Chapter 7
Ivy
We are early, just as I hoped. Damien and I are the first guests to arrive. Mom has made a few changes to the townhouse since I’ve been here. The old-school turn-of-the-century-inspired decor is out, replaced by modern minimalism that’s all the rage. Instead of browns, reds, and wood, it’s now whites, grays, and glass. Mom is the first to receive us, and she beams with delight as she hugs me. The redecoration must have been expensive. No wonder she’s looking for money.
“Oh darling, I’m so happy to see you.” She invites me in for a hug and I reluctantly accept. The transatlantic accent she likes to put on when she’s hosting is out in full force today.
“Are you?” I ask as I pull away from her embrace. Every time she calls, she never wonders how I am or what I am doing. Her primary concern is usually money which I don’t have, scratch that, didn’t have until now.
“Of course I am. Ivy, why do you say things like that?” She turns to Damien. “And this must be the lovely husband.”
“Damien Sinclair,” he says, offering his hand. She hugs him instead. “Oh, I know.” She playfully taps his chest. “How’s your mother? Is she still… what was it…making wine?”
“Apple juice. She has an apple farm upstate.”
Mom frowns. “Are you sure? I would have sworn it was vineyard?”
I cringe with embarrassment. “I’m sure he knows what sort of farm his mother has.” Mom titters and playfully taps Damien again. “I liked your mom. The only secretary Nolan Senior had who wasn’t an aspiring home-wrecker.”
I look down, wishing the ground can open me up and swallow me whole. I plaster a smile on my face. “Mom? Can I talk to you for a sec?” I say.
“Before I even have a chance to get to know your husband?” She stresses the word husband each time she says it to note how peculiar the situation is.
“Please.”
“Fine. Let’s go to the study and Damien, I hope you don’t mind being left alone for a few minutes. Please enjoy the wine while I speak to my daughter.”
Damien nods and we leave him in the drawing room.
“So you and Damien have patched things up,” she says as soon as she closes the door to the study. So she doesn’t know about the share sale I made to Damien. I stifle a sigh of relief.
“I wanted to talk to you before the party started.”
“Ivy, it’s not a party, it’s a memorial.”
Trying to not roll my eyes is hard, but I do it, anyway. My father treated her horribly, cheated on her, and now she’s acting like an aggrieved widow? Her game is obvious to anyone with half a brain. “I want to talk about Lake.”
“Oh, my grandson? How is he?”
You could visit him if you care so much.“Good. It’s about Lake’s father.”
She strolls to the bookcase and runs her hands on the books as she says, “Lake looks so much like his father. The resemblance is uncanny.”
“Mom.”
“What?” She turns around. The smirk she’s wearing makes her look both playful and curious. “I’m just glad he’s taking responsibility after all this time.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Damien doesn’t know about Lake.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“And I would like it to remain so, for at least the time being. I’ve already told the rest of the family and I wanted you to know before the party started.”
“Honey. I thought that’s why you married him. What is going on?” she says the last sentence in a sing-song voice as she leans on the desk with one hand.
“Just don’t mention Lake, okay?”
“Does he even know Lake exists?”
“He’s somewhat aware.”
Damien did all he could to avoid speaking to me again. I tried numerous times to tell him I was pregnant, but he refused to speak to me. He blocked my number. Threw me out of his office. Everything. And when I tried once more after Lake was born. Same thing. He ignored all of my messages and returned the letter I sent to him unopened. “Mr. Sinclair would like to not be bothered by you any longer or he will have to resort to extreme measures,” his assistant had said. That was the last time I tried.
“How has he seen that kid and not seen his own reflection back at him?”
That’s because he hasn’t. “Can you not mention it, please?”
“And you say you’re in love with this man you’re keeping such a big secret from?”
“I want to tell him in my own time.”
My mother looks me over. Her assessment, nakedly judgmental. I can almost hear her thoughts. Whatever game you’re playing, you will end up the loser.She plasters a smile. “Whatever you want. I’m just happy you’re here.”
“I thought the point of this impromptu memorial was to meet me and Damien.”
She chuckles. “Not everything is about you, sweet Ivy. It just so happened to clash with whatever is going on in your life. I just wish you’d told me, that’s all. I was scrambling around looking for a husband for you so you can get out of your… situation and here you were, eloping to Vegas.”
“We wanted to keep it a secret.”
“From your mother?” She shakes her head, her usual signal that the topic is done. “Anyway, I guess that means you’re in control of your shares?”
If only she knew. “Yes.” My voice is too low and I pray it doesn’t betray my deception, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
She clasps her hands. “Great! You must know, darling, that I never intended to sign that horrid document that put you in such a predicament. Your father did all that. He was very persuasive, and I thought he was doing what’s best for you.”
At this point. A healthy mother-daughter relationship would bookend this conversation with a hug or a shift in a topic about how Lake is. In my case, my mother chooses instead to add, “You’ve grown a little chubby around the waist.” If you continue eating those croissants you make, your love handles alone will be grounds for divorce.”
“Mom!” At a little above a hundred and twenty pounds, it is laughable to consider me fat or in danger of getting fat, but anything more than a size zero to my waif-thin mother is overweight. Size eight? That’s downright obese to her. Subconsciously, I clutch my stomach, feeling the extra pouch that never fully went away after Lake’s birth.
“I’m actually on a weight gain diet,” I say to irritate her. “I hope to add five more pounds to this belly by the end of the day.”
***
Carey and his wife have arrived by the time Mom and I leave the study. My heart hammers in my chest as I watch Carey and Damien talk. As I trace my way to them, I’m repeating a single mantra in my head. Don’t say anything about Lake. Don’t say anything about Lake.
“Wow, it’s been a long time since I saw you,” Carey says closing the distance between us and hugging me. He’s always been a hugger to the people he loves. I embrace him and sink into his warmth. It’s a very different vibe from the one my mother gave me and I receive it unashamedly. “What have you done, sister?” He whispers in my ear. His tone is friendly, but his face has a small frown of concern. He looks a little older than before. Stress lines are becoming more prominent on his forehead and he looks like he hasn’t been eating that much.
“I hope my antics haven’t hurt your campaign?”
He smiles, making his handsome boyish face even more heartwarming. “What campaign? I do not plan to run for District Attorney in the following election.”
“Yeah sure.” Even though he hasn’t officially announced, everyone knows Carey Hawthorne is going to run for District Attorney for Manhattan County. It’s the worst kept secret in town and everyone and their mother wants him to run. He’s just won a high-profile celebrity case and his good looks and charm in the courtroom has earned him a nickname on social media. LILF (Lawyer I would like to fuck). Every time he gives a press conference, #LILF trends. I wonder what Thalia thinks about it all now that her husband is one of the most desired men in the country.
“And how is your wife?” I ask, my gaze darting to Thalia, who’s in conversation with Damien. I immediately want to join them. My fear momentarily fades as I wonder if Carey relayed my message about Lake to her, but his sudden dark mood and the way he says, “Good,” as if he had to drag the words out of his mouth. “What is going on between you two?”
Carey shakes his head slightly. “Marriage is… my marriage is fine.” His mood suddenly shifts and his coy boyish charm is back again. “I see your childish dream has come true. Were you two really seeing each other?”
“Yes. Why is it so hard to fathom?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because Damien Sinclair is family nemesis number one. I remember Nolan wanting to rip his head off after finding you two in the garden kissing.”
Kissing? Funny that he reduced that fateful encounter to simply kissing. My cheeks still go red at the thought of being found out early morning by Nolan and Dad. Both were angry, and both looked like they would rip Damien’s head off. “He’s Nolan’s nemesis, not mine.”
“Not to mention the history between you two. Does Damien know?”
I give a slight shake of my head just as Damien and Thalia come over to join us. “Does Damien know what?” he asks. My heart hammers against my chest. Did he hear our conversation? It’s not as if we said anything that could give my secret away. As I scramble for a plausible explanation, Carey jumps in to save me.
“I was asking if you know whether Nolan is coming or not.”
“Is he not here because he’s afraid of me?” Damien says.
“You are the fox in the henhouse here,” Carey drawls, “Aren’t you the one desperately trying to steal our company from under us?”
“I am merely doing business, Carey. Emotions,” Damien comes to stand beside me and draw me next to him, “have nothing to do with it.”
Carey, with his trademark charm, counters, “That’s a load of bull if I’ve ever heard some. But that’s not what I want to talk about. I wanna know specifically why you eloped with my sister. A gunshot wedding with no relatives present? “
Damien’s gaze darts to me. “Ask her.” I scramble for something that won’t ring alarm bells in their minds. Thalia is looking at me with expectant curiosity. My mother has joined us and she has a glass of mimosa in her hand while practically smirking at me. Carey is a little skeptical, but curious, just like his wife.
“We met at um…” Damien and I walk in such different circles. Bumping into each other is not something likely to happen on an everyday occurrence.
“A party” Damien adds. He slips a hand around my arm and I clamp down the immediate reaction to jump. Not from revulsion of his touch, no, but from the uncomfortable tumble of my stomach. “A friend of mine threw a birthday party. Remember Hunter,” he says to Carey. “We got to talking and remembered how much we were into each other a few years back and carried things from there.”
“Still doesn’t explain why you had to get married so quickly.”
“I don’t know what to say. One minute we were in a hotel room declaring love for each other, then we were in a chapel getting married. It made sense. And after the fog of alcohol and other things,” he leaves the implication of sex hanging in the air as he stares down at me lovingly, “It still makes sense.”
Carey frowns, staring at me. I can feel the unspoken words in that look. If he doesn’t know you have a son, then how are you married to him? His shoulders slump and he goes to the table at the end of the room to grab some drinks for himself and his wife.
“So it’s a whirlwind affair. How romantic,” Thalia says. At least she buys it. My mother is still skeptical, but enjoying what is happening between Damien and me, nonetheless. At least Nolan hasn’t arrived and I’m praying he doesn’t and gets hold up with work.
“Where are the others? I ask Mom, trying to change the subject.”
“Levi, Seb, and Ty all said they’ll be arriving together. And Raine, well you know how he is. He would rather die in Europe than remember his father.”
The cutting remark makes Carey chuckle. “Please,” his voice is full of derision, “why would Raine drop everything to witness a farce? No offense to your recent nuptials, Ivy, but we all know your mom planned this ‘anniversary brunch’ so she could find a way of getting us in one room and lord over us.
“Carey!” Mom puts on a shocked face that convinces no one.
“Are you saying this brunch has nothing to do with you wanting to know about your daughter’s marriage? The same daughter you didn’t care about until she married a billionaire. Let me ask you something. What happened to Dad’s Monet?” Carey points at a wall in the drawing room where a giant Monet used to be the centerpiece. Now a contemporary three-piece by a no-name artist has replaced it.
My mother gasps and snorts. She glances at me, looking for a defender, but I know not to get in front of Carey while he’s on a rant. My brother, usually charming, can transform into a ruthless monster if he sees you as an enemy. And he hates my mother most of all. “It’s in the storage,” she says, sounding as incredulous as she can.
“Oh really? It’s not at all similar to the Monet Christie’s auctioned a few weeks ago and sold?”
“Honey. Monet made many paintings.”
The air in the room goes cold. Thalia is visibly agitated. Damien is looking on in interest and Carey… he looks like he can burn my mother with his eyes. “Jacqueline, I am the mystery buyer who bought back that painting you b--”
Carey doesn’t finish his sentence and is instead cut off by Thalia, who asks, “Ivy, so how’s Lake?”
No. No. No. Thalia’s attempt to change the subject to a more light-hearted one is a mistake. I feel Damien’s hand tighten around my waist. I try to plead with my eyes to Thalia to not say anything else, but she seems to read it as encouragement. “He must love the idea of a new dad.”
Damien’s grip on my waist turns to steel before withdrawing me from it like I am a piece of hot coal. He has an unreadable expression on his face when he says, “Lake is your son?”