Prologue 1B
“Y OU’RE ONLY EATING salad?” Aunt Norah asked that night as she hung her lab coat on the back of the chair before taking the seat at the head of the table. She had on her trademark pearl necklace, and matched with her silk sheath dress, Aunt Norah looked more like a socialite than a doctor on call.
I adjusted the dark glasses on my nose. “I’m on a diet.”
Aunt Vilma took the seat across from me. She was also dressed in her typical power suit, pink, form-fitting, and covering her from head to toe. She had once told me that “looking sexy while kicking ass” was her way of discouraging the big boys in courtrooms from messing with her.
When Aunt Norah asked me about what new movie we could watch over the weekend, I began to relax. My appetite gradually came back and I happily moved on to the next course, a creamy mushroom soup that was my aunt’s only masterpiece in the kitchen.
As Aunt Vilma took another helping of Caesar salad, she asked in a disarmingly casual voice, “And what about school, Mairi? Do you think we’ve given you ample time to have the guts to tell us what really happened?”
Pweh! That was the sound of my last spoonful of soup spitting out of my mouth, but even after that horrifying display I still kept on choking.
I heard Aunt Norah snapping, “Couldn’t you have been more subtle than that?”
“I gave her more than five minutes,” Aunt Vilma retorted in the same tone. “In my experience, when a person doesn’t talk in five minutes, it means she never will.”
Aunt Norah started pounding me on the back. “She’s not one of your defendants! She’s your niece!”
“I know,” Aunt Vilma said as she also started pounding me on the back. “That’s why I gave her seven minutes!”
“Oh for God’s sake!”
“What?”
“STOP!” I didn’t mean to scream, but if I let them continue arguing I’d likely end up black and blue. With a little wince, I inched away from their hands. “I’m, umm, okay now.” Not. I suddenly felt like I had let an elephant massage my back with its hooves.
Aunt Norah’s gaze widened when she saw me wince again. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry. We didn’t realize—-”
“Are you okay?” Aunt Vilma cut her off, concern lining her voice.
She tried reaching for me but I quickly pushed my chair a few inches back again. “I’m okay now,” I said hastily. Seeing them still gazing at me worriedly, knowing what I had to tell them, I decided to play it safe and moved my chair farther away until its back hit the wall.
To my aunts’ credit, they didn’t lose their tempers or even thought I was to blame.
“Does your expulsion have to do something with your shiner?” Aunt Vilma asked.
I was stunned. “You know?”
Aunt Vilma sighed. “Honey, it’s only in the movies that people can get away hiding the fact they’ve gotten punched with sunglasses.”
Before I could answer that, dishonestly but defensively and purely out of pride, Aunt Norah said gently, “Your principal stated in her fax that you’re no longer eligible for admission in their school. I called to know the exact reason but she says it’s classified.”
So Principal Childress had kept her side of the agreement , I thought with cold satisfaction. After flipping the bird at the old witch the way she deserved to, I had told Principal Childress she could expel me and I wouldn’t contest it – but only if she didn’t breathe a single word of her stupid accusations to my aunts or anyone else. If she did, then I was going to have Aunt Vilma sue her for discrimination and slander – and we both knew who would win that case.
“Do you have anything to say about that, Mairi?”
I shrugged, keeping my sunglasses on because it was easier to lie that way. “I got into a fight with another girl in school. A really violent fight. So they expelled me.”
“That’s it?” Aunt Norah sounded doubtful.
“Yup.” I slowly resumed eating, just to convince them I was totally okay with what happened.
“Just tell it to me straight,” Aunt Vilma pleaded. “It’s not because you’re pregnant, is it?”
I spit out another spoonful again.
Aunt Norah added uneasily, “Or on drugs?”
My spoon dropped to my plate. “Aunt Norah! Aunt Vilma!” Were they seriously asking me those questions?
“Well, you can’t blame us! We didn’t raise you to be a hooligan,” Aunt Norah answered defensively.
Silence.
And then Aunt Vilma coughed, and when she did I had to cough, too.
Aunt Norah’s gaze narrowed.
I’m not going to laugh. This is not the time for laughter. Oh my God, Aunt Vilma is so unfair! Why are her shoulders shaking?
Aunt Norah burst out, “Oh, for God’s sake! My old-fashioned English is not the main point here.”
Aunt Vilma lost it and I started to giggle. “ Hooligan, Aunt Vi. Did you hear her say it?”
Aunt Vilma chortled, “I so did!”
It was a reprieve, a temporary one, and we all knew and allowed it. Maybe later tonight, when it was time for us to settle down with our own copies of our group bedtime story, we would talk about it again.
But for now, we were going to enjoy some harmless, adorable bit of normalcy.
Aunt Vilma and Aunt Norah were still trading insults and I stayed in my seat, enjoying my dinner as I listened to them one-up each other with the wittiest barbs. How, I wondered sadly, could those narrow-minded idiots ever think that these two wonderful women were whores and gold diggers?
They had made me believe in true love in the form of Greek billionaires.
Was that so wrong?
“Are you okay, Mairi?”
I started, realizing that both my aunts had ill-concealed looks of worry in their gazes. The sight of it made my stomach queasy because I didn’t like seeing them like that. I wanted them to be happy – to stay happy because that was what they had succeeded in making me feel all these years, even if I had lost my parents too early.
Forcing a smile, I lied, “I was just wondering what book we’d be reading tonight.”
“Lynne Graham’s new one of course,” Aunt Vilma replied promptly.
“Oh, please. Not another one. Can we please switch to Sharon Kendrick for tonight?”
“Betty Neels would be good,” I piped in, just for the fun of it. I personally loved the author’s books, but my aunts found her work too “sweet”.
“There isn’t even a Greek billionaire in any of her books,” Aunt Vilma countered with a sniff. “She only writes about doctors and she’s not even part of Harlequin’s Medical Romance.”
“Plus, those men are too nice for my liking,” Aunt Norah grumbled. “They never act like jerks!”
Closing my eyes with a genuine smile this time, I let my mind drift once more while listening with half an ear to my aunts passionately enumerating the many reasons why they just weren’t the kind of women to fall in love with handsome, wealthy, and intelligent Dutch surgeons.
One day, I thought hazily. One day I was going to prove everyone wrong about my aunts. One day, I’d show the whole world that it was perfectly fine to dream about falling in love with a Greek billionaire because it could and would come true if you wanted it badly enough.
And I wanted it. Badly.