6. Harper
Harper
Even after staying out late the night before, Dawson isn’t remotely lenient with our schedule at work. He moves from meeting to meeting, giving me very little time to breathe in between. I don’t even have a minute to eat the turkey sandwich Maggie made for me before leaving.
With every spare moment I have, I try to familiarize myself with the business as much as I can.
Last night at dinner, Richard was not interested in “showing me the ropes” at all.
Instead, all he wanted to do was try to feel me up and ask about all the sexual experiences I’ve had.
Which is none, to be totally clear. I don’t know why I thought that was the right thing to say, but it seemed to turn him on even more, and I wish I had just lied.
I don’t quite understand what this company is.
I can’t figure out what products Dawson manufactures or sells, or what exactly it is that he’s investing in.
The only thing I can even find is that it’s about defense innovations and infrastructure.
I barely know what any of that means. Maybe I should have paid more attention in other classes, not just art.
The end of the day rolls around, and a pit forms in my stomach when I think about the pool party tonight at Clear View Country Club.
Of course, in thinking of a novel way to torture me, Dawson made me get the skimpiest bikini at the boutique last night.
It barely covers my boobs, and I don’t even want to think about my ass.
I was able to negotiate a black caftan to wear on top, but I know I’m not going to be able to have it on all night.
If I can get away with it, I wear oversized T-shirts and baggy sweaters everywhere I go. Being on display for so many people—especially people like Richard—is going to be a nightmare.
“Ready to go?” Dawson asks in my doorway, not looking up from his phone. I don’t even stand up before he’s walking toward the elevator, expecting me to follow him. Of course, I’m contractually obligated to do just that.
The door is closed, and neither of us says a word to each other as we head down to the limo.
“What’s this party even for?” I ask when we’re settled in and ready to drive to the club.
“The founding of the country club,” Dawson says with the most disinterested voice I’ve ever heard.
I turn my attention to the window and watch trees and cars pass us by as we head to the country club.
It’s my first time going, and I’m a little nervous.
I don’t know how to act around people like this.
My mom was raised around these wolves, and all she’s ever wanted was to stay in this pack.
She left me behind a lot of the time when she was trying to claw her way back in.
I know I’m not the vision of beauty all of these people desire, too.
They all have plastic surgeons on speed dial to get emergency lipo, after having too much to eat on vacation.
They keep Ozempic in their fridge in place of food.
On top of that, they all have trendy hairdos and wear expensive Prada and Dior makeup and perfume. I don’t do any of that.
I’ve always worried about fitting in, and I never really had anywhere to fit in. Being homeschooled makes adapting to social situations really challenging, especially when you get virtually no socialization as a child. All that’s just to say I’m awkward.
We finally get to the country club, and Dawson leads me to the women’s changing room, standing outside as he waits for me to change into my bikini.
I try not to look at myself in the mirror because I don’t want to spiral about my appearance if I don’t have to.
I know Dawson is waiting for me, and every moment that passes is just going to be another that he complains about.
I put on the bikini, marveling at how it can even hold my boobs in place. I wrap myself in the caftan as quickly as I can before heading out in a pair of wedge heels Dawson picked out for the outfit.
When he sees me, his eyes widen, but he forces himself to look away.
I stand awkwardly beside him, not knowing what to do with myself.
A few people walk by us, and it feels like I’m the only thing they can look at.
I try not to think about what crosses their minds.
They no doubt think I should be wearing something more modest, and I would be inclined to agree.
“Come on, we have to make the rounds,” Dawson says, gesturing for me to follow him. I wrap the caftan around me, glancing around anxiously.
Dawson finds a few people and stops to say hello, introducing me as his assistant, not his stepsister.
After about half an hour, I find myself starting to relax.
Nobody is looking at me like I’m a huge eyesore; most of them don’t even really seem to care.
Everyone here is in a bathing suit, so there’s nothing particularly scandalous about mine.
But then my mom walks in hanging off of Henry’s arm, and her eyes go wide as she spots me in a bikini. Her cheeks are red, and she clenches her fists at her side, clearly upset at the sight. Dawson waves them over, and I almost want to plead with him not to, but it’s too late.
My mom tears her eyes away from me to give Dawson a fake smile. “You must be Dawson,” she greets overly sweetly. “It’s lovely to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” Dawson answers in a bored tone, as he looks around the space.
Henry looks between the two of us with a casual smile as my mom forces one on herself. Someone calls Henry over, and he excuses himself to mingle with the crowd. Dawson follows, leaving me and my mother alone. As soon as they’re gone, Mom takes a step closer and squints her eyes at me.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing wearing that here?” she asks, looking me up and down with disgust in her eyes.
My mom has been petite since the day she was born.
Believe it or not, she brags about being born underweight.
I suppose it’s not entirely her fault because her mother wanted her to be a star, and these impossible beauty standards were put on her from a very young age.
Mom has tried to put them on me since as young as I can remember.
“Everyone can see every part of you,” Mom continues, shaking her head.
“Do you think I wanted this?” I ask, whispering at her through gritted teeth. “This is what Dawson wanted me to wear. I don’t even want to be here.”
Mom rolls her eyes and scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief. “Why would anyone want to see you in that?”
Dawson is still close to us, and I’m not sure what all he can hear. I don’t know why I would expect him to come to my rescue at this point. He’s made it damn clear that he wants me to be as miserable as possible. So my mom berating me for my body in public is no doubt a pro in his book.
Henry and Dawson walk back over and Henry wraps his arms around my mom’s shoulders. She plasters a fake smile back on her face, which does not go unnoticed by Dawson.
“I’m surprised to see both of you here,” Henry says with a grin. “I have a table reserved in the dining room. I’d love it if the two of you would join us. It’ll be our first real family meal.”
“That sounds lovely,” Dawson says, following Henry and my mom into the dining room.
We go to the second floor, which overlooks the entire garden and pool area, and head into the members-only executive lounge.
A few other guests are here with plates of steaming steak and salmon.
Some other people sit at the bar chatting with each other, turning to look at the four of us as we walk in.
We’re seated at a booth toward the back of the room.
Henry and Dawson let my mother and me slide into the booth first, taking the outside for themselves.
Four menus are handed out to us, and I’m excited for a real meal.
It smells delicious here, and my mouth waters, looking at the descriptions on the menu.
We chat back and forth about what sounds good, and Henry gives some recommendations, knowing this is my first time.
A server comes and takes everyone’s orders.
Henry orders first, getting a ribeye steak with some sweet potato and harissa on the side.
Dawson goes next, ordering a New York strip with chimichurri sauce and a side of greens.
When it’s my mom’s turn to order, she gets the same thing she orders at virtually every restaurant, grilled chicken with a side salad. The server turns to me, and I’m planning on ordering a blackened salmon with a side of fries, but before I can open my mouth, my mom chimes in.
“She’ll just have a small garden salad with a lemon wedge on the side, no dressing,” she says, smiling at the server.
My face is hot, and I see the server looking at me for confirmation, but I’m too embarrassed to say otherwise. I just nod and hand the menu back to him.
I hope that nobody else notices, and we can all move past it without them commenting. But of course, Dawson is smiling at the exchange, only making it that much worse. He doesn’t say a word, but I know he finds it amusing.
Looks like he’s not the only one torturing me.
Everyone else makes small talk while we wait for our food to arrive, and all I can focus on is how embarrassed I am. I just nod and laugh when everyone else does, hoping it looks like I’m invested.
The food finally comes, and everyone else gets beautiful steaming portions of protein and carbs, while I’m left with lettuce and a lemon.
I eat it slowly, not wanting it to look like too small of a portion, even though it’s virtually nothing. Even trying to eat like a tortoise, I finish my small salad and lemon wedge before anyone else can even eat a quarter of theirs.
Once again, Dawson notices this. He pushes his plate toward me and gestures to it with his fork. My mom eyes me suspiciously as she waits for me to politely decline the food. I feel like this is some kind of a trap from Dawson, and I want to decline, but I am so hungry.
“Would you like some of this, Harper?” Dawson politely asks, playing up the kind, caring stepbrother act. “A woman who works for a living needs to eat more than just a plain salad. But Diana wouldn’t understand that because she doesn’t work.”
My mom laughs it off, looking at Henry with a pathetic need for belonging in her eyes. Henry isn’t as amused as Dawson or me. I can hear the insult as clear as day, even if my mom is choosing to be blind to it.
For the first time since being here, I feel a sense of excitement. Someone is on my side for once. I never would have thought it would be Dawson of all people, if I’m being honest.
Then again, I’m sure Dawson isn’t my mom’s biggest fan. She is, after all, an unabashed gold digger. The only reason she’s with Henry is for his money and anyone with eyes can see that. That’s why she’s been with every man she’s been with, including my biological father.
Dawson hates my mom just as much as I do, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Him offering me food has nothing to do with him actually caring about me; he just wants to piss off my mom.
Either way, I’m okay with that. I accept his offer and spoon a few vegetables off his plate and grab a slice of the New York strip. Mom watches me as I take a hearty bite, savoring the buttery soft tender meat with the chimichurri sauce on top.
Her eyes don’t leave me as I swallow, no doubt imagining that it’s going to immediately go to my hips and make me balloon up.
The four of us finish our dinner. My mom tries not to pay too much attention to me because of the frustration I’m sure she feels. Henry covers the bill, and Dawson and I go back to the pool to socialize for another hour.
When we are finally ready to go, I head to the changing rooms when Dawson stops me. “You can change at home.”
“I would rather–”
“We’re leaving,” he snaps and walks away from me.
Rolling my eyes when he is not looking, I follow him out to the limo, still thinking about the interaction with my mom.
I almost want to share a sense of camaraderie after what happened.
If he wants someone to rant to about my mother, I’m all ears because I would love that more than anything.
Unfortunately, as soon as we get back in the limo, he’s just as cold to me as ever.
Disappointed, I wrap the caftan around me a little tighter, staring out the window as we drive. I’ve gone my whole life being a lone wolf, never having any friends to talk to and spend time with. But right now, I feel more alone than ever.
Twelve months. I have to put up with this for one measly year, then I’ll be on my own in art school, making myself the life I want. This year just can’t seem to end soon enough.