Chapter Ten #3
Senator Vera Winthrop and her daughters spotted on campus at Cornell
Cozy Crib or Sex Dungeon? Join our walking tour of the home of the infamous party queen, Alexandria Winthrop
Winthrop heiress spotted holding hands with oil tycoon heiress
The whole world had read it, though. And I knew—God, I knew—how sickening that felt.
There were headlines about her sister, though they paled in number by far.
Katerina Winthrop, daughter of Senator Vera Winthrop, turns heads at Fashion Week.
It was clear who the golden child was.
I was no stranger to trauma and PTSD. Every action Alex had taken as a young adult…I wasn’t sure what the final puzzle was supposed to be, but I recognized some of the pieces.
Was that why she’d been so shaken at the door? Did she think I’d find out and leave her?
Winthrop Heiress Drunk at Political Fundraiser
Manic Meltdown? Heiress Hospitalized After Public Indecency Charges
Heiress Arrested Over Child Endangerment
My stomach dropped. I clicked on the article, my curiosity burning at the subheading.
Heiress Alexandria Winthrop, daughter of Senator Vera Winthrop, was arrested last night for suspected child endangerment. A child, reportedly Lillian Winthrop, was taken to the hospital. Here’s what we know.
The press didn’t know anything, it turned out, except that rumored DUI charges were dropped. I didn’t know what the hell it meant, but the next headline was less than a week later.
Heiress Rushed to Hospital After Apparent Suicide Attempt
If I did the math, she’d been disowned around the same time. Nothing made sense. Alex adored her niece—
…a niece she hadn’t seen for long enough to get misty-eyed at the thought.
Now that I had a name, I dared to type in a new search term: Lillian Winthrop.
The results were comparatively scant. But one photo op chilled my blood: that of an older, elegant woman seated next to the same girl I’d seen on Alex’s phone background.
Senator Vera Winthrop poses with granddaughter, Lillian, to raise awareness for Lily’s Law, a movement to expose the danger posed to children by unsecured prescription drugs.
“Any child can be a victim, even my sweet Lily,” the senator said, in an interview with NBC. “Current child-safety locks aren’t enough—
Something wasn’t adding up. Or maybe I was just exhausted. I blinked, and suddenly it was after midnight.
I’d be waking up in four and a half hours.
Four hours and forty-five minutes if I forewent showering—which, I could, given I’d had the best shower of my life at Alex’s house.
But even as I settled into bed, still wearing my date clothes, I knew sleep was a lost cause.
I sniffed the collar of my shirt, soothed by the clean scent, ineffably saturated in Alex’s own musk.
My brain hurt. But still the gears turned.
I could practically hear her voice: “I just wanted to say that that’s the sweetest thing anyone has said to me. Maybe ever.”
“The bar is in hell.”
I would’ve given anything to hold her, here and now.
I plucked my phone off the bedside table and pasted the link to the silly tabloid article about her and me into a message for Alex. Looks like the secret is out!
Before I could attempt sleep, my phone lit up, revealing one unread message.
Shit.
She was still typing. Another message quickly popped up: I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.
Despite the late hour, my alertness spiked. I typed my own reply: It’s okay! I don’t care about that stuff.
Alex’s consecutive responses only set me more on edge. You should care.
They’re vultures.
They get in your head. They eat you alive.
The fact that we go out ONE TIME and get followed is messed up.
I felt her spiraling even through just the words. We’ll figure this out together. It’s going to be okay, I promise.
When the three little dots lay dormant, my stomach clenched. One minute passed. Then two. I hit Call.
It rang. And rang. And rang….
And hit voicemail.
I curled in on myself, the pain of inaction keeping me paralyzed. The paparazzi had ruined her, I knew. They’d stalked her and captured her worst moments for the whole world to see.
The phone screen lit up. I scrambled to open it.
Yeah, hope so.
It wasn’t much, but relief flooded me. I mulled over potential replies, but the three little dots signified there was more for her to say.
I’m not going to make it to the shop at 8 like I normally do. But I’ll pick you up at home. Does 5 work?
I quickly typed a reply. Aw, damn. I’ll miss our morning banter ?? 5 is perfect.
I would miss it, but this was better. We’d have time to talk. I could tell her I knew. I could tell her I didn’t care. If she could grow past her history, perhaps I could grow past mine, too.
I’ll see you then. You should get some sleep.
Of course. Goodnight
Hopefully the heart wasn’t too much.
Goodnight
All was well. I wouldn’t be sleeping, my stomach a churning mess as I tried to amalgamate the beautiful afternoon we’d spent with the endless hell of tabloids, but Myth Busters once proved that trying to sleep was better than not, so I rolled over and shut my eyes.