Chapter Three #2
“Let’s eat. Brielle’s waiting, too.”
She leads us to the main dining room, as though she’s the rightful mistress of the house. I paste on a smile, all the while imagining how her expression will change when she realizes she won’t be living here anymore.
Soon. Within a year, I’m going to make her, Hugh, and Brielle tear their hair out in regret over messing with me and my family. They’ll end up living a life worse than death. After all, losing something is worse than never having had it at all.
Deena kept the original cherry table and the wide-plank wood floor in the formal dining room. Unfortunately, that’s where her restraint ended.
Bitter hatred thumps in my chest at the degradation she’s brought upon my childhood home.
A polyester gold damask tablecloth covers the beautiful wood.
The gorgeous, whimsical wavy glass on the Palladian windows that face the garden has been replaced by clear modern panes.
Even the candle-style armed chandelier didn’t survive her destructive drive.
The new crystal one is so big and ostentatious, she might as well have hung a disco ball.
The garden no longer blooms with the gorgeous mauve and white roses Mom took such meticulous care of.
Instead, pots and pots of purple phalaenopsis orchids sit outside.
Deena probably heard somewhere that rich people have that particular orchid in their homes and decided to have them, too, except they don’t do well in the L.A.
climate. I actually feel sorry for the gardener—and the flowers.
But maybe it’s better this way. It won’t bring back the sweet childhood memories of my time with Mom and my close friends.
I used to invite them over for tea parties and more.
One of the girls, London, never missed one.
But everything ended when Mom was gone. Deena wouldn’t let me have any friends over, saying it’d create too much work for the staff.
Now that I’m older, I can see that she probably just wanted me isolated and helpless.
Hugh is already at the head of the table.
The man still has a pretty face—lined now, slightly leathered from playing too much golf under the sun.
Laugh lines fan from the corners of his pale gray eyes, but then why wouldn’t he be happy?
He’s living off the trust of his late wife, who he cheated on for over a decade. And he dyes his hair.
On weekends he prefers lounging around in shorts, but since Tyler’s visiting, he’s put on long jeans and a button-down shirt in the same shade of green as Deena’s eyeshadow. At least it isn’t glittery, thank God.
“Olivia!” Hugh says with a beaming smile. He spreads his arms, trying to hug me.
I take a step back, as though moving closer to Tyler. “Hello, Hugh.”
He lets out a laugh. “Come on, I’ve told you you should continue calling me Daddy.”
Who is he fooling? He quit being Daddy the moment his mistress and their bastard child barged into my home. “I’m almost thirty.” And you’re responsible for my mom’s death.
The overly warm smile doesn’t falter as he shakes Tyler’s hand. “As if that means anything,” he says, rolling his eyes at Tyler to convey my intransigent silliness. “You’ll always be my little girl.”
You mean your meal ticket. If he could continue to get money from the trust without me around, he would’ve gotten rid of me. Or at least Deena and Brielle would have.
Sadly for them, my grandparents were clever when they set up the Whitmore dynasty trust. Hugh only gets to live in the mansion and collect a generous income, but he doesn’t own any of it.
Once I get married and have a child, the trust passes everything to me, and he loses the fortune and lifestyle he’s grown accustomed to.
But he can’t afford to harm me or interfere with my inheritance either. If he or anyone on his side dares, the trust automatically cuts him off. Should I die without an heir, the entire trust goes to a charitable foundation. Hugh’s only option is to keep me alive, unmarried and childless forever.
Tyler grins, gazing at Hugh like he’s the best kind of dad. But then, I didn’t pick him for his cognitive brilliance.
I glance around, wondering where Brielle is. There’s no way she would miss this. Not only does she thrive on hurting me, she’s the attack dog that allows Hugh and Deena to appear innocent and harmless.
“Tyler!” Brielle calls out cheerily, entering the dining hall fashionably late.
Everything about her screams look at me: giant diamond earrings dangling from her ears, a tight red tube top, the bare toned midriff and a purple micromini skirt that shows off her slim, tanned legs.
Her shoes look just like Deena’s, only in a fire engine red.
She hugs him, arching to ensure she presses her breasts against his torso.
Tyler flushes and hugs her back just as tightly. Bet he’s really feeling her chest. “Hi, Brielle.”
“I’m hungry,” I say, tired of the performative familial bond. All the players are present, so it’s time to move on to the next phase.
“Of course. What am I thinking? Let’s eat.
” Deena gestures at me to take a seat in the third chair from Hugh’s left.
Tyler pulls out a chair to Hugh’s immediate left for Brielle, who takes it with a satisfied grin.
Only then does Tyler situate himself between the two of us, like some kind of harem king with sisters on either side. Pathetic.
Deena’s smile is so wide, it nearly splits her over-Botoxed face. Whatever. I study the spread. Sparkling water in champagne flutes, each with a tiny cube of ice. This is going to be an…interesting brunch. And very Deena.
Everyone starts eating as truffle deviled eggs and panfried Korean mandus are served.
“Try those Korean dumplings. They’re all the rage now!” Deena says, as though noticing my gaze.
I give her a bland smile. “Thanks. I can see you’ve put a lot of effort and thought into the menu. It’s very you, Deena.”
She falters, unsure if I’m complimenting or disrespecting her, then pastes on a smile. “Of course. I wouldn’t do any less for you and Tyler.” Her eyes are on mine, but the emphasis is on Tyler.
“I can’t wait for the wedding!” Brielle says, serving several mandus for herself and Tyler.
“Neither can I. What the Whitmore fortune needs is a good, considerate steward of its future.” I keep my tone airy and innocent.
Deena doesn’t miss a beat, although her eyes glint with some unholy anticipation. “Exactly!”
“You think you’re ready?” Hugh says finally.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I keep my voice calm.
“Because you’re just a low-level manager at some boring little wedding company? It’s so pathetic, they couldn’t even plan a decent ceremony for you.” Brielle’s sweet tone belies the barbs.
Tyler doesn’t react. Hugh sips his sparkling water, and Deena watches me with avid interest.