Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
“I didn’t realize I was being brought to a family event. I thought I was here for a wedding.”
“Same thing, really.” She plucks a dead leaf from a nearby bush, examining it before dropping it to the ground. “The VanCleefs are old friends. Very old money. Very proper. The kind of people who understand how these things work.”
I feel the trap closing but step into it anyway. “How do things work?”
“Arrangements, my dear. Alliances. The careful navigation of public perception.” She turns to me fully now, her smile gone; in fact, her face is expressionless. “My son has responsibilities. Obligations. A certain... understanding with Cordelia VanCleef that has been in place for many years.”
“Cordelia,” I say, and my voice doesn’t shake. I’m proud of that because I might lose it at any second and end up throwing up on her.
“Yes. Lovely girl. Appropriate background. Suitable temperament. She understands the life, the expectations.” Eleanor tilts her head, studying me like I’m a specimen she’s trapped under a glass. Did she say temperament? What the heck does that even mean?! “You, on the other hand, are a mystery. An American librarian, do I understand this correctly?”
“Urban studies,” I correct. “Studied at Imperial Supérieure and graduated summa cum laude. And yes, I run a library. I hope to be a librarian.”
“How quaint.” She doesn’t say it cruelly, but the condescension wraps around the words. “And your family?” I’m sure she already knows.
“Trust fund kid,” I say, lifting my chin. “Old money, by American standards. Not that it matters.”
“Everything matters, Mable. That’s what I’m trying to explain to you.” She steps closer, her voice dropping to almost sympathetic. “You’re a cute girl. I’m sure you’re quite... diverting. But my son needs someone who understands the world he’s inheriting. Someone who won’t crumble under the pressure of constant scrutiny. Someone who was raised for this.” It hangs there in the air; I’m not that someone. Also, how did she make the word “cute” sound offensive? It’s rather impressive, actually.
“Like Cordelia.”
“Exactly like Cordelia.” Eleanor’s eyes soften slightly, which is somehow worse. It makes me feel meek and pitied. “I’m not trying to be cruel.” Not sure we agree on that one. “I’m trying to save you both from unnecessary shame.” Shame?! Ouch. “My son can be... impulsive. He acts on emotion, then regrets it later. This little fling of yours—”
“Please stop,” I tell her. I get the message loud and clear. I went to Imperial Supérieure. Everyone knows what that means.
Eleanor raises an eyebrow, surprised by my interruption. I’m only proud of myself for kind of standing my ground against her. That’s not usually my style. I’m the girl that ends up doing the whole group project instead of asking everyone to do their part.
“We are going together,” I tell her with more confidence, but it’s a thin layer.
Eleanor is quiet for a long moment. Then she laughs, actually laughs! It’s low and genuinely amused. “Oh, my dear. You really are precious. Do you think you’re the first girl to believe his story? All of this will mean nothing in a few months.”
My stomach drops. “No.” I shake my head adamantly. I know how he touched me. That was real, but what the hell do I know? This is all new to me.
“My son is passionate. Intense. He throws himself into things completely—and then he burns out. I’ve seen it a dozen times.” That’s kind of what Caldwell told me about his brother. This isn’t adding up. She reaches out, patting my hand like I’m a child. I jerk back from her. “Cordelia understands this. She gives him space to... explore. Get these phases out of his system. Then he comes back to where he belongs.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m his mother.” Her voice hardens. “I know him better than anyone.”
I want to scream at her. I want to tell her she’s wrong, that Caldwell is different with me, that what we have is real. But the seed of doubt is already planted, and I can’t stop it from blooming.
“Come to the wedding tonight,” Eleanor says, her nice mask sliding back into place. “Wear something pretty. Enjoy the champagne. But don’t make a fool of yourself. You’re a distraction, my dear. Nothing more.”
With that, she turns and walks away. I stand there shell-shocked. Wow, she’s a bitch.
I pull out my phone and stare at Caldwell’s name in my contacts. I want to call him, but I can’t get myself to do it. Maybe his mom’s right because what she said cut through me.
I stand there in the garden until my phone buzzes. A text from Caldwell:
Where are you? I miss you. Come back to the room.
I stare at the words until they blur.
But his own mother’s voice echoes in my head: You’re a distraction, my dear. Nothing more.
I send him a quick response knowing I can’t face him right now: Be there soon.