8. — the dead mothers club. #2
He had to do that. Or, also possible, Carina stayed in his room and used the stairs as an entry point to her closet. Both meant the same thing.
“You’re sleeping with Daddy again, aren’t you?” she asked Carina.
A sigh answered her back.
Frankie shrugged. “I mean, it’s okay.”
“Well, he is my husband. Since someone thinks I need permission.”
At that, she outright rolled her eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant, don’t be a bitch.”
The two half-glared, half-sized one another up for a good minute or two. Frankie couldn’t decide whether she even had the energy to start the war it would be to get into a yelling match with Carina so early in the morning over this.
“I’m not a bitch, I’m just...a lot to handle sometimes,” Carina finally said, breaking their staring contest.
“Yeah, me too. I guess.”
“You’re not mad, are you? I will stay in the city, if—”
“It’s fine,” she answered. “Really. Besides, if the two of you get into another fight, I’m just going to my penthouse. That’s the deal now, okay? Keep it in mind.”
Her stepmother grinned, showing off perfect white teeth while her green eyes glittered. “You know, I think you and I are going to get along a lot better now that you’re older. I mean, it did get better the older you got, but now...Do you think it’ll be different for us?”
“Are you asking if I want you as like a mother, or something?”
“God, no.”
“You looked so disgusted right then.”
Carina didn’t look the least bit ashamed.
“I never wanted kids. Your father and you, by proxy, were essentially a punishment for me. A demand I was given without a real choice in the matter. But before that, and even after, kids were not on my radar. I was never meant to be a mother. I didn’t have one of my own to teach me how to be one.
I’m not sure you realize, but I was adopted by a young couple as a baby.
They were barely beyond twenty, childless despite trying, and it looked good on them to take in a baby abandoned at their Catholic church just a year after their wedding.
They weren’t ready to be parents, either. When I got older, well...”
She trailed off, letting out a hard breath.
“You’re talking about Giorgio Russo, right? And his wife?”
“Well, she’s long dead. Long live the bastard, though.
He survives despite my constant hopes and prayers.
” Her stepmother wouldn’t lift her gaze in that moment.
“The mother I did have ended up seeing me as a problem the older I got, and I never learned the mother I came from who left me on the back steps of that church. Frankly, I hope she’s dead, too. ”
“Huh. I’m sorry,” Frankie said quietly, not knowing what else to say.
Carina only laughed, standing without warning as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Don’t worry. Enough of this, I have things for you. Three things, actually. Only two are birthday gifts, though. Your prom dress came in from the seamstress this morning. You are gonna die.”
Oh, yeah.
That.
“So, uh,” Frankie drawled, following after Carina deeper into the space, “here’s the thing about prom. I forgot that it was happening, and I don’t have a date.”
“You’re not serious!” Carina spun so fast on her heels, she left marks on the marble floor. “And you just realized this when?”
“This morning. That was the...thing.”
Red stiletto fingernails tapped against Carina’s painted lips as she glanced up at the massive crystal chandelier overhead, contemplating something unknown to Frankie. She waited her out.
It didn’t take long.
“Okay, we’ll get back to that. What I have for your birthday is more important anyway,” Carina muttered, turning right back.
Her fast walk continued, heels clicking on the floor while Frankie trailed behind in silence.
They headed for the spiral staircase, leading upstairs to the second floor of the closet and where Carina’s most expensive bags were displayed along with the ones which needed locked away in the safe room.
“I’m sure you remember what you asked for from your father, right? ”
“Obviously. Why?”
“He thought I was better suited to take care of procuring one of the gifts. He just didn’t realize something...well, to be honest, he forgot about the one thing until I reminded him, and I already had something else in the works. It took some time and money. A lot of money.”
“Um...are we talking Hermès, here?”
“Baby, I don’t speak no other language.”
She made a happy noise and did a little dance behind Carina “Oh, my God. I am gonna die!”
Glancing over her shoulder, Carina asked, “You didn’t seriously think when you asked for a Hermès bag that your father was just going to go grab whatever off the fucking rack that they would offer, did you?”
“Well—”
Carina just waved her hand in response. “Uh-huh. You know I’ve got connections. Keep up.”
A few more steps brought them to the top floor.
Birkin heaven awaited. Carina also owned Kellys, the minis, Simones, and matching clutches to go with nearly any bag she took off the glass shelves that filled floor to ceiling all around the room.
And despite what Carina said about only speaking Hermès, she did have an extensive luxury bag collection across a variety of designers, including vintage pieces, and ones previously owned by celebrities or other important figures.
She once asked how much the collection was worth, which led her stepmother to pull out an insurance document signed off by an appraiser who had come to properly estimate the total dollar.
It had been a lot of zeroes at the end of a very big number.
By the look of the opened safe door and the table just beyond the threshold, her stepmother had set up a table earlier with a few of the Birkin 30s in her collection that she knew Frankie loved the most. What sat in the very middle, however, higher than the others on a signature orange Hermès box caught Frankie’s attention immediately.
There waited the most beautiful bag she had ever seen.
A dual-color, pink and cream, ostrich leather with gold hardware Birkin 30.
“Now,” Carina started as she approached the table, “I’ve sat out all the ones I know you like in case the one I got you isn’t to your taste, but—”
“Please tell me that one is mine,” Frankie whispered.
Carina nodded, glancing between the bag and Frankie as she replied, “I had it made. When I got the option to start working on my own custom bag with Hermès, I already had them all in every variant and color practically. So, when I put in the request, I did so with you in mind. It took three years to get that bag, and the receipt is in the box, for authentication, but we are not talking about the price. Do you understand me?”
Frankie bounced on the spot. “I understand.”
Her stepmother laughed. “Okay, take it. That one’s from me. The other one, though...”
At those words, she froze. Her hand had just wrapped around the supple leather of the bag. “What do you mean?”
“Your dad promised one, right? I mean, this one is from me. It’s my gift to you for today, but the other one is not.”
“Oh.”
“I really wished he could have given you the bag I’m about to show you.
It wasn’t my bag to keep, bad vibes to keep a dead woman’s purse and all, but he couldn’t bear to look at it.
I had it cleaned and properly stored so time wouldn’t damage it.
I put it away and didn’t think about it until he and I had a conversation shortly before I left for Milan about what you wanted for your birthday. ”
“I don’t understand,” Frankie told her, not sure what to make of Carina’s rambling. That wasn’t like her. “Are you nervous?”
“I just really think he should be the one to give it to you, but I still don’t think he can even hold it.”
“Hold what?”
Suddenly, Carina tittered around the display of bags only to grab a high back chair that she placed beside Frankie. “Sit. You should sit.”
“Okay,” Frankie replied slowly, more unsure than ever as she watched her stepmother fidget with her fingers and painted nails. “You’re kind of freaking me out here.”
“I don’t mean to, I just—”
“It’s another bag, right? Why are you so nervous?”
Carina, exasperated, threw her hands wide. “Because it isn’t just another bag?”
“That was a question. I’m so confused.”
“It’s way more than just a bag, Francesca. Give me a second. I wanted to give you the other one last because I didn’t want you to think I was trying to outshine it.”
With that, Carina headed into the opened doorway of the safe room.
Something rustled, and shortly after, she came back out with a Hermès dustbag, gray in color.
Unlike the way Carina usually handled her bags, even if they were precious or rare ones in the collection, she held tight with both hands to the dustbag and whatever it kept hidden from sight.
Coming over to Frankie’s seat, she kneeled and placed the grey suede on her lap.
“It’s not just a bag; it’s your mother’s bag. She had two that she used a lot, apparently. The one she had when the accident happened...it couldn’t be saved. This one, though, had been left at home because she only used it to carry her art supplies and things.”
“My mom?”
Carina only nodded.
“How long have you had it?”
“First, it was never mine. You don’t keep a dead woman’s bag when you’re screwing her husband, even if he is your new husband. That is bad juju, okay.”
Frankie gave her a look. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It was just there in a bunch of stuff that your father couldn’t bear to look at unless he was inebriated. I asked if I could store it for you, in case you might want it when you got older, and he said yes. Probably because he didn’t want it in the closet with the rest of the things there.”
Frankie peered down at the dustbag, letting her hands roam over the structure of the bag from what could be felt on the outside. “It’s definitely a Birkin. Size says it’s a... 25.”
Carina laughed. “That is really a skill you have there.”
“You said you had it cleaned?”