Chapter 5 Mia
Mia
Bliss. What an ironic name for this place.
The Winter estate in Stowe is draped in picture-perfect snow, with pine trees lit like magazine spreads, and fireplaces crackling in every room.
It reeks of old money and the stodgy assholes who live there.
I’ve spent years trying to fit in here.
Laughing politely at their cruel jokes, letting their backhanded compliments hit me like passing snowflakes I could just shake off. Making small talk with women who looked through me and men who act like ‘kindergarten teacher’ means I can’t spell my own name.
Well, Winter family, I can spell my name just fine, and I can read the fine print on my prenuptial agreement even better, which I did with Katya.
They’ll pay.
Aiden, definitely, but also Nelson and Edith.
The joke’s on them when I am the only woman who has Winter Financial shares.
They are so freaking backward that they believe only male relatives can inherit rights and sit on the board. Well, they should’ve worded that miserable prenup better.
I hadn’t cared that I’d get no money at all if we divorced without kids. Didn’t want his money. Still don’t. But I do want payment for giving Aiden six years of my life in this marriage—I want him to hurt as much as I do.
And since the only thing he, obviously, cares about, just like his father, is money. I’m going to hit him where it hurts.
“Did you bring the pies?” Aiden asks as he parks the SUV.
I raise my eyebrows as if confused. I’m not.
I made pies and brought them for Christmas every year. They were a big hit, though no one actually said it to me except the children.
“Was I supposed to?” I infuse just enough concern in my tone.
It’s amazing how, when you’re hiding hurt, burying it deep, deep down, you become a damn good actor.
Now, it’s his turn to look confused. He’s not pretending, though. “You always bring pies to Stowe.”
I shrug. “Well, last year Edith said they weren’t good and she preferred the dessert their chef made. So…I thought, why bother.”
He scowls. “You know Mom is just…everyone loves your pies.”
“Do they?”
He smiles and cups my cheek. “I love them.”
“I’ll make some when we get home.” And then you can wear them, you son of a bitch.
He drops his hand and purses his lips. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course. Why do you keep asking?” You, guilty asshole.
I know he can sense the change in me, the distance I have created, the walls that have gone up. He also doesn’t know how to talk about it.
If he came clean right now, and told me what happened with Diana, we could have a chance. I have given him plenty of time, which is why it took me two weeks to contact Katya and get the divorce papers drawn up.
But even so, if he told me…if he was honest….
“You seem off,” he mentions.
“I do?” I widen my eyes for effect.
He licks his lips. “Maybe it’s me. I…I’m tired.”
Probably because you’re fucking your colleague…oops, sorry, work wife.
All that hard labor.
I’m torturing myself with thoughts of them together, like I somehow deserve the punishment. I believed in Aiden—believed that our social differences wouldn’t mean a damn thing if we loved each other enough.
When I found out I couldn’t have babies because of endometriosis, I clung to his words, that it didn’t matter—that nothing else mattered as long as we loved each other.
I was such a na?ve fool.
But no more of that.
I’ve felt so guilty for not giving Aiden children that I’ve made myself smaller, made myself agreeable, made myself someone I dislike.
I’ve been so compliant, wanting so desperately to be part of a family, that I’ve let them walk all over me.
Not this Christmas.
This year, I didn’t pack away my spine—I’m wearing it.
There are rituals in the Winter family. Day one is Christmas Eve dinner.
Day two is breakfast and skiing on Christmas Day, followed by Christmas lunch.
Day three is a mimosa brunch before we all go home.
It’s day one of holiday festivities and the last day of my marriage, emotionally, at least.
Crystal chandeliers glow. A jazz trio plays some Louis Armstrong in the background. Everyone’s dressed like it’s the Met Gala in a hall of mirrors.
Jesus! How pretentious can these people get?
I sip champagne, damn good Dom, I must say, as I sit on a couch and watch everyone.
Gianna is in a bodycon dress. She’s a size zero. She always talks about how she lost all her baby weight in just six months. They never fail to remind me that I can’t get pregnant, that I’m barren, as if the most important function a woman has is to reproduce.
Is that why he’s with Diana? Because she can have children?
The thought scorches through me like a burning flame. God, but this hurts.
All of it. So much.
Edith and Nelson are holding court by the fireplace, talking to Patrick, Gianna’s husband. He’s a good-for-nothing. An alcoholic with a gambling problem. But because he comes from old money like the Winters, they approve of him.
Betty is all smiles as she talks to Aiden.
They’re seated across from me on a matching sofa.
Tristan, Aiden’s brother, has his arm around his wife.
His eyes are on his kids who’re playing a board game in a seating area in the far corner.
They’re well behaved as expected. Kids are to be seen, not heard.
They’re with their French nanny. I smirk to myself.
Maybe he’s not looking at Nelson Jr. and Carla; he’s watching Lulu.
“Mia, how are things?” Gianna plants her firm ass on the sofa next to me, angling herself to face me.
Usually, I’d be with Aiden, trying to talk to everyone, trying to valiantly fight the exclusion.
Now that I’m sitting on my own, Gianna has come to me. Maybe I should’ve employed this trick early on. Too bad this is the last time I’ll see these miserable people.
“Things are great.” I raise my flute of champagne in a toast. It’s a prop. I’m on a stage.
Surprise flickers in her eyes. I’m usually all smiles and subservience. She wrinkles her nose like she smells something unpleasant.
That would be my resentment boiling over, bitch.
“I can’t believe you still have that kindergarten job. You know Aiden doesn’t need that money you make playing with glue and glitter.”
Gianna likes to show off about how much money she makes as Vice President of an IT company.
“Aiden may not, but I do.” I take another sip, my eyes steady on hers. “And it’s phenomenally rewarding. Last week, a five-year-old told me I was her favorite grown-up in the world. So, glue and glitter lead to emotional fulfillment.”
Her eyes narrow. I usually avoid talking about my job because they look down on it.
“Uh…okay.” She’s stumped. I feel damn good about that.
Winter Family: 0. Mia: 1.
Aiden’s mother drifts toward us, wrapped in cream cashmere and contempt. “Darling, Aiden tells me you didn’t bring your pies this Christmas.”
Not the fucking pies again! For crying out loud. None of you appreciated them when I did bring them, and now that I didn’t, you’re all getting up in arms about it?
“Well, you did say you prefer what your cook makes, so I decided not to bother.” They have some CIA-stamped Chef, so I know my calling him a cook is going to grate.
“Chef Joseph is a Chef, darling, not a cook.”
I lift a shoulder and let it drop carelessly. “Cook, chef. Same thing.”
Edith frowns, then lowers her voice. “Are you feeling well?”
Gianna leans closer as if she also wants to know what the hell was going on with me.
“Happy as a clam, Edith,” I reply smoothly. “You know, I love that diamond necklace you’re wearing. How much did it cost?”
I never talk about money with this bunch, but I’m preparing to burn down bridges soon enough, so I may as well have some fun.
Edith sneers. “It’s an heirloom. Priceless.”
“Oh, come on, Edith, everything has a price.” I laugh with just enough of a giggle that even I find it nauseating.
“Yes, of course, darling. And you’d know all about that,” she flings at me.
Temper, temper, Edith!
“Sure do.” I chuckle. “Speaking of how much things cost, I have to ask about the Fleur House Charity. How did it go?”
Being a kindergarten teacher means that I talk to a lot of parents and nannies. I have the goods on pretty much everyone in this family.
Edith gives me a withering look, but tempers it almost instantly. “There were some issues with that.”
I shake my head as if distressed. “I heard that the gala ended up costing so much that there wasn’t anything left to give to Fleur House.”
Fleur House is a women’s shelter that Edith likes to show off about supporting.
“We were working with a poor partner. Next time we’ll—”
“But isn’t it amazing how Mary Merced came through?” I speak over her, gushing.
Mary Merced is anathema to the Winters. An ex-stripper, she married into the wealthy Merced family and, after her husband, who was thirty years her senior, passed away, became popular in Burlington society due to her charitable work.
“We don’t talk about that woman in this house,” Edith thunders, eyes ablaze.
Winter Family: 0. Mia: 2.
I tilt my head and widen my eyes, all innocence. “I’m so sorry. Must be the champagne.”
She looks like she just swallowed a lemon.
Drawn by her tone, Nelson and Aiden both flock to where we are. This never happens. Usually, I’m chasing everyone down. But now, here I am, sitting like a queen, and they’re all coming to me.
Ah, some lessons are learned just too late.
I lift my empty glass. “Baby, can you get me some more champagne?”
Aiden looks poleaxed. This isn’t who I am. I don’t make him do things for me.
For one holiday only, see Mia Winter (née Rayburn) as Foxy Wife.
He takes my glass with a half-smile and walks to the bar.
Nelson arches an eyebrow and stands with an arm around his wife, giving me a measured look. “How many Christmases since we’ve had you with us?”
Oh boy! A year ago. Hell, a few months ago, this kind of thoughtless remark would have gutted me. Today, I’m the one who will do the gutting.
“Six. Can you believe it?” I keep my tone saccharine sweet. “Like mildew, right? Hard to scrub out.”
My mother-in-law chokes on her drink. It’s the sweetest sound ever.
Winter Family: 0. Mia: 3.
My future ex-father-in-law’s chuckle is automatic, and then he pauses, replaying what I just said.
But the moment has passed, and my husband has returned with my champagne.
He can feel the tension in the room. Usually, this is because Nelson is berating one of his children, humiliating them—but this time it’s because of me.
They don’t know what to do with me now.
They’re used to me: small, soft, agreeable. The perfect little outsider trying to prove she deserves a seat at their long, gleaming table.
But I’ve realized something: I never wanted to be part of their cold little kingdom. I only ever wanted him. And now I don’t.
The moment breaks, and everyone goes back to their usual roles.
Except, I feel the heaviness of my husband’s gaze on me. He’s watching. Trying to read me. I know that look. It’s the same one he gave me the first time we fought. He was confused, angry, just a little afraid, and not sure what to do with angry Mia.
Good. He should be afraid.
Because the old Mia who bent herself in half to be palatable didn’t make the trip to Stowe this year.
I turn, bravely, to let my gaze touch his, so he can see me. He nods, then looks away just in time for the last guest of the Winter family to arrive.
“Diana, darling, so glad you could make it,” Edith announces as she floats across the room, arms extended as her future daughter-in-law steps into the living room.
I straighten as the family is all hugs and kisses with the woman with whom my husband is having an affair. He stands apart, smiling at Diana. It’s she who steps up to him and kisses his cheek, stays a little longer, whispers something. He nods, but I can see the tension in his face.
A thought strikes me, chills me.
Here I was preparing my little present for him, but what if they were planning to tell me about their affair? That Aiden has his own set of divorce papers ready for me to sign?
So what? You’ll get what you want. You’ll walk out of here with your head high. His cheating on you is his shame, not yours.
Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I’ll be able to believe it.
I walk to Diana and give her the air kisses nonsense. “You look amazing,” I gush. It’s so fake that my teeth hurt.
Everyone can see it, feel it. Well, whatever, this is how they talk to one another, why shouldn’t I do it as well? Why do I have to stay authentic in a roomful of snakes?
“Thanks, Mia. I wore this for our company Christmas party.” She turns to look at my husband, flushes. “Everyone thought it looked good, so I decided to wear it one more time this holiday season.”
Oh, Diana. Today is not a good day to yank my chain.
I swirl my champagne, catching my reflection in the window. I look good—hair curled, eyes sharp, red dress hugging every dangerous curve. This version of me isn’t begging for love or attention.
“Aiden told me how much he loved your outfit.” I place a hand on her shoulder, and I can see tension emanate from Aiden. “He’s so grateful for how you’ve taken the mantle of CFO and Chief Moral Officer.”
I have no idea where this stuff is coming from, but it’s gold.
“He did?” She turns confused eyes to Aiden and then back to me.
Winter Family: 0. Mia: 4.
I don’t bother looking at my husband’s face.
There won’t be any astonishment there. Whatever he’s feeling, he won’t show it.
He’ll hide it—mask it—because that’s what he’s been trained to do.
To keep his expression neutral so his father can’t sniff out a weakness and use it against him.
And this is the kind of family I’ve been trying to belong to?
The kind where a son has to bury every flicker of emotion just to avoid being humiliated by his father for it?
“He’s so grateful for everything you do.” I’m on a roll.
I feel Aiden at my back. His heat rolling onto me. Not warming me. Not heating me. Not loving me. The loss of having him close and not having him be mine is devastating.
But I persevere.
“I’d better powder my nose before dinner is served.” I wave in that awful way Gianna and Betty do, and go straight for the stairs. I need a moment to myself in the bedroom, where I won’t be spending the night with my husband.