Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
ONE MONTH LATER…
“Good evening, Miss Stirling,” the maitre d' said as I stepped into the large, opulent dining room. “Your parents are already seated at their usual table.”
I had been summoned back to Bayswater. Summoned, like I was a dog my parents could whistle for when they needed me. Except they hadn’t even given me the courtesy of calling me themselves. My dad’s butler had telephoned me and informed me that I was expected for dinner tonight.
“Thanks, Donald.”
“Would you like your usual drink to start?”
“Yes, please.” I spotted my mom across the room. “Make it a double.” That would undoubtedly piss her off.
I walked across the room. The Bayswater Country Club was the epitome of luxury with its high, painted ceilings and antique chandeliers, red velvet chairs, and floor-length, white tablecloths.
I recognized every single person seated in the restaurant. It was the same members every week, dining at the same tables, eating the same food. Like every other time I came here, I felt like I was slowly being suffocated by the ostentatious wealth and judgmental stares coming from every direction.
“You’re fifteen minutes late,” Mom reprimanded me as I approached the table.
“Sorry.” I leaned down to air kiss her on both cheeks. “Traffic was bad. Where’s Dad?”
“He’s talking on the phone on the terrace.”
When was my father not talking on the phone?
“How are you?”
She shrugged her thin shoulder. “Beth, really, that dress is so last season.”
She should know. She’d bought it for me. Mom hates my taste in clothing and regularly has high-end clothes and shoes delivered to my apartment. I struggle to keep a roof over my head, and my car is being held together by duct tape and prayers, yet Mom fills my apartment with designer shoes and bags so expensive, they could pay my rent for months. The polarity between my old life and my new life staggered me. I was reminded of this every time I stuffed my size-four ass into these stupid Mulberry silk dresses.
I schooled my face to remain passive. I thought my sundress was cute. “How are you, Mom?”
She gave a long-winded sigh. “I’ve had a very challenging few months.”
“Oh. What’s going on?”
“You know I’m on the board for NYTA, and Kelly Brockers was the chair, but her husband recently got transferred to London. It’s been complete chaos. The in-house fighting on the board has kept me awake for weeks. I can’t handle it.”
I blinked. The board of the New York Tennis Association was stressing Mom out. This world sometimes felt like an SNL parody.
“I’m sure you’re doing great.”
She sniffed. “It’s been exceedingly stressful.”
Mom was stressed. Something was bothering her. Something real. Something was keeping her awake at night, but God forbid she ever talked about it.
Mom was the queen of hiding the truth of her life away from the world but used something frivolous as a surrogate reason to vent. How many times had I wished that we could be closer? In the end, I couldn’t handle her cover story no more than she could handle my truth.
The waiter came forward with my gin and tonic, placing it in front of me with a small bow. The only redeeming thing about dinner at Bayswater was the expensive booze.
The pointed look mom sent my way as I drank at least a finger’s worth didn’t escape my attention. I ignored her, though. It was easier that way.
Unused to being ignored, she pursed her lips and fussed with the expensive linen cloth on her lap. “Where are you working now?”
Dad approached the table, saving me from answering. I studied him behind the rim of my glass. His hair was beginning to grey at the edges of his forehead, but he pulled it off in a George Clooney type of way. Still, he wore his mid-fifties well and carried himself with presence.
He sat down across from me. “You’re late.”
I took another sip of the gin. “Nice to see you, too, Dad.”
He didn’t bother responding as the waiter immediately approached the table. We ordered our food, then sat in silence for a moment.
“Your father has a family announcement.” Mom turned to my dad, benignity written all over her carefully made-up face.
I could never quite tell what she was thinking.
“I’m running for mayor.” Dad met my eyes. “We’re announcing it at the gala next week. Saturday.”
Mayor of New York? Geez. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. My father was already an extremely wealthy businessman, but he also craved power and control. Always had .
The neutral expression never left my face. “What brought you to that decision?”
“New York is the greatest city in the world. It needs stronger leadership.”
Dad’s idea of leadership was closer to dictatorship.
“I’m very excited for you,” I lied.
Was it too late for me to leave this city? Maybe I could move out west. Perhaps Hawaii.
“I’d like your support during my candidacy.”
“You know I’ll always support you,” I relented. “Just like you’ve always supported my choices.”
Mom cleared her throat. “We want you to move home. We’ll clear out the guest house for you. You can live there. Rent free.”
Her offer wasn’t even tempting. I’d left home when I'd turned 18 for a reason. Hell would freeze over before I returned to that gilded cage.
“Mom, as much as I love living with you and dad,” I lied, “I’m too old to move back home. I have my own life that I’m living.”
“Beth, why be difficult about this? You have no idea how important optics are during a political campaign. Plus, it’ll make things so much easier for you to be at home for all the campaigning events we need to attend.”
I ignored her and focused on the food a server dropped off. One mouthful at a time, I chewed and swallowed, not tasting a single bite. I felt a sense of panic that my parents had even suggested I move back home. My independence meant everything to me. Why did my parents want to keep dragging me back under their wing?
“Are you listening to me, Beth?” Mom’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.
“Sorry, I was thinking about work for a moment.”
She rolled her eyes, her frustration thinly veiled. “I was saying that I called Donna, and she can see you anytime this week.”
“Donna?” I swirled my mostly empty glass in my hands. I really wanted another drink, but since I was driving, it was a bad idea .
“My personal shopper.”
I paused. Personal shopper? “Why do I need to see Donna?”
“Haven’t you listened to a word I have said?”
“Tell me again.”
“Your father is entering the campaign late in the game. So, we have to make up for lost time. We have a very tight schedule of canvassing that includes grassroots fundraising, membership drives, galas, dinners, parties, baseball games and BBQs. Your father has something scheduled practically every single night.”
I raised my head and met Dad’s eyes. They shone with hope, and I had to swallow to ease the guilt that wrapped around my throat, suffocating me.
I averted my eyes, preferring Mom’s disapproving eyes. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Beth”—her exasperation was apparent—“Because you’re going to be front-and-center of this campaign.”
“Why would you say that?”
I wasn’t the front-and-center type. Never had been. It was part of the reason such a big rift had wedged its way between Mom and me. She wanted a daughter she could show off, and I wanted to be my own person.
“Because you’re part of this family, and we need you to help with the campaign.”
Oh, fuck.
Fuck no.
Fuck me.
Fuck.
She continued, oblivious, “It’s going to be fun. We’re going to go shopping together, and I’ll buy you lovely outfits.”
I needed to stop this runaway train. Now. There was no way I’d do this. It wasn’t even an option. “Dad, I’m very happy for you and your career plans, but I don’t think I should be campaigning with you.”
“Why won’t you help your father? ”
“I have my own life. I have work and commitments.”
Okay, that was a lie. Kind of. Lately, my life had been reduced to watching a whole lot of Netflix—sans chill. But that sure as hell didn’t mean that I wanted to commit to spending every waking hour for the next seven months alongside my parents, pretending to be a happy family.
That was never going to happen. Mom and I could barely stomach each other’s company, and Dad always deferred to Mom for everything. I hated fighting with my parents. I really did. But there was no way I would take any of this lying down.
“What’s it going to take?” she finally asked.
Negotiations. Mom truly believed everything had a price. She’d never been able to realize she couldn’t buy my love or attention. All she had to do was care for me, and she’d get it for free. The whole thing made my stomach churn.
I rubbed my forehead. God, why was everything such a battle with Mom? Every single time we got together, it was some sort of negotiation. Nothing was ever about what was right. It always came down to what I could do for them. Of course, I wanted to support my father, but if I got dragged into this, Mom would own me for the next several months.
I carefully set my cutlery down on my plate, and a waiter instantly appeared to whisk it away. “I am not sure I can commit to anything at this point.”
“Yates thinks it necessary.”
I tilted my head slowly, taking in her posture. “Why does my ex-boyfriend have any say in this private matter?”
“He’s my campaign manager.” Dad sounded bored with this conversation.
My jaw dropped open. “Please, tell me you’re joking.”
“He’s completely qualified,” Mom rushed to tell me. “He has a bachelors in marketing and an MBA from Yale.”
“I know where he went to school, Mom. I dated him for three years. What I can’t wrap my head around is why you hired him when there are thousands of other candidates.”
“He’s the best.”
I swallowed. Did Mom even care about my feelings? Didn’t she know it crushed me when she put Yates and his needs before my own? He was the cheating ex. I was the daughter. The math should have been easy.
Mom droned on about Yates’ accomplishments and the things he had planned for our family, but I was officially done entertaining this conversation. I had to protect myself. I deserved to protect myself.
My eyes skimmed the room, not surprised to see Yates shaking hands with someone at the end of the room. He was like a prince here, loved by all. He was the all-American boy with his boyish good looks, perfect blond hair, dazzling white smile and bright blue eyes. In faded pink slacks, a crisp white dress shirt and his standard navy blazer—a jacket I knew cost no less than five grand—he looked like he stepped off a GQ summer shoot.
Dating Yates had been easy. Too easy. He was charming, witty, and carefree. He had a lot of money and knew a lot of people. And to be honest, I had cared for him. Deeply.
When he’d cheated on me, he’d hurt me more than I wanted anyone to know. I remembered the day I had ended it with him. It was the only time I’d actually seen him scared, but his panicked words erased any doubts I’d had: “Who cares who I fucked? I’m with you. Doesn’t that count for something?”
He couldn’t understand why I played by different rules than anyone in this world. Our fathers cheated on our mothers. It was par for course on the Upper East Side. My need for fidelity would never be something he could wrap his mind around.
Mom reached out and uncharacteristically touched my hand. The small gesture made tears prick the back of my eyelids.
“You look tired, Beth.”
I was tired.
Since I had broken up with Yates, I’d lost my home, security, and job, which had become such a living hell, I'd quit it in a fit of rage. My parents may have been rich, but I was broke, and I couldn’t catch a break to save my life.
I was working as a temp for peanuts, and I was barely able to make rent and feed myself on anything other than instant ramen. My savings were drained, and I needed a real job, but it wasn’t from a lack of trying.
“Let me think about it,” I said, unwilling to commit to this.
Mom and Dad exchanged a look until Dad finally nodded. “I’ll be expecting your call.”