Lured into Love (Blossom in Winter Book 2)

by Melanie Martins

  After deciding on a name, the second thing I need to do if I want to accept clients (aka investors) and grow the fund is create a website. Or at least some sort of online presence. Maybe just a subsection of the main Gatt-Dieren website will be enough though. Out of curiosity, I go to the Gatt-Dieren website to find some ideas for mine. The website is pretty responsive on my iPhone, and is neat and minimalist. It starts with a full-width slide of featured images and titles. The first one is regarding an article about diversity and inclusion, the second slide is about principles and culture, the third one is about COVID-19 and how Gatt-Dieren is handling it, and the last one is about an interview Alex gave to the Financial Times. Scrolling down the home page, I find a bunch of testimonials about how amazing it is to work at Gatt-Dieren and how inclusive they are. I can’t help but roll my eyes as I read them. What a bunch of marketers… There are even testimonials from Jess and Rach talking about their internships and how incredible they were. I huff instantly. They just did the internship, and they included them on the website? I see nothing about the performance of the fund though. And nothing about their types of investments either. Nope. Just articles about diversity, wealth inequality, their contribution to the LGBTQ+ community and women’s rights organizations, and a statement from Dad standing against sexual harassment following the Me Too Movement. What? I am completely confused. Is this really the website of a multi-billion-dollar hedge fund? Is this what it is supposed to look like? Well, I don’t think I need all this content on mine. Maybe just something focused on my mission to invest in art would be enough. Damn, this seems harder than I thought. It’s almost as if Matthew and his team have taken care of their digital strategy. But I’m pretty sure this website has been around for quite some time, which means Dad and Alex must’ve hired a digital communication agency to take care of it. And I wonder if to play the game of Wall Street in 2020, I need to do the same.

  “Do you have any idea what you want to wear to the investors dinner tonight?” Janine asks as she sneaks into my closet, her eyes most likely already scanning through the hangers.

  “Anything really,” I mumble as I stay focused on my financial plan. Then I take Peikoff’s binge-worthy book about objectivism and underline my favorite sentence, “The artist is the closest man comes to being God.” No wonder I have read this book several times. It’s so moving and inspirational. I should actually put this quote on my fund’s website and in my plan. Maybe a website focused on the artists will help the branding. One thing is for sure: I definitely need a digital agency to take care of the communication and marketing part. As I look at my financial plan, I can’t help but smile at the growth projections. Being able to invest further in artists and their artwork feels like a dream come true. Then my mind starts fantasizing about having my own office with the name “Gatt-Dieren Art Fund” pinned on the marble wall behind the reception desk. Once the fund is big enough, I should rent one of those fancy offices somewhere downtown, hire a few associates, and have an art gallery on the ground floor where I can show off the most exciting pieces of art the fund owns. That would be so dope and alternative. Just like the fund.

  “Jumpsuit or dress?”

  Returning to planet Earth, I put down my book and find Janine standing in front of me with a formal white jumpsuit in one hand and a white cowl-necked slip dress in the other.

  “Huh…” That’s the most coherent answer I manage to give her. “Both look great.”

  But Janine isn’t satisfied. “Miss, you have to pick one.”

  As I look more attentively at both of them, I notice that the dress, although it has a hem long enough for my liking, doesn’t have sleeves like the jumpsuit, just spaghetti straps.

  “Can I see the backs?”

  Janine turns them around. The jumpsuit has a zipper on the back going all the way up to the neck, while the white dress is backless.

  “The white dress,” I tell her. I know this dress will piss off my dad. And I’m in the mood to piss him off.

  “Perfect. Now jump into the shower,” Janine commands. “Hurry up! Your dad will be here in thirty minutes to pick you up.”

  Rolling my eyes, I leave Peikoff and my laptop and go to the bathroom to get ready for the evening.

  “Petra,” I hear my dad calling from downstairs. “Are you ready?

  “One minute!” I shout back as I look at myself once more in the mirror, while Janine applies hairspray to the high ponytail she just pulled my hair into.

  She takes a portable mirror to show me the back of my hairstyle. “Do you like it?”

  “I love it,” I tell her, my tone filled with excitement as I clap my hands. I love how the ponytail pushes my hair up very high, showing off more of the backless dress I’m wearing.

  “This dress looks absolutely fantastic on you,” she praises.

  “Thanks, Janine.”

  Now that I’m ready, I swallow a Xanax, then grab my clutch, the matte gloss I’m wearing, and my iPhone. Let’s do this, I think to myself after drawing in a breath.

  As I walk down the stairs, I notice Dad standing near the front door, wearing a tux, and impatiently waiting for me as he keeps glancing at his watch. Then his head turns in my direction, and his jaw drops. His expression remains totally dazed as he observes every inch of my dress as I come down the stairs. “What kind of dress is that?” he snaps.

  “It’s an evening dress, Dad,” I reply snobbishly. “Haven’t you seen The Thomas Crown Affair? One of the actresses even wears a similar one to a gala event in it.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And she is even a painter,” I cut him off, a smile settling on my lips as I revel in his discomfort. “Shall we?”

  “Petra,” he says between gritted teeth, having none of it. “Do you see me showing off so much skin?”

  “It’s not my fault if men have to cover up,” I snap as I open the door and walk outside. “Let’s go. We are late.”

  I greet Anthony, who’s standing in front of the car, before letting out a quick sigh of relief. At least this time Dad didn’t book a limo. Anthony greets me with a big, bright smile and opens the door for me.

  Once Dad sits beside me, I notice that his expression remains just as tormented at the outrageously immodest dress I’m wearing. Even though the dress falls below my knees, Dad can’t hide his displeasure. And my smirk keeps rising.

  His eyes finally leave my dress but then land on my left hand, which is resting on the middle seat. Dad keeps looking intently at it, before letting out an exasperated breath. Trying to hide his disapproval, he turns his glare to the car window, but I know him all too well.

  “I won’t remove it,” I tell him. He doesn’t say a word; instead, he just shakes his head. “I’ll say it’s a gift,” I add. “Not an engagement ring.”

  “Whatever you tell them…” He turns back to look at me. “I don’t want any improper behavior at the dinner. Are we clear?”

  “What does that even mean?” I ask, my tone defiant. “I know how to behave.”

  I see Dad hesitating, before finally blurting out, “Your godfather will be there.”

  My heart freezes, and I have to close my eyes for a second.

  Those words. Those five little words. They have the power to crack and shatter me into a thousand pieces. After a month without seeing him, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say to him. That I hate him? Love him? Beg him to stay? Tell him to be happy in Singapore? No, I can’t tell him that. I want him to be happy, yes, but not in Singapore, or, at least, not without me there. I know it sounds selfish, but I can’t accept this fate, I can’t accept this outcome. Oh jeez, I just want to throw up.

  “So he is really attending…” I mumble feebly, still trying to figure out what I should say or do once I see him. “I didn’t know he was in New York.”

  “He just came back for this event,” Dad replies casually. “He’ll make an official announcement about his departure and announce the new CEO.”

  A steep pain scorches m
y stomach, and I take a deep breath, taming the eminent desire to cry at the reality I’m destined to live. I cannot accept it. I can’t. I have to do something. My mind keeps ruminating about how to persuade Alex to run away with me and leave it all behind. This is my only chance before he goes miles away once and for all. Then I remember Latifa, the Emirati princess who tried to escape from her family and run away from Dubai. But her father ultimately caught her, and we have never heard about her again. Looking at my dad, I know he won’t hurt me, but I know if I try to run away, he’ll find me and bring me back to New York. And Alex knows that too. I might not be the daughter of a sheikh, but I feel exactly the same—trapped.

  This is the real world, after all, where princesses are caught and brought back to their golden prisons to live some sort of happily ever after they didn’t choose.

  Damn, how unfair life can be. Some people might not have money, power, status, or connections, but they have the freedom to be with whomever they want. Meanwhile, others have all the resources in the world, but don’t have such privilege.

  “Here we are.” Dad’s voice shuts down my thoughts, and, after blinking twice, my attention goes to his face. As I observe the wrinkles well-settled around his tired eyes, his short gray hair, and his tux, I feel nothing but pity—pity because his obsession for reputation and glory makes him the perfect victim to those who know how to exploit it. As Matthew would say, “We are all products and victims of the society we live in.”

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I give him a side smile and just say, “You look great.”

  Then I stare through the car window at the entrance of Gotham Hall.

  I can’t believe he chose this venue again. How ironic, I think, shaking my head.

  As the car stops, a valet opens the door and greets my dad. “Good evening, Mr. Van Gatt.”

  Dad gets out of the car first, then offers a hand to help me out.

  “Ms. Van Gatt,” the valet greets as I look instinctively around the entrance, already anxious and apprehensive.

  Dad puts a hand on my back, gesturing the way to the front steps and door. “Shall we?”

  Not surprisingly, as soon as we reach the ballroom, a thousand eyes alight upon us. But none of them are the ones I want. Dad smiles, and the crowd does the same in return. He shakes hands, and I’m introduced to a few people, from longtime clients to partners of other funds. I try to remember names and faces, but as I glance around and listen to the jazzy music, all I can think about is how Gotham Hall is the place where I saw Alex again for the first time and how, in a few hours, it will be the last.

  Between the laughter and champagne, it feels like the end of a chapter—a chapter I’m not ready to end.

  Suddenly, two palms cover my eyes, and someone whispers in my ear, “I can’t believe you came here without me.”

  A smile cracks my face, and turning around, I plunge Emma into a hug. A hug so tight that I hear her gasping.

  “Oh, gosh,” she says. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m so happy you are here,” I tell her in a low voice, my arms still wrapped around her neck.

  She hugs me back and says, “Me too.”

  We don’t talk, but as we look at each other, Emma reads me like no one else. She strokes my arm, giving me an empathetic smile, and remains speechless. After all, there are no words to be said. No sweet “it’s gonna be alright” kind of talk, because we both know it’d be bullshit. It is what it is, her face tells me. Wow. Emma, my best friend, my big sister, the most adventurous person I know, giving me an “it is what it is” look. Did I expect something different from her? The idealist in me thought so. But as Emma smiles at my dad and kisses his cheek, I know there will be no escape plan hatched in the bathroom. And I know that at the end of the day, “it is what it is” is the only way everyone feels about it.

  Except me.

  “Petra!” I hear calling from behind me.

  I instantly turn around, recognizing the voice. “Mr. Marques, how good to see you.” Then I look at his wife, Anabela, standing beside him and greet her just as warmly. But as my eyes go to her dress, my heart tightens. “Oh, wow. Congratulations,” I tell her. “How many weeks?”

  “Thirty-two,” she replies with a proud smile, putting a hand on her bump.

  “I’m so happy for you.” Then, for the sake of politeness and small talk, I ask, “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

  “It’s a boy. But we are still struggling to come up with a name.” And before I can ask anything further, my attention instantly shifts to the entrance, and everything stops.

  And everything hurts, as I observe Alex greeting a few guests before walking toward us.

  Yep, here he is. The man I hate and love the most in this world, looking sharp and elegant in his usual satin-lapel tux, a charming smile on his lips, with glowing skin and a perfect tan. While I have been undergoing therapy to survive my post-Alex breakup, this asshole seems to be perfectly fine.

  “You don’t say hi to your godfather?” Emma whispers with the most annoying sarcasm.

  Surprisingly—or not—Dad gives him the warmest greeting, shaking his hand intently and patting him on the back. He then greets Anabela, Paulo, Emma…

  “Mr. Van Dieren,” I snap unsmilingly when his piercing blue eyes alight on me. I hate you, my glare says.

  But my heart knows it’s all bullshit.

  “Miss Van Gatt,” he replies, his voice irritably soft and mellow. His gaze goes up and down me, but his face doesn’t give anything away. Then he takes a step closer to me, a step that makes my heart beat faster than I’d like to admit, and leaning close to my ear, he whispers, “You look absolutely stunning… in that white dress.”

  White dress.

  Somehow those two words coming from his mouth bring back memories I shouldn’t even think of. “Thank you,” I reply with restrain. “It’s actually very appropriate for the occasion.” And to my surprise, I blurt, “It represents the end of a chapter in my life.”

  Why did I even say that?

  “Well, I hope the next one will be better.” He sounds polite and calculated.

  “We share the same hope,” I snap back, matching his tone.

  A cold silence arises between us, and we don’t smile or say anything else. We look like two strangers, with no past… and maybe no future.

  He then glances over my shoulder, nodding at someone. “Excuse me, I’ve got some guests to talk to.”

  Of course you do. And just like that, Alex leaves me. If he is as broken as I am inside, then he’s a fine actor.

  “Petra, I’ve got someone to introduce you to.” Dad seems overly excited as he takes me by the arm and ushers me to the other side of the ballroom.

  “Who?” I mumble as we get closer to the stage.

  “You will see.”

  There, I see musicians gathered around a female figure with blonde hair brushing her shoulders. I don’t recognize her from the back, but as soon as she turns around…

  “Oh my God!” I cover my mouth, but the words are already out.

  “Petra,” Dad starts, his excitement growing, “I’d love to introduce you to our singer for the evening…”

  “Ms. Krall,” I shout, not containing my emotion. My heart is thundering a thousand miles an hour. I just can’t believe it! “I’m, um, it’s, um…”

  “Just call me Diana.”

  Of course. Why not?

  “I’m one of your biggest fans.” Sounds cliché as fuck, but it’s true. I know all her songs by heart. I can’t get enough of her music. “I’m so excited for tonight. I love everything about you. Your music is just fantastic,” I end up saying.

  “Well, thank you very much. What’s your favorite song?”

  “Um, there are so many… But ‘The Look of Love’ might be my favorite.”

  “Ah, that’s a great one.” Her gaze darts down curiously. “Beautiful ring you’ve got there. Are you engaged?”

  “Not at all,” Dad pro
mptly interposes, clearly annoyed by the question. “It’s just a gift, a keepsake. Petra prefers to wear it on that finger because it’s more practical.” Bullshit. “Let me take a picture of you two.” Dad takes his iPhone out of his pocket and walks a few steps backward.

  Standing beside each other, Diana and I wrap an arm around each others’ waist. Then, as we both look at the camera, I can’t help but notice Alex right behind Dad. A smile escapes me, but not the kind I want for a picture. Holding a glass of champagne, he seems to be happily chatting with Paulo and Mike. He doesn’t even notice me. And it doesn’t matter anyway.

  Yeah, a keepsake from someone who broke my heart.

  “One day I will be ready to take it off,” I tell myself quietly, but loud enough that I know Diana heard.

  One day…

  My attention shifts back to the camera, and I put on another smile—the one Dad expects me to.

  Click.

  I’m not surprised to find out Alex will be sitting at our table. In fact, I’m not even surprised that he’s been ignoring me the entire evening. Dad, Alex, Paulo, Mike, and two more execs have spent the whole dinner discussing how Asia is flourishing and how pharmaceutical and biotech investments have never performed so well. “The best year ever,” they mention between giggles and sips.

  “They could’ve done this in the boardroom,” Emma rebukes in my ear. “I’m fucking tired of hearing about their plans for 2021. I’m even thinking of sell the info to BlackRock.”

  I can’t help but chuckle at her statement. “And why BlackRock?”

  “I’ve got some friends who work there.”

  “Friends?” I look at her with a side smile, and she cracks one even bigger.

  “Friends…” she replies back, before burying her naughtiness in a sip of wine.

  “Thank you for being here, Emma.” I lay my hand on hers, and with all the sincerity in the world, I tell her, “I’m so lucky to have you.”

  Emma observes me without saying a word, then her eyes dart down for a second, as she thinks something through, before meeting mine again. “I know it hurts,” she whispers in my ear. “But look at him. It seems like he’s already moved on.”