the media believes that I’m more fit to run the family business with a woman beside me. I’m not going to be played like this, Grandma.”
“I’m fully behind you, Ace.” Dad gives my back a reassuring pat, but any relief is short-lived as Grandma clears her throat.
“It doesn’t matter what we support, Oscar,” she interjects, tapping a button on her phone before placing it in front of me.
On the screen, a news reporter stands beside an elderly gentleman, framed against the picturesque backdrop of the town square’s gazebo. Beyond them, the Christmas market twinkles with holiday lights and cheer, while part of frosty Lake Cherry glistens under the wintry sky. Everything is nestled by surrounding hills, guarding our town like a medieval fortress.
“How long have you lived in this town, sir?” the reporter asks.
“I was born here seventy years ago and never left.” The pride in the man’s voice is hard to miss.
An outsider wouldn’t understand it, but I do, because I feel the same emotion rising in my chest. It means the town my forefathers built is enough for people to not leave their homes, their roots, in search of something more lucrative outside.
“Not even for school or work?”
“No, never.” The gentleman shakes his head. “This town has everything, and a large part of the credit for that goes to the Hawthorne family, who are dedicated to making Cherrywood one of the best small towns in the country.”
“So you’re optimistic about the town’s future?”
“I am, but I’m also a bit concerned. We all love Charles Hawthorne. He took over the family business from his grandmother without a hitch. Even though he’s media-shy, we know he has everyone’s best interests at heart. But his reluctance to settle down worries me.”
“But he’s still young?” the reporter asks, and my mood has taken an unexpected detour down Disappointment Lane.
“He is. But instilling the same sentiment of responsibility to his kids won’t be an easy job. Charles had great role models in his family who mentored him from a young age. He learned early what this town means to his family and how much the Hawthorne family means to us. Every Christmas, my family says a prayer for the Hawthorne family. I know a lot of other people do too. Charles needs to settle down and have a family so his kids can get the same education he did.”
Did he just say kids?
“I’m not having kids because of some interview, Grandma.”
“I’m not suggesting you rush into having children,” Grandma says cooly before leaning back in her seat. “I’m simply saying you can’t dismiss people’s concerns just because you’re high up in your office tower and have made yourself nearly inaccessible. Just get engaged, Charles. Give them something else to talk about, and buy yourself some time.”
“And you don’t think it’ll look like I’m playing right into the media’s hands if I suddenly show up with a fiancée who didn’t exist until yesterday?”
“You’re known for being private. People hardly know anything personal about you. We can always spin a story, how you didn’t want to share her with the press, but with all the uncertainty in everyone’s minds, you changed your mind. I can find a perfect match in just a week.”
My muscles tense, coiling like a spring ready to snap. Before I can rush out of the room, my stepmother throws her napkin beside her plate on the table.
“Mom! Charles might already have someone he likes. Isn’t it bad enough that we’re pushing him to announce his personal life on a billboard, and now we want to get involved in who he marries?”
The whole conversation must have pushed her limits because, in general, she avoids getting confrontational with Grandma.
“He’ll have a choice, Kristy. I won’t just bring up a girl out of thin air and announce her as his wife. I never planned on doing it to any of my children, despite what they might think.”
Before this dinner completely unravels, I place my hand over Mom’s on the table beside me. It’s enough to draw both her and Grandma’s attention back to me.
“I know this is important, Grandma, and I promise to think about it. Just give me some time.”
The dinner ends, and before I can escape the stifling atmosphere and take away all the suffocation that will stay with me the whole night, Dad invites me into his study.
He lights a cigar and pours whiskey into two glasses, then hands one to me before sinking into his cherished wingback chair, casually draping one leg over the other. His brown Bontoni shoes catch the light of the chandelier.
“I understand you’re in a tough spot, Ace. But I don’t have any advice on how to navigate it.”
“It’s okay, Dad. With everyone in town offering their opinions on how I should proceed with my personal life, I’m glad you’re not pushing pictures of potential matches my way.”
He groans. “God, no. I’d never do that. I’m sure you’re much better at hunting for a bride than I am.”
“Please, let’s keep that between us. I’m not sure we’ll like the consequences if Mom hears you.” It feels good to smile.
Dad snorts, placing his glass onto the corner table before taking off the silk cravat from his neck. “I’m thankful it was Kristy who came looking for me. If I had to chase after her, I’d have probably messed it up somehow.”
“Nonsense, you would have been just fine. Remember, I was on your team. I did my best to charm Mom whenever I could.” I walk around the room, looking at the several pictures hung on the wall. Dad with his gang, the first Teager brothers, popping a champagne bottle after Elixir won a big deal. Mom and her gal pals, who are basically Teager women, at a girls-only trip to Egypt. My dad, much younger in this one with his sisters, Aunt Clementine and Aunt Florence.
I’ve never seen a businessman like my dad. He should be teaching a course on how to place family above everything and still be on top at your work.
“You certainly did that,” he says, throwing his head back in laughter. “Those were easier days, huh?”
“Definitely.” I breathe freely for the first time since dinner, the anxiety momentarily fading away.
“But I’d still like to tell you two things, if it’s okay?”
I turn around and give a nod, my curiosity piqued. He’s always been the kind of father who allows us to navigate our own paths, only stepping in with assistance when he deems it’s truly going to make a difference.
“Number one, your first personal responsibility is to yourself, Ace. You can’t help anyone unless you are happy with your own life. Until you decide what you want to do at every step, people will decide for you. But as soon as you take a stand, everyone will have to accept and live with it. Never let go of your control over your life.”
“And what’s the second?” I ask, because I feel I’m already failing at the first one.
“Never marry the wrong person or for the wrong reason. It’s not just about what you do to each other, but also what you do to yourself. A toxic relationship brings out the worst version of yourself, and a good relationship allows you to grow. I understand there’s immense pressure on you, but the Hawthorne name isn’t bigger for us than you and your happiness.”
As I hit the treadmill in my home gym the next morning, I flip on the TV. The business news segment wraps up after twenty minutes just as I finish my last lap. The credits roll in and Cherrywood’s town center fills the screen, festively decorated for the upcoming holidays.
A surprised smile tugs at my lips. Our small town on the news should be some sort of lucky omen for the day.
After stepping off the treadmill, I grab a towel from the rack and wipe the sweat from my neck and shoulders. As I reach for my water bottle, a gravelly voice saying my name on the TV catches me off guard. The news reporter, clad in a cheap charcoal suit, grins for the camera.
“Is Charles Hawthorne finally sharing his love life? We’ve just received word that Mr. Hawthorne is about to give an exclusive interview to a select news network. Unfortunately, we’re not part of that exclusive group, but we won’t let that stop us from digging into what he might reveal,” the reporter announces with a sly grin.
What the fuck?
I quickly crank up the volume as the reporter continues his stroll through the streets, eventually pausing outside none other than my most cherished spot in town, Hawthorne Bakery.
“I’ll be speaking with some locals to see if we can uncover any hints about what Charles Hawthorne has up his sleeve.”
This man’s fucking nerve! He’s chosen to set up camp right outside GG’s beloved bakery.
The towel that was draped around my neck just moments ago is now balled up tightly in my fist.
I reach for my phone, ready to dial security, but before I can, the reporter accosts a man in his sixties who’s emerging from the bakery flanked by two kids on either side of him.
“Hello, sir, I’m from Channel Nine. Would you be willing to answer a few questions for our viewers?”
The man seems uncertain, glancing behind him before offering a hesitant smile. “Sure.”
After the usual pleasantries, the reporter gets to the point. “Have you heard about Charles Hawthorne’s exclusive interview?”
The man’s smile immediately fades, and he shifts uncomfortably. But the reporter presses on, determined to get answers and aggravate me in the process.
“It could just be hearsay,” the old man finally mumbles.
“No. It’s absolutely confirmed news. What do you think Charles is announcing? He’s kept the media at arm’s length for so long. But now, an exclusive. A day with Charles Hawthorne—raw, personal, honest. There has to be big news that he’s ready to finally share. Don’t you agree?” The reporter’s free hand flails around.
“I…I don’t know. Maybe,” the man stammers.
“My bet is Charles is announcing his engagement or introducing us to the lovely woman he’s kept hidden from the media all these years. With him taking over the Hawthorne business soon, it has to be it. The media’s going wild,” the reporter speculates, feeding off the excitement.
The man’s nod is hesitant, a blend of agreement and uncertainty.
“So you don’t care what the Hawthorne family does or if Charles is the last direct heir?”
“Of course I care.” The gentleman’s demeanor shifts suddenly, and the reporter can barely conceal his sinister smile. He’s got the interviewee exactly where he wants him—talking.
“The Hawthorne line won’t end anytime soon. This town needs the founding family. I’m sure Mr. Hawthorne will do what’s best for all,” the man says, his words igniting a warm surge in my chest. Validation and praise from those I intend to help and support feel more rewarding than any business deal.
“Absolutely. Charles Hawthorne’s a savvy businessman, no doubt. But shouldn’t he be more open about his personal life?” the reporter presses.
“Mr. Hawthorne doesn’t owe anyone explanations. We’d be glad if he shared that he’s found someone special. Life in those tall towers must be lonely, and we all want him to be happy. But I’m sure he’ll share it with us when he’s ready.” The man doesn’t even wait for the reporter’s next question and grabs his grandkids’ hands before walking away.
“As you can see, there’s a special unspoken bond between this town and the Hawthornes.”
My vibrating cellphone draws my attention from the TV, and a groan slips my mouth at the sight of Jimmy’s picture flashing on the screen.
“Hello.”
“You can’t deny you saw it. I know Channel Nine is your go-to, especially during the business news hour.”
“And people call me private.”
“Now’s not the time to grow a funny bone, Charles.” His breath sounds rushed, as if he’s in a hurry.
“Relax before you give yourself a heart attack. If you’re referring to the reporter outside Hawthorne Bakery, yeah, I saw.”
“And?”
“And what? Besides being inches from suing that asshole for setting up shop outside GG’s bakery, we’re doing the exclusive interview. That’s enough.”
“Not quite. You need to hint that you have a romantic life, even if you’re living like a hermit. You need to tell them that you have a sweet, funny, and cute girl with long golden hair and a matching personality.”
“And where are we going to put in an order for her? A Barbie shop in heaven?” My teeth grit to the point of pain. Why do my actions always seem to fall short?
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, let’s stop all of this about the Hawthorne line ending. If one reporter showed up today, I guarantee the streets of Cherrywood will be flooded with them in the coming weeks. And trust me, not all townspeople will be as friendly as today’s gentleman.”
“This is nonsense.” I run my hands through my hair, almost pulling at it in frustration.
“Listen to me, Charles. Extinguish this flame before it turns into a wildfire.”
“I’ll think about it.” I end the call, Dad’s advice from last night echoing in my mind.
I need to think about my own happiness and not be with someone for the wrong reason. What’s the point of being one of the most powerful people in the state when I have no control over my own life?
Before the unease consumes me entirely, I shake my head.
What the heck, Charles? Since when do you wait for things to happen? That’s an act of a loser. Life always becomes what one wants only when one is willing to take action.
It’s time to take charge and nip this problem in the bud.
Dressed and ready, I grab my laptop from the desk, spotting the paper Rowan printed a few nights back. It even has a title.
Perfect Match for Charles Hawthorne.
What was I even thinking?
I shove it into my laptop bag, fully intending to feed it into the shredder by day’s end.