Lured into Love (Blossom in Winter Book 2)

by Melanie Martins

  Then I realize Emma must have a similar agreement with her parents. “You have the same thing with your parents, huh?”

  Ms. Hasenfratz gives nothing away but a smirk. After a few seconds, though, she says, “Babe, there are two things in life you always have to watch out for: your ass and your assets.”

  Wow. It feels like she just described objectivism in one sentence.

  “What?”

  Oops! I must have said that out loud. “Nothing…” I say, as I don’t feel like explaining to her an entire philosophy focused on self-interest, at least not now. “Thanks for everything, Emma. You are the best.”

  “And you?” she asks, looking me in the eye. “How are you coping with the breakup? And, like, why did he break up with you in the first place?” She sounds irritated and angry simply at the thought of it. “That’s crazy. Everything seemed to be fine.”

  For a second, I barely remembered that I had told her about my breakup. And I’m glad I only have two friends that I talk to on a regular basis—each time I hear the word breakup, there is an uncontrollable wave of emotion that emerges within me and brings me down. But enough tears. I already gave a pathetic show in front of Matthew; I’m not going to do the same with Emma. I take a deep breath, and I mentally crave a hole in the ground to bury these depressing thoughts deep down and leave them there once and for all.

  “It’s just like my nightmare. It’s crazy. Mom threatened Dad and Alex with something she’s holding against them, and Alex just left,” I tell her. “He didn’t even try to fight back, you know.”

  “Jeez…” Her eyes widen in shock, and her mouth even gapes. “Do you have any idea what it can be?”

  After pondering for a few seconds, I say, “I just know it’s a crime serious enough to land them in jail.”

  “Holy shit…” Emma blinks twice, dazzled by my revelation. “Your dad and Alex in jail? Are you serious? Even if they did commit some serious crime, I can’t see them behind bars.”

  “I know… It sounds impossible. It must be something really bad.”

  Emma looks downward as she thinks something through. “Do you want me to hire some people and see if they can find out?”

  A few days ago, I’d have called Emma crazy and declined straightaway. But now…

  “How much does it cost to hire those people?” I ask.

  “Don’t worry about it, babe, it’s on me…” she says, brushing my arm. “But they are known to find things no one else can.”

  The more I assess her offer, the more I realize that if those people are capable of uncovering those secrets, they’d be a weapon they can use against Dad and Alex and threaten them with, just like Mom is doing. And that doesn’t sit well with me. “No, I better not. I don’t want anyone else involved,” I tell her. “If anyone is going to find out, it’s got to be me and no one else.”

  Emma seems a bit disappointed about my decision and says, “Alright, as you wish. How are you gonna find out, then?”

  “I’m gonna ask those who know,” I tell her.

  But Emma chuckles at my overly simple and naive tactic. “Good luck with that.” After drawing in a breath, she looks me in the eye again and asks in a low voice, “Do you think it’s really over?” That’s the question I’ve been asking myself since he left. And the truth is…

  “I don’t know… Alex explicitly said it was. But it’s not like he wants to—he’s just being forced.”

  “Yeah, that sucks big time.” Emma lets out a rush of air, shaking her head, her expression becoming serious. “Fuck, I wish I could do something for you.”

  “It’s not you who has to,” I tell her, putting my hands on her arms. “It’s him. He’s the one who decided to leave.” And as we stare at each other, we exchange a small smile. “You are the most amazing friend I could ask for, Emma. Thank you for everything.” And I plunge her into a tight hug. Then, as I release her, I give her a kiss on the cheek, filled with gratitude. “You’ll have lunch with me, right?”

  “Yeah, of course,” she says, her eyes gleaming with joy. “Should we drink this bottle?”

  “When Dad signs the agreement, we will.”

  And for some unknown reason, her face becomes grave again. “You know, my flight is tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” I utter back. Damn, I had totally forgotten about her trip to Europe. “Well, when you come back, then. I think Dad is having another gala dinner next month. You have to come, you know that, right?” And since she seems to be hesitating, I add, “It’s in our friendship agreement. You signed it.”

  We break out in laughter, and, as she bites her bottom lip, she says, “Alright, text me the details when you can.”

  After lunch, and since I’ve got homework to do, I escort Emma back to the entryway. There, we hug each other again, and, before I can open the door, she asks, “You sure you don’t want me to stay until your Dad comes home?”

  “It’s alright, don’t worry.” All of a sudden, though, my iPhone starts ringing, and, as I grab it from my pocket, my eyes widen in surprise as I see the name of the caller.

  “Who’s calling?” Emma asks as she sees me not picking up.

  “Um, my mom.” Well, of course she’s calling me. Now that she knows I’m awake and that Alex and I broke up, she’s gonna try to get back into my life. Too bad—I’ve got no intension of ever talking to her again.

  “Are you gonna reply?”

  “Nope.” And I mute the call just as fast. “Not even in a thousand years.” Then I put my phone back inside my back pocket and give Emma another hug. “Thank you so much for everything.”

  “Always, girl,” she whispers, her head resting against mine.

  I open the door and say, “Enjoy your time in Europe.”

  “You sure you don’t want to come? After a break up, there is nothing better than traveling with your best friend, you know.”

  The idea sounds really inviting. But there is no amount of travel, alcohol, or fancy villas that will fix my heart. And, unfortunately, I know that all too well.

  I glance once more at my watch. It’s nine p.m., and, since Dad usually comes home around this time, I remain patiently waiting for him in his study-library, the contract lying on his desk. I text him: Are you coming home tonight? I’m in the library. I think we should talk. Then, lying on the sofa, I pick up my book and keep reading. Fifteen minutes later, Dad texts me back: Alright, see you there soon. I wonder what he means by “soon,” but as I hear the front door opening and footsteps walking in, there’s no need for more guessing. A knocking sound then startles me, and as I see Dad open the door, I pray we can have a civilized conversation that doesn’t end in tears and name calling.

  “Hey,” Dad greets quietly as he steps inside. “Are you doing okay?” At least this time, he sounds calm and serene. That’s a good sign.

  I invite him to sit beside me, and, as we look at each other, I decide to start. “Um, look, I don’t want to become your estranged daughter. But, as you might understand, you’ve contributed greatly to my unhappiness, my emotional instability, and my breakup.” I might sound overly formal, but I won’t let my emotions drive me mad again. I have an inheritance to protect, and that’s what I’m gonna do. “Can we at least agree on that?”

  Dad winces at my observation, but doesn’t deny it. And to my surprise, he nods and says, “We can agree on that.”

  “Great.” I stand up and take the contract from his desk. Then, as I sit beside him again, I continue to argue my case. “I never thought in my entire life that you’d want to disinherit me. Honestly, I don’t think I deserve it. I’m getting a degree in economics just as you wanted, I did the internship last year as you suggested, and I’ve always tried my best not to disappoint you.” As I say these words, he nods pensively, his focus on me. “So, um, I spoke to Emma’s lawyer, and she drew up an agreement for us that will ensure these kinds of threats don’t happen again.” I hand him the contract, and his eyes widen in surprise, but nevertheless he takes his glasses from his in
ner pocket and starts reading the first page. Instinctively, though, my pulse starts rising as I watch him do so.

  “Well, I see she’s really got your back,” he comments as he turns to the second page. A smirk escapes me, but I lower my head to hide it. “Very well…” Dad removes his glasses and looks down pensively. After some more pondering, his eyes land on me, and he says, “I want to include something else in it.” My heart hammers against my ribs at the realization that he wants to make changes. “If you want to inherit everything stated here, you have to graduate in economics, finance-economics,” he corrects. “And I want you to see Dr. Nel at least twice a week for a month.”

  “See Dr. Nel? For what?” I ask instantly.

  “For therapy to recover from your breakup.”

  Does he really believe I will get over it in one month? Jeez, not even in a year, let alone a month. “Um, alright.”

  “And,” he starts again, “as long as you live in the state of New York, I’d like to see you once a week, preferably on Sunday.” What? From once a year to every Sunday, that’s a big difference. Fuck… Well, I guess I’ll have to move to New Jersey, then. “Oh, and, eh, once a month if you live outside of the state.” Did he hear my thoughts or what?

  “Okay. Deal. But if I live outside of New York, you have to travel.”

  “No problem, it’ll be a pleasure to visit you wherever you live.”

  I take a deep breath, assessing all his requests. I have to graduate, which I intended to, see Dr. Nel for a month, and then visit him once a week if I live in the state of New York. Alright, I think I can manage that. “Okay, I’m gonna make the changes and will give you a new contract tomorrow.”

  A satisfied smile tugs at his lips, and, as I’m about to stand up, his words make me fall back again in my seat. “I’m not the monster you think I am, Petra.”

  For once, he sounds empathetic and caring. But I can never be too prudent with him. After colluding with Mom to destroy my relationship with Alex, Dad is, and always will be, the enemy. No matter what he says, no matter what he does. There is no amount of inheritance that can buy his forgiveness. At this point, this is purely me saving my ass and my assets, just like Emma told me.

  “I know,” I tell him for the sake of making him feel good about himself. “Thanks for everything.” I lean over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Good night, Dad.”

  He seems to rejoice at my affection and gives me one on the forehead. “Good night.”

  Chapter 22

  Manhattan, September 21, 2020

  Petra Van Gatt

  Few things in life are as useless as paying a visit to Dr. Nel. But since it’s in the inheritance contract that Dad, his lawyer, and I just signed this morning, I’ve got to play my part and spend one hour twice a week lying on her couch and looking at the white ceiling in her minimalist office.

  “Petra?”

  “Mm?” I turn to my right side and see Dr. Nel sitting in a black armchair, glasses on, legs crossed, holding her notebook and a pen.

  As she glances at her watch, she says, “You’ve been here thirty minutes, and you’ve barely spoken.”

  I let a little smirk escape. Talking was not part of the contract. Just my presence here was.

  “Oh,” I mumble for the sake of saying something.

  “Alright…” She closes her notebook and grabs something from her briefcase. “If you don’t want to open up, then I’m gonna have to cancel all our meetings.”

  “What?!” Now I jump from the couch and say, “There’s no need for that.” Her lips twitch in a smile at my fearful expression, and she keeps tapping her pen on the notebook like a drum—most likely for me to hurry up. Knowing there’s no escape, I draw in a breath and ask, “What do you want me to say?”

  “I told you,” she pauses, gauging my reaction. As I cock my head to the side in confusion and squint my eyes, she repeats her question. “What have you been dreaming of?”

  “I don’t dream,” I tell her just as fast. “I haven’t been able to sleep properly since he left.”

  “Nightmares, then?”

  Nightmares. Of course I have nightmares. When I’m alone in the darkness of my bedroom, all I think about is him. I can even feel his presence as if he were there. When I close my eyes, I can feel him squeezing me tight in his arms, his fingers lingering on my bare skin. I can see his full lips and the way they curve up to smile at me, his piercing blue eyes and how they gleam. And I can even smell his scent as if he left it all over my bed. Everything about him is power and beauty at the same time. Jeez, all these memories… They’re a mix of remembering the past, crying for the future I will never have, and hoping I’m wrong about all of it. But I can’t tell her that. Nope. I know she’ll tell my dad everything after the session. I have to tell her something that won’t raise any alarms. “I don’t have those either. Now that he’s gone, I only have insomnia.”

  “That’s easy to fix,” she answers, writing something in her notebook. “I will give you a prescription for a pill you can take before going to bed, and you’ll sleep like a baby.”

  I highly doubt her meds will work, but I give her a sugary smile and say, “Thanks.”

  “Have you been eating?” Another annoying question that makes me cringe. “You look skinnier.”

  “Um, I do have some trouble with that,” I tell her, embarrassed at the reality she’s exposed me to.

  “Why don’t you eat?”

  I shrug my shoulders in return. “If I knew…”

  “Does the food you have at home taste bad?

  “Oh, no,” I reply just as fast. “Janine is a great cook. I’m just never hungry.”

  “Your body is. It’s your mind that prevents it from getting the nutrients it needs to survive.” The more she talks, the more self-conscious I feel about the whole thing. I’ve always had issues with eating. It’s nothing new, yet it’s usually due to stress, which is easily manageable with Xanax. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Petra?” Her voice is soft, yet her question goes right through me. She sounds disappointed, like a mother to her child.

  I press my lips tightly together and close my eyes, no longer courageous enough to face her or the present reality. “When I close my eyes, it’s like I can escape this reality, this life… and everything I can’t control,” I tell her. “I guess with eating it’s the same.”

  “You feel in control when you don’t eat?” I wish I could shut my ears just like I can with my eyes. But alas, for some reason, we haven’t been designed like that.

  You feel in control when you don’t eat? Her question keeps playing in my head like a broken record, or like an introspection I should’ve done a long time ago. “I…” I have no will to answer, no will to face the demons that haunt me and make me do things to myself that I should be ashamed of. “Maybe,” I mutter. “I’ve already spoken a lot for the first session,” I rebuke, trying somehow to end the session sooner or just to talk about the weather and nothingnesses. Since I don’t hear any answer in return, I open my eyes and look at Dr. Nel. She’s busy writing something in her notebook. Then her head goes up, and she fakes a big, friendly grin. “Is Emma still here?”

  I lift my brows instantly, astonished by her question. What does Emma have anything to do with what we were talking about? Well, it doesn’t matter—at least this is an easier question to answer. “No, Emma is in Europe. She left yesterday.”

  “So you don’t have any friends to hang out with?”

  “I have my group from Columbia, but we just meet twice a week to study.” And as I watch Dr. Nel taking notes that will surely be read by my dad later on, I can’t help but wonder what does having friends to hang out with have anything to do with me eating?

  “So if you don’t hang out with your friends, what do you do in your free time?”

  “I like to read and paint.”

  “Paint?” Dr. Nel repeats as she nods, thinking something through. “Petra, I’d like you to paint something that is a reflection of your own
self.”

  I’m left speechless at her request. “A reflection of my own self?” I repeat, but mostly to myself. What does that even mean?

  “Yes, take a white canvas and start painting what you feel represents you and your emotions the best.”

  I wonder why on earth she is asking me to do this, but having a good relationship with your physician is advisable, so I simply mumble, “Um, okay…” The truth is, I haven’t painted since I woke up. I should definitely start again. At least it’s a good way to cope with my depression.

  In a sudden move, Dr. Nel leaves her armchair and goes to her desk, where she writes me a medical prescription. “Here,” she says, now extending a piece of paper to me. “There is everything you need to sleep well and to fight your depression.”

  And I smile, accepting it. But it’s not because of the prescription, no; it’s because I know our first session is finally over.

  Manhattan, September 26, 2020

  My new painting has been progressing well. It’s dark, melancholic, and… well, a bit depressing. A reflection of my own self, like Dr. Nel suggested. At least I’ve managed to keep myself busy and, most importantly, isolated from Janine and Dad, who’ve been pretty vocal about my eating habits.

  “Petra, get out of here.” Dad keeps knocking impatiently on the locked door of my atelier. “You’re gonna have dinner with me whether you want to or not. Enough is enough!”

  “I’m not hungry,” I shout once more as I remain focused on the canvas in front of me. “Leave me alone.”

  But Dad doesn’t give up. “Very well. Janine will lock the kitchen door and there will be nothing for you to eat,” he threatens. I shrug my shoulders. If I want to eat, I will order something. “And no food delivery will be allowed to come in.”

  I turn my gaze to the door at his serious tone, but knowing him as I do, I’m gonna guess he’s just bluffing. “Good…” I answer. And my attention goes back to the panting.