Blossom in Winter

by Melanie Martins

  Wow. I’ve never heard Mom swear and scream like that before. Never. She has always been nothing but a lady. I’m in shock. “Dad’s okay with it.”

  “You can’t be serious! I can’t believe it! Petra, listen—”

  “No, you listen! I’m not seven anymore, Mom! I’m eighteen, and I’m tired of hiding my relationship with him. I can legally get married. So stop with your bigotry.”

  Mom takes a deep breath, rubs her eyelids, and tries to calm herself down. After all, we know screaming won’t solve anything. “My little angel”—she has switched to her most complaisant tone— “you know I care about you more than anything in this world, right? But don’t you think your relationship with this man is evolving a bit too fast?” She pauses, shaking her head. “This obsession you have for your godfather is becoming a mental illness. You need to get treated.”

  “Mom, this mental illness is called love. I’m sorry if you’ve never been ill like me.”

  “Petra, you’re way too young, and he is way too old. Forget it. I won’t let you ruin your life! Call it bigotry all you want!”

  “You might not understand what it means to be an adult, but it means I can do what I want, including getting married to the man I want. Plus, Dad has been supportive.”

  Mom looks down, thinking something through. “So your dad's approval is the only thing that matters?”

  “Since he and Alex are best friends and business associates, yes.”

  “Petra, look, I have to tell you something…” She removes her glasses, rubs her eyelids once more, and puts them back on.

  I sigh in annoyance. “What now?”

  “I went to visit a friend… She is gifted… She sees things—visions. She predicted I’d have only one child, a daughter, and she also predicted my divorce… This relationship is going to destroy you, my dear. She predicted your…” Her eyes watering, Mom tilts her head back and sniffles.

  “My what?” I ask, rolling my eyes. Such drama!

  “Your death, Petra.”

  “Unbelievable, the lies you tell! You’re the one who is mentally ill, Mom.”

  “I swear it’s true. She said your relationship with that man will only bring misfortune.”

  “Look, you can bring thousands of prophets in to tell me my relationship with Alex will destroy me. I wouldn’t care less.”

  “Why are you so stubborn?” She punches the table with her fists, shaking the silverware. “So blind, so naive! Why that man? Why?”

  “Because I love him!” I snap louder. “I want to be his wife!” I take a deep breath and exhale. “I don’t want to be introduced as his girlfriend, his fiancée, or worse, his goddaughter. I want the world to know I’m his wife. I always knew I’d marry him, you know that.”

  “Petra, that man… that family…” She shakes her head in disgust. “You know nothing about them. Believe me, nothing!”

  “I know I love him, and he loves me.” Shit. I forgot to tell her about the dinner tomorrow. Oh God, Mom’s gonna hate me. “And by the way,” I pause for a beat, “I’m having dinner tomorrow at his family’s estate. Dad’s also attending… I’m sorry I won’t be able to join you.” I look at my plate, expecting the worst.

  “Oh, brilliant!” She punches the table again. “Now my daughter is spending Christmas at the Van Dierens’ instead of with her own mother! Don’t you see what he is doing? He’s literally showing off that he can control you!” She exhales loudly. Afterward, a freezing silence settles while Mom seems to be consumed by her thoughts. “Petra,” she calls icily. “Alexander is a manipulative man, and a dangerous one.”

  “Pffff...” I shake my head, tired of such nonsense. “Mom, stop. Enough of your drama. They’re having a dinner tomorrow for Christmas, and they invited me over. That’s all. Relax.”

  “The Van Dierens never invite outsiders for Christmas. That’s one of their rules. And by now you should know how much they love rules, contracts, and so on, no?”

  “I’m not an outsider. Anyway, I’m going to leave tomorrow in the late afternoon, instead of the twenty-sixth. I’m sorry if it bothers you.”

  Tess Hagen

  “Petra, I’ve spent these last fifteen years helping women escape abusive relationships and marriages. You’ve got to get out now. It’ll get worse if you wait until later,” I say, feeling like I’m suffocating.

  Pfff, how easy it’ll be for Van Dieren to abuse Petra. She’s always seen him as her caring, protective, and beloved godfather—one she trusts entirely. How convenient for him to turn it into his advantage. Of course he wants to marry her! She’s such a different kind of prey—a woman never touched before but by him. That possessive asshole wants to make sure she belongs entirely and exclusively to him, just like a rare, expensive toy. I know it’ll be harder for Petra to leave him once she becomes Mrs. Van Dieren. And even worse, once she has kids. The women most reluctant to report their husbands to the police or take them to court are mothers.

  I imagine Petra must be his biggest trophy. Dear Lord, banging the barely legal daughter of his best friend without Roy blinking an eye, just because he promised to marry her afterward sounds like the most disgusting misogynist transaction ever. Like a property ownership trade between Roy Van Gatt and Alexander Van Dieren. God, what wouldn’t he do to feed his unmeasured ego and pleasure?

  “Oh, Mom, stop! Can’t you see I’m happy with him?”

  I’ve had enough. I’ve seen this over and over again—the young virgin lured by an older man with a gentle smile. “You’re not happy, Petra. You are brainwashed. Drunk. Delusional. Manipulated,” I yell. “This isn’t love. At eighteen, no healthy girl thinks about marrying a forty-year-old heartbreaker!” I take a deep breath. “You won’t marry him, and you won’t be part of that family. End of discussion,” I insist louder. “One day you’ll understand and you’ll thank me. Mark my words.”

  “Very well.” She removes her white napkin from her lap and stands up. “Then we have nothing else to discuss. Merry Christmas, Mother.” She leaves the table hurriedly, runs to her bedroom, and locks herself inside.

  Chapter 26

  Dieren, December 25, 2019

  Petra Van Gatt

  It only takes ninety minutes from Rotterdam to get to the Van Dieren estate, which is located near the city named after them. I didn’t see my mother the entire Christmas Day. She left home early in the morning, and only Anika was present. Anika said Mom had some urgent affairs to take care of. But I know perfectly well that she’s simply hurt from our heated argument, and we’re both too proud to apologize. I just can’t understand why Mom is so apprehensive. Why can’t she stand to see me in a relationship with him? And why did she attack his family?

  Perplexed, I decide to do a quick Google search on the Van Dieren family. I don’t find anything disturbing or shocking. Most likely Mom is overreacting.

  As I stare out my window, I notice the car has just stopped in front of black metal gates. The driver speaks to the security guards, then they inspect the car and trunk before finally nodding, opening the gates. We drive onto the property. It looks bigger than Bedford Hills. The road through the snowy gardens stretches on for what feels like miles. The car stops again. This time at… street signs? I lift my eyebrows. I see a perpendicular road and read the directions: the right leads to the stables, park, main gardens, and tennis court; the left goes to the chapel and staff house (staff house?); and straight ahead is the manor. The car continues straight, finally reaching the main roundabout and the entrance. Everything is white, covered by the beauty of winter. I smile nervously, my stomach knotting. Oh, dear Lord, I never imagined meeting my future in-laws at only eighteen, but I also never imagined loving someone like Alex so unconditionally at such young age either. I take a much-needed breath.

  As the car parks in front of the entrance, I see Dad standing outside, talking on the phone, his face serious and annoyed. I frown. Who’s he talking to?

  A valet opens my door, and once I exit, Dad finally hangs up.
>
  “Hi, Dad. Is everything alright?”

  He doesn’t reply immediately.

  “Hi, Petra. Well… Your mother is really upset, to say the least.” I shake my head. “She’s not happy about your plans, and she thinks I raised you poorly.”

  “Neither am I about her behavior and the way she is talking to you.” Dad smiles at my comforting voice, but I know he’s still vexed by Mom’s vicious words. I move closer to him and into his arms. “Mom doesn’t know me as well as you do. She’s just freaking out because I’m more mature than any girl my age. Plus, she spends her days at that nonprofit dealing with abusive relationships and marriages, so I imagine she’s even more worried. It’ll be alright, don’t worry.”

  Dad takes a deep breath. I know it’s not easy for him either. “Thank you for your kind words, Petra. I’m so glad to have you.” He hugs me tight and plants a kiss on my forehead.

  “I’m so glad to have you too, Dad.” I feel him getting slightly emotional. “Shall we?”

  “Sure. Don’t forget to be polite.” I try hard to suppress a laugh. I love how Dad translates “don’t kiss Alex in front of me and his family” in such a charming and politically correct way.

  Before we can ring the doorbell, someone opens the door wide.

  “Welcome, Mr. and Ms. Van Gatt. My name is Stuart. I’m the main butler.” He greets us enthusiastically. “I hope you had a great trip getting here. And Merry Christmas!”

  “Thank you very much, Stuart. Merry Christmas to you,” adds Dad.

  As we step inside the entrance hall, Stuart helps me take off my black coat, then Dad’s, and disappears to hang them.

  I gape as I take in my surroundings. The wood-paneled hallway opens into an opulent lobby with high ceilings, a crystal chandelier in the center, and a majestic stairway. Old family portraits in golden frames—maybe some centuries old—decorate the walls.

  I see five figures emerge from a room—two women accompanied by two men I don’t recognize, and Alex. Ahhh… I feel my body melting at the sight of him. My heart starts fluttering nervously. After all, it’s the first time Dad’s around since we’ve been together.

  “Roy, always so nice to see you.” Alex gives him a warm, friendly hug and a clap on the back. “Merry Christmas, my dear friend.”

  Dad grins with joy. “Merry Christmas, Alex.”

  His blue eyes finally land on me.

  Alexander Van Dieren

  All of a sudden, my heart stops for a moment, frozen at the sight of such a holy creation. I lose track of time as I stare at the thin figure standing beside Roy, with long, wavy black hair falling below her chest, a barrette holding some strands back, and wearing a red plaid dress and black stilettos. I swallow hard and dare to look into her big blue eyes. They petrify me. I manage to compose a smile—hopefully a good one. She giggles innocently at me. Damn, my eyes can’t help but devour her. My heart always pounds faster and louder when she’s around. I feel like just a poor human admiring the most divine creature ever created.

  “Ms. Van Gatt,” I greet for the sake of politeness in front of our respective families.

  She beams at me. “Mr. Van Dieren.”

  I take her hand and slightly bend down to kiss her hand. She shuts her eyes for a brief instant as I lay my lips on her skin. But for me, that’s enough time to picture our entire stay in Aspen and to know exactly how right this is. There’s nothing in this world that I’m more certain of than her—her as my fiancée, her as my wife, her as the mother of my children, her as my lover, her in every sense. She smiles tenderly, as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking. I love you, my gaze says.

  “Alright, enough, Van Dieren,” snaps the most annoying woman I know, stepping forward. “Welcome, Petra. I’m Yara, the youngest sister. And this my husband, Elliott. Merry Christmas!” Yara greets Petra by plunging her into a warm hug.

  “And I’m Maud, the second youngest. This is Philip, my husband. Merry Christmas!” Maud also does the same, and Philip shakes her hand.

  “Nice to meet you all. Merry Christmas.”

  Petra Van Gatt

  I can’t help but notice the difference in the two sisters’ appearances. Yara is fit and tall, with spotless pale skin. She has a defiant, cold dark-brown stare and seems like a general in the army with her impeccable posture. On the other hand, Maud’s shorter, tanner, not as athletic, and a bit curvier. Her face is much warmer and shows more empathy. Their styles are also quite the opposite—Maud is wearing a simple long silk tunic with loose black pants and heels, plus an oversized necklace, while Yara wears an elegant white shirt buttoned up to the neck, beige slim-fit pants, and equestrian-style boots.

  “Yara’s a professional polo player,” states Alex, probably noticing my curious face. “She has an obsession with boots and an aversion to stilettos.”

  We all burst into laughter.

  “Ha Ha. Van Dieren is in funny mode tonight.” She looks back at me. “Let’s just say I wear heels only in extreme situations, or when there’s a mandatory dress code.” I can’t help but chuckle. “And Elliott loves to see me like that, right?”

  “Of course.” He sounds sarcastic. “It wouldn’t be the Yara I know if you wore stilettos at Christmas like everyone else.” I love this Elliot. His sarcasm is fantastic. We all laugh even harder.

  “Well, glad to meet someone like me. I don’t wear heels very often either.” I add, but obviously tonight I made an exception.

  “You know, Petra, Yara plays even in winter when the fields are covered in snow,” adds Maud.

  “Wow. I hope one day I’ll be able to attend one of your games. Where do you usually play? Here in the Netherlands?”

  “Sometimes, but in winter it’s mostly in St. Moritz. They usually do the World Cup there.”

  “Amazing! You’ve got to show me some pictures and videos when you can. I’ve never seen a polo game in the snow.”

  “Sure. I’d be happy to show you after dinner.”

  “Actually, her bedroom is full of awards and pictures, so it’s not hard to get an idea of her obsession for polo,” teases Maud.

  “Well, I just copied my dear brother…”

  “You used to be a polo player?” I had no idea.

  “Nothing serious, just as a hobby. But our team did win some competitions,” Alex says. “Everyone used to play, right, Maud?”

  “Indeed…” She sighs. “Sports have never been my thing. But we have annual tournaments between families. It’s always fun.” I wonder what Maud’s “thing” is—after all, she looks more creative and artistic and much less rigid than Yara. “I’m a lab scientist, so nothing to do with all of that,” she ultimately admits. Definitely not what I had in mind. “I must have the most boring job in the family…” She smiles with an ounce of embarrassment and takes a sip of her water.

  “It is the most boring, Maud,” teases Yara.

  We hear footsteps coming down.

  “I’ve never seen a single picture of you…” I follow the sound of the sharp voice on the stairs, laying eyes on an elegant, fit lady with silver-white hair. She’s probably over sixty-five years old, wearing a black shirt and pants, and a long, sophisticated jacket, with red lips and an impeccable but imposing posture. “Yet I’m pretty sure you are Petra Van Gatt.” Her face welcomes me with a warm, beautiful smile, and I find myself blushing at it. “Alexander has spoken about you so much that I could draw you blindly. Welcome home, Petra.” Margaret gives me three kisses on the cheek and a maternal hug that feels quite odd. “And Merry Christmas.”

  “Many thanks, Mrs. Van Dieren. Merry Christmas.”

  “Please, Margaret,” she corrects, pinching my chin playfully. Margaret glances around. “And of course Julia is not yet here.”

  We hear the doorbell ring.

  Margaret decides to open the door herself. “Ah, Julia, finally. Where is your sense of punctuality? You are dressed as if you just came from the office. This is Christmas, dear Lord.”

  Stepping through the door
, Julia sighs and rolls her eyes at Margaret’s sermon. “Right, because Yara dressing like she just came from a polo game is perfectly acceptable.”

  “Merry Christmas to you, Julia,” replies Yara with a smirk.

  Julia sends one back, like they’re used to the banter. She then takes off her Burberry light-gray gabardine, gives it to the butler, and greets Margaret with three kisses on the cheek. “I’m sorry, Mom, but I had to finish a motion for next week. I’m handling a very delicate case.”

  “We know. They are all delicate for you,” Margaret snaps. “Hello, Sebastian,” she says, looking at Julia’s husband.

  “Margaret,” greets Sebastian.

  “Petra, let me officially introduce you to my three wonderful daughters: Julia, my second oldest, followed by Maud and Yara, who had the decency to arrive on time and whom you’ve already met. And as you know, Alexander is the oldest and my only son.”

  “And the one who never settled down,” teases Yara, taking a sip of her tea.

  Everyone bursts out into laughter.

  Except Margaret. “Yara!”

  “Oh, it’s a joke, Mom. You take yourself way too seriously.”

  “And you not enough.”

  I give three kisses to Julia, and she gives me a warm hug afterward. Wow. Looks like all the girls love to hug each other. “I’m so glad to meet you, Petra. You’re divine. I love this dress on you.” Julia seems to be the sweetest of them all. Her energy feels so bright and reassuring. She’s also the most beautiful to me—incredible glowing skin; white teeth with a magnetic, friendly smile; wavy blonde hair to her shoulders; and an impeccably fit and toned figure. I also love her elegant dress, beige with a white pattern in a fit-and-flare style, and matching earrings and beige stilettos. I get the sense that she’s the friendliest of them all, and also the most mature. I smile, a bit envious not to have her as a sister. I also realize none of the sisters have blue eyes—just Alex and Margaret.