Ch. 2 With A Family Like This.
Mom always said the truth of your situation hits you bitterly when you least expect it. Then she would pour herself another glass that would lead to another until she was wailing at the world, completely drunk.
I never really understood the point she was trying to make.
Until today.
Staring at the white stone walls of my father's mansion as I stand outside his door—it suddenly hits me.
I'll never see mom again.
I'll never get to eat the omelettes she made.
I'll never hear her cursing at the neighbors for playing music too loudly during my exams.
She'll never hit me again for fighting and slacking.
If I could, I would trade everything I have and everything I will ever own for just one more day with her.
I stand outside a stranger's door, bags in hand, hoping he'll take me in and be a father to me.
The walls feel like they're closing in and a pressure builds in my chest. My hands tighten on the straps of my bags.
I can't do it. I won't.
I dither outside, feet itching to turn around and leave for good—but I can't do that either. I need to recognise this for the opportunity it is. Letting my grief take over won't help me survive.
I need to remember—I don't need a father. I need a patsy.
I square my shoulders and walk forward. The door swings open, and an old man greets me.
"Miss Shaw?"
I blink. He's short and has kind eyes. "Dad?"
He winces and an apologetic smile graces his face.
I immediately know I've made a mistake. I take him in more completely. He's clearly wearing a uniform.
He's most likely the butler.
"I'm sorry, miss. I'm Alfred Jenkins—the Butler. You can call me Jenkins."
He waves me in. I nod and enter.
He offers to take my bags but I refuse. I can carry my own things.
He leads me inside through a wide passage before we enter a huge living room. He points out a door that leads to the dining room.
"Your father requests that you join his family for dinner. I'll show you to your room."
The house is nothing less than opulent. The apartment I shared with mom would likely fit in their closet.
I follow along as he gives me a short tour to the key areas of the house before we stop in front of a door.
My door.
Jenkins leads me inside. The room isn't huge, but it's comfortable. There's a—what are they called?— armoire? and a chest of drawers by the side while a pretty desk sits under the window.
A queen bed dominates the room, and a door leads to the ensuite.
"Let me know if you need anything, Miss Shaw. Why don't you rest and freshen up? Dinner is at 6:30."
He bows slightly and leaves. A clock hangs by the door.
4:52 pm.
I drop my bags at the base of the bed and pull out my trusty jeans and T-shirt.
Maybe I can take a bath and nap for a bit. That way I'll be a little fresh.
I don't want to get to the dinner I've been summoned to looking like death warmed over.
—-------------
The first thing I register as I struggle to open my eyes is how dark it is.
What day is it? What time?
I sit up, the bed so soft and cloudlike.
Soft? What?
It hits me like a ton of bricks. Mom died. Lowell Estate. Jenkins.
Dinner.
I blindly try the switches until the lights come on.
It's already 6:35 pm. Shit.
I grab my phone and run out of my room. I look around, trying to get my bearings before I spot the ugly painting.
That's the passage Jenkins brought me through.
I follow the path until I arrive at the dining room and knock. Someone says, "Come in."
I step inside and stop short. A woman in her forties who could give any supermodel a run for their money sits alongside a teenager who could qualify for Adonis.
Both have pretty green eyes, straight noses and lips so full I wonder if they're fake.
She has long blonde hair, although the boy has brown hair—like mine. I stare at them transfixed until a man sitting at the head clears his throat.
"Kind of you to join us. I was beginning to wonder if you would." His voice is soft, and he speaks with a polished cadence.
"Uh—yeah. Sorry about that. I overslept." His brows rise above eyes that match mine—one brown, and one blue.
I inherited my nose from my mother, but my hair and face are the same as his.
His hair is thinning at the crown, and while fit, he has a slight belly.
While I study the man—clearly Jonathan Lowell, the woman snorts. "She overslept. How quaint. She's already making herself at home."
The teenager frowns but says nothing. Jonathan ignores them both as he studies me right back.
"Well, there's no denying the resemblance. You're clearly my daughter." He smooths the napkin in his lap and continues, "Now that you're here, why don't you join us?"
His voice is still as soft as before, but his words are clearly discernable, even at a distance. He gestures towards a seat to his left, opposite the woman and teen.
I nod and sit down.
"Introductions are in order. This is my wife Victoria, and my son—your brother— Christopher. This is Celeste."
Victoria rolls her eyes. Christopher's lips tighten, but he doesn't say anything.
"Is it necessary to have that whore's spawn in the same house as us?! I already forgave you once! Must you parade your mistake under my nose again?!"
"What did you just say?" I'm standing up with a fork in my hand before I even register what I'm doing.
She stares at me, horrified. The teen stares at me like I've grown a second head; Jonathan looks furious.
"Put that fork down!" He shouts at me and turns to Victoria. "We've already discussed this. Don't bring it up again!"
I'm still standing there, fork in hand, breathing heavily—I'm very willing to stab them with it, when Jonathan turns to me.
"Sit down." His voice is soft, and cold. A shiver runs down my spine. "I won't repeat myself."
I sit. There's something about his tone that has sweat gathering on my brow.
"Celeste, you may address me as father. You may call Victoria Mrs. Lowell but stay out of her way. Christopher is the same age as you, so you can decide how to address each other."
"I would prefer to address you as Mr. Lowell." I stare at Victoria and Christopher. "How about I don't address them at all?"
Jonathan casts me a sharp, warning look. "You may address me as so, but you will not ignore Christopher. You'll be joining him at Westridge Prep when the semester starts the day after tomorrow. You both are the same age, so you will cross paths."
It doesn't take a genius to figure out he cheated on his wife with my mother while she was about to pop with little Chris here.
I smirk at Victoria who looks ready to explode before the rest of his comments register.
Wait.
Westridge Prep? Even I've heard of their formidable reputation.
I swallow before I straighten my shoulders.
Not a sound of protest escapes my lips. I can recognize an opportunity when I see one. I'll just have to dazzle them with my intellect and tenacity.
I nod my thanks.
"Whether I like it or not, you are my daughter. I will cover your tuition. You will also get a weekly allowance for your general needs. Westridge is close by—you can commute from here. You will not embarrass me with a subpar performance at school. Am I understood?"
It's like the cat's got my tongue. I nod again.
That seems to be the end of discussion. I'm wondering if I should say anything when my stomach growls.
Loudly.
It'll be my first meal in two days.
Victoria looks disgusted, Christopher surprised, then resigned. Jonathan doesn't look up at all.
I grab bread from a basket on the table and some veggies and start stuffing my mouth.
The meal concludes in silence. I sneak a couple dinner rolls into my pocket when no one is looking before I head to my room and crash for the night.
I have a feeling the nightmare might just be beginning.
—-------------------
The iron gates of WPA stand open in welcome. I step onto the hallowed grounds and breathe in the air.
I still can't believe I'm here.
When I got the acceptance letter three weeks back, I never imagined things would take such a turn.
For a change, dad stayed sober and celebrated with me. He even gave me some money he had stashed away.
Then, Daniel Ingram sent me plane tickets and personally came to pick me up at the airport. If that wasn't surreal enough, he hosted me at their home for a whole day—even introducing me to his kids—before helping me settle into the dorm yesterday.
I feel like I'm living the dream.
If only dad had woken from his drunken stupor to see me off.
I guess I should count my blessings and leave it at that.
I walk to the main building and am just turning the corner towards the entrance when I bump into someone.
"I'm sorry—" I start, but stop short.
It's her. I would recognize her anywhere—especially 'cause of her eyes—one blue, one brown.
"Hey! It's you! Fighter girl!" I grin at her.
She turns to me with pursed lips, an annoyed expression on her face before recognition dawns.
"Do you know him?" A male voice asks from behind her. The boy seems about our age, green eyes and brown hair.
She blinks, and a curtain falls on her face.
"What? No. No, I don't." She turns and walks away, leaving both of us standing in her wake.
The other boy shakes his head in an embarrassed grimace and turns to me. "Sorry about her. I'm Christopher. And you?"
He holds out a hand for me to shake. I take it. "I'm Marcus Holden."
"Wait, are you THE Marcus Holden? The scholarship kid Daniel Ingram personally insisted on admitting to this school?!"
I scratch my neck and grin awkwardly. "I—uh—yeah. You know about that?"
Christopher grins. "Everyone knows about that! Man, Ingram is one of the most successful alumni of this school! Being sponsored by him—you're a legend already!"
He puts his arm around my shoulder and steers me in.
"Come on! My friends are dying to meet you!"
I look back one last time, only to see her disappear behind the hedges that line the pathway. My lips twist to one side in a lopsided grin.
I guess things just got interesting.