Chapter 11 Cecily
Cecily
With a flat palm, I gesture at the large, frowning man beside me. "Grandma, this is Dominic."
Grandma's raspberry-lipsticked mouth stretches into a wide smile. Her sparkling eyes appraise Dominic, head to toe and back again. "Your husband," she says, like she's reminding me.
As if I could forget for a single second. As if my husband hasn't ruled every one of my thoughts since waking up beside him Saturday morning.
"Yes." Even I hear the reluctance in my tone.
Grandma eyes me. Shrewd. Insightful. When I was little, I thought she was a mind reader, and that firecracker of a woman let me believe it. I was eleven when she admitted she's actually just very good at reading people's emotions.
She steps back from the door, inviting us in.
When I step inside, I wrap her in a hug.
Grandma has always been a fleshy woman. Well-rounded shoulders for me to hold on to, a back with space for my palms to spread.
Today, she feels different. I cannot place why.
Maybe it is simply a feeling, or perhaps it's anxiety.
Maybe I am looking for signs of a problem, an attempt to prep myself for bad news.
I pull back. Her gaze meets mine. Her eyes speak for her. Sassy, as always. I didn't call you here for nothing.
"Well, Dominic," she says, turning to him, and away from my silent, raging questions.
"Welcome to the family. I am thrilled Cecily has found her other half.
Cecily's father, also known as my son, is out by the pool spitting nails about the two of you.
He's a little high-strung on a good day, so this should be interesting. "
Dominic coughs. "Thank you, Mrs...?"
He looks to me for help.
"Hampton," I answer, but my grandma says, "Please call me Ophelia."
She pivots away from the door, walking ahead with a flourish, tropical-colored caftan swishing.
"Grandma, wait," I say before I can think much more about it. She's special to me. Different from the other members of my family. I want her to hear the truth about me and Dom now, not when I'm announcing it to everybody else.
"Later, dear," Grandma interrupts. "We've got to get out there before they come to find us. I don't want your father's negative energy in here. I just had the place saged. Come on," she trills, an arm held aloft as she beckons us with two fingers.
Dom walks beside me, footfalls measured. This house is a lot for a person to take in, but there's no time to stop. Grandma walks with purpose.
Dom steps into the backyard just behind me, and I hear the intake of his breath. The soft murmur of, "Wow."
It's opulent by any standard. A glimmering pool set atop a mountain, the city awake and thriving below us.
Everyone is already here, seated around an acacia table beneath a matching pergola.
Duke is on my dad's right, and really there is no other seat as appropriate.
Duke is Dad's right-hand man. Kerrigan sits across from him, and my mom is on my dad's other side.
My mother, with her impossibly perfect blonde shoulder-length bob and diamond-studded ears, looks bored.
Possibly drunk. She may not know any of us are here.
She might not know where she is. Her gaze is on me, but she's poised and elegant with a blank expression.
I wish I felt as calm and cool as I know I appear on the outside.
Situations like this sometimes send me back to my teenage years, and all the angst that accompanied them.
Dad clocks our arrival with a narrowed gaze. Physically, he matches my mother. Well-groomed and tended, stingy with his love. His chair scrapes the floor as he pushes back from the table and stands. His tone is measured when he says, "Cecily, how could you?"
I'm prepared to first tell the truth, then weather the lecture headed my way.
For a time, anyway. I'll only tolerate it for so long before I put a stop to it.
That's the number one reason I don't live on Hampton family money.
My dad can't call the shots when he's not footing the bill.
Kerrigan, bless her heart, is content to live the opposite of me.
I open my mouth to speak, but the oddest thing happens. Dominic speaks instead.
"Sir, hello. I'm Dominic Bellinger." He steps up beside me, reaching across the table with an offered hand. His voice is deep, confident, and respectful. "My apologies for the shocking text you received this weekend."
Nobody needs this song and dance, not when I'm about to drop a truth bomb, but I have to admit, it's nice. Having Dom in my corner feels good.
My dad glares at Dom, reluctantly shaking his hand. "You married my daughter," he accuses.
Dom nods decisively. "I did."
"Do you think that was appropriate? Marrying her without asking my permission?"
My eye roll is one for the record books, but once again, Dom is there. Saying the right thing. "The only person whose permission I need to marry Cecily is Cecily. I most definitely would've asked you for your blessing though, had there been an opportunity to do things the right way."
My dad stares at Dom, gaze shrewd. Calculating. A typical expression for Glenn Hampton. "Who are you? Where did Cecily find you?"
I speak up. I can't help it. He's referenced me directly. And instead of telling the truth about everything like I should, I sass. "The gutter, obviously." I pinch a small square of Dom's shirt and say, "This tight-weave knit shirt screams street urchin."
Dom chuckles. He's probably also feeling relief. For the past few days my ire has been directed his way.
My dad frowns, which is yet another typical expression. "I see you haven't lost that smart mouth."
"As intact as ever," I volley, catching my grandma's eye. She nods once, slowly, and I'm not sure if she's telling me she's here for me or giving me her approval. Either way, I'll take it.
"Can we not do this anymore?" Duke finally speaks up. "Cecily, everyone is shocked and handling it their own way." He looks at our dad. "Some better than others."
Dad ignores Duke. He wears a red polo, and it was a bad choice for today, because it makes his red face redder. "You're getting it annulled." He looks only at me as he says this. "Immediately."
I stiffen. Dom and I are headed straight to the courthouse from here, but my dad doesn't know that. And if there's anything I hate, it's being told what to do. Especially by him.
My chin lifts. "No."
I'd love to see how Dom is absorbing this exchange, but I can't look. There can be no chink in the armor when it comes to dealing with my dad. He smells weakness. Pounces on it. Manipulates it to get his way.
My mom stands. Demurely brushes a palm over her smart little sweater with the gold buttons. She touches my dad's forearm, as if to say, My turn.
Quickly I look at Kerrigan, and find she's already looking at me, expression of disbelief firmly in place.
"Dominic," my mom says in greeting, "I'm Marilyn."
"It's nice to meet you, ma'am."
My mom continues as if she has not heard him. "If you won't get this marriage annulled, we'll have to throw you a reception." There is almost no emotion in her tone. "We need to do something to show this marriage has our blessing. We'll have to do it quickly though, before you start showing."
Dom makes a choking sound. "No, no. We're not expecting a baby."
Mom looks at me. I haven't seen her in a few months. We don't talk. We don't text. She is an island, floating off on her own a mile from the mainland.
I shake my head, supporting Dom's denial. "I'm not pregnant, Mom."
She nods. No emotion on her face. She's either wearing a mask, or she's a robot. "We'll throw you a reception then."
Clearly that's not going to work. "No, Mom."
"Annulment," my dad demands. "If you want to marry, fine, but do it the right way.
It's bad enough you've embarrassed this family by refusing to be a part of it, but now you've gone and married without anybody knowing.
Do you know how that looks? Before this I could pass you off as the rebel child.
The one who needs to see how difficult the world can be before she settles down.
Wayward, but expected to return. Now?" He scoffs.
"Now you're married to someone we've not only never met until today, but never heard of either.
He could be a con man, Cecily. Have you thought about that?
Plenty of people would love to get their hands on our money. "
Dom frowns. Crosses his arms. Does he have super human self control? He must. If the situation were reversed, I'd last half a second under this level of scrutiny before I'd be telling my verbal attacker where they can stick their head.
"Lucky for you, I'm gainfully employed." Dom doesn't sound upset. He has that unruffled tone, the one he used on Saturday morning when we woke up and realized we married the night prior. "I don't want your money."
Dad directs a rigid finger at me across the table, stabbing the air with each word. "You're getting an annulment. Immediately."
I hear this voice in my head. His, but from more than a decade ago, when I was fifteen. We'd argued, and he told me I am not business-minded, like Duke, or easygoing and pliable, like Kerrigan. You are opinionated and stubborn. You make it difficult to love you.
I've tried to forget those cruel words, but I've never been successful. They weighed too much, cut too deep. They are likely the impetus for so many of my defiances.
Years later, they are the reason for this defiance, too. I refuse to be told what to do by someone who does not want the best for me, but cares only for the family image.
"Not happening," I say evenly. "I'm married and that's that."
"Cecily." It's Kerrigan, speaking between clenched teeth. "Can you please let Mom and Dad host a reception?" She looks at me imploringly.