Chapter 1 #2
My birthday is only months away. I’ve put in the time. All the torturous monthly family dinners that I’ve been attending for years. I’ve already bookmarked the webpages of all the business purchases I plan to make. I have meetings lined up to look at storage facilities.
And now, I won’t see a dime unless I’m married?!
Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck.
No one notices my shock as grumbles of discontent fill the dining room. My cousins and my prissy, spoiled half-sisters are all too busy panicking about their own hides. They all start talking at once.
“A morality clause!?”
“No way. That’s our money!”
“You can’t change the parameters of our trust funds! You can’t do this!”
“I’m calling Dad!”
Great-Grandma grunts, completely unfazed by the temper tantrums happening around the table. See? This woman doesn’t take shit from anyone. Especially not her bratty, entitled great-grandchildren.
“Oh yes, I can. Watch me,” Great-Grandma boasts, before snatching up her tumbler of Negroni and waltzing out of the room.
The family continues to bicker, everyone pointing fingers at someone else, eager to find the perfect person to blame since Great-Grandma is no longer here for target practice.
Cousin Toby gets called out for starring in an ‘artsy’ porno back in his college days.
My youngest half-sister, Hilary, is reminded of the coke-snorting pictures the family’s legal team worked tirelessly to get scrubbed from the internet a few summers back.
A finger gets pointed in my direction for being a bastard baby.
My gosh—this family’s a mess.
Who knew it would be Gina’s, quote-unquote, ‘impregnated’ state that would finally push the Lannister matriarch over the edge? I’m shaking my damn head.
Appetite gone, I gulp down the last of my drink, clear my dishes, and carry them into the kitchen. No one notices my exit. Or if they do, no one asks where I’m going. No one cares whether I’m here at the dining room table, or if I’m in the street, getting hit by a bus.
I’m not being a drama queen. I’m just stating facts.
I rinse off the fine china and start loading the dishes into the dishwasher, even though Great-Grandma has hired help to take care of her messes. It’s a habit, I guess.
I grew up in a household where I watched my mother sifting through the consequences of her own messes every single day.
She taught me that independent women can’t afford to sit around and wait for some perfect savior to swoop in and pick up the pieces.
She told me that my life is my responsibility, no-one else’s.
That lesson is taking on a whole new meaning now that I’ve had my trust fund yanked from right under me.
I don’t have a backup plan. I know better—I should have had a backup plan. Shit.
I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear footsteps shuffling up behind me. I glance over my shoulder and find Josephine approaching in her fancy little kitten heels.
“Thank you for dinner, Great-Grandma,” I say sweetly, turning to face her.
Her eyes narrow on the glass I just placed in the top rack of the dishwasher, but she doesn’t comment on it.
“So when are you getting married, Julissa Mei?” she asks me instead.
Internally, I wince. “I don’t really know, Great-Grandma.” I’m not being coy. I’m really not. “I don’t like the whole ‘for better or worse’ vibe. I’m more of a…‘for better or better’ kind of girl.”
That’s the only option for me. As if I’d let some sucker come into my life and bring me down.
Great-Grandma’s scowl tells me I probably should have kept all that to myself. “Nonsense. All women dream of having a husband.” She waves me off with a dismissive flick of her fragile, diamond-adorned wrist.
I beg to differ.
It’s virtually impossible to keep believing in fairytales once you learn that your very existence is the product of your father being a terrible human being, cheating on his wife, knocking up the unsuspecting college student he was having a fling with, and essentially ruining her life.
I love both of my parents, but they’re most definitely not the poster children for happily-ever-after. So, marriage? Not really on my bucket list.
Great-Grandma opens her mouth, no doubt to scold me for my heathen ways, but I shut the dishwasher door with a snap and give her a kiss on the cheek.
“Sorry that I have to run. I’m late to my best friend’s housewarming party tonight. Thanks again for the grub, Great-Grandma.”
With an unladylike salute, I get the heck out of there, hustling through the hallways of Great-Grandma’s mansion and grabbing my leather jacket from the coatroom along the way.
To be fair, it’s not actually a mansion.
No such places exist here in the small town of Fairy Bush, Iowa.
But that’s what I always called this place when I was a kid.
The house is ancient and huge and imposing.
You could literally fit at least three of my childhood homes into the massive living room alone, so, it’s hard to come up with a better word for it.
It’s only after the big, heavy front door swings closed that I can finally breathe.
Humphrey, the elderly groundskeeper, looks up from the hydrangea bushes he and his helpers are tending to as I hobble past.
“Everything all right, Ms. Julissa?” the old man asks, his voice heavy with concern.
“Everything’s great, Humphrey. Everything’s just great. Have a nice evening.”
I send the man a forced smile and a quick wave as I sling my leather purse across my chest, hop onto my moped and zoom through the wrought-iron gates of the estate.
But everything is far from great.
I didn’t wait all these years just to let my fortune slip through my fingers at the very last minute. I need to find a way to fix this.
It’s time to hatch a plan.