by Lexie Ray
“I just don’t understand why you get such pleasure out of this,” I said. “I’ve wanted nothing more since I got here than to help out. If you think this is a punishment, you’re wrong. I like working with my hands. I’m just sorry that you’re wasting your time with all of these little extra tasks. The mud. The lipstick. The crumbs. Why don’t you let a skunk loose in here? That would really make things interesting.”
“You’re not going to marry my son,” Amelia snarled. “You’re a low-born whore with her eyes on this family’s money. You want gratitude for helping him when he was injured? Thank you. Now leave.”
“We love each other,” I said. “I know that might be a hard concept for someone like you to grasp. But we really love each other. That’s why I’m still here, enduring all this. I will outlast you, Mrs. Wharton.”
“I doubt that,” she said, her response coming so easily that it gave me a little pause. How could she be so sure of herself? I’d been cleaning up after her for more than a month, for God’s sake. I was willing to put up with anything for Jonathan.
I could’ve walked away. That’s what I told myself. I could’ve just walked away and told Amelia to go to hell. But doing so would’ve started a war that I didn’t want to be a part of. It was better if it appeared that Amelia and I were tolerating each other. I really didn’t want to stress Jonathan out.
So when I turned on the shower that evening, waiting for the water to get steaming hot to wash away the day’s toil, I let myself cry out all my frustrations. It was so hard. With Lucy gone, I was just that much more alone. I didn’t have anyone I could go to with this.
“Michelle?”
I jumped out of my skin and quickly wiped my face before turning around.
“Jon, you really have to stop sneaking up on me like that,” I said, laughing nervously. “You’re going to give me a heart attack or something.”
“Why are you crying?” he asked, his brow furrowing in concern.
“I’m not crying,” I said, wiping my face again. “It’s the shower. I got in and got out real fast. That’s all.”
Jonathan’s face fell. “I don’t know what you’re not telling me,” he said. “But I know it’s been going on for a long time. Does it have to do with Violet and me?”
If I were being perfectly honest, it did, in a way. We’d just overcome that challenge, and I didn’t want my fiancé knowing that we had another problem to face. Even if it hurt both of us for me to sneak around, I still thought it was better than the alternative—full disclosure of how awful his mom really was.
“No, Jon,” I said, smiling. “You just surprised me.”
“Every time I come home early from work, you’re taking a shower and your dirty clothes smell like bleach,” he said. “Are you sure there’s not anything you want to tell me?”
“Nope,” I said as cheerfully as I could muster. “Just getting clean for you when you come home.”
“Speaking of clean, have you seen Lucy around?” Jonathan asked as he set his briefcase down.
“No, why?” I asked carefully.
“I don’t know,” he said. “She always told me to have a good day as I headed out to the office, and I feel like it’s been a while since I’ve seen her around. You haven’t seen her at all?”
“No,” I said again, clasping my hands together and holding them tight. I really didn’t want to get into this. He was closer to the truth than he could possibly know. He studied my face for a long time, and I fought so hard not to give anything away.
“Michelle,” Jonathan said patiently. “You know you can tell me anything.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. It would be the easiest thing in the world right now just to spill my guts, to lay it all out there for him and have an ally in my corner. But I couldn’t do that. Not when he thought everything was going so well.
“Baby. I know something’s wrong.”
A tear wormed its way down my cheek, and I sniffled. I wasn’t going to be able to hide this anymore. Jonathan was too perceptive. He knew my moods way too well.
It all came out in a rush—how I was cleaning his mother’s quarters, how she’d fired Lucy to pick away at me, how she was convinced I was a gold digger and how she’d told me I’d never marry him. I was sobbing by the time I was done.
“But you can’t tell her I told you,” I wept. “It would mean she won.”
Jonathan shook his head and smiled at me, but it was more like a gritting of teeth. He turned on his heel and strode off.
“Jonathan!” I cried after him, running to catch up. “You can’t! You can’t!”
“I’m not going to let her terrorize you,” he said, grabbing my hand and hauling me along with him. “This ends now, Michelle. It’s been days since I’ve seen Lucy. How long has this been going on, exactly?”
He started marching us down the stairs.
“About a month,” I said, the steps bouncing the confession out of me.
Jonathan swore so loudly and terribly that it made even me blush, stopping at the second floor.
“Amelia!” he raged, pounding on the closed bedroom door. “Open up!”
Her shocked face appeared at the door.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, but Jonathan cut her off with a slashing movement of his hand.
“You are not to treat the woman I am going to marry like your servant,” he said. “You will show her—and me—the respect we deserve. Is that clear?”
“Is that what she told you?” Amelia asked, laughing nervously and cutting her eyes at me. I was hanging on to Jonathan’s hand, tears still running down my face. “That’s just not true.”
“Don’t lie to me!” he roared, making both of us jump. Jonathan was angrier than I had ever seen him before. “I will cut you from my life, do you understand? I’m trying to know you, and this makes me wish that I wouldn’t even make the effort. What are you?”
“Jonathan, please,” Amelia whispered. “That’s—that’s too harsh.”
“You can’t do that,” I said quietly. Both Jonathan and Amelia stared at me. “She’s your mother, Jonathan. Like it or not. You can’t just cut her out of your life. I wish—I wish I still had my mother. Never wish your mother away.”
I started sobbing, devastated that everything had come to this. This was what I’d feared—that Jonathan would find out and everything would go to hell.
I heard rather than saw him take a deep breath and hug me.
“Mom, I would like to talk to you about what has been going on between you and my fiancée,” he said. “Can I talk with you downstairs, please? Maybe over some coffee? Like two civilized people? Can we do that?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Amelia said. “Right away.”
She started downstairs, and Jonathan kissed me on the brow.
“Why don’t you go upstairs and wait for me?” he asked, bending to look into my eyes. “I’ll take care of everything, okay?”
Was it going to be as simple as that? All I could do was nod and watch him trot downstairs to join Amelia.
“Why haven’t we had tapas yet?” Jane asked, surprising me with her very presence just as much as her non sequitur as I turned on the stairs.
“We did say we were going,” I remembered, reflecting back on the disastrous family dinner. I wiped my face free from tears quickly, realizing I probably looked awful. If Jane noticed, she didn’t say anything.
“Oh no, I said we were fucking going, if I recall correctly,” Jane said. “My poor parents. Jonathan and I spent a few too many of our formative years under the tutelage of a former drill sergeant who was something of a nanny figure. Our parents thought it would build character and discipline, but that’s where we picked up our foul mouths.”
“That’s interesting,” I said, trying to reconcile the images of a nanny in an apron with a drill sergeant barking insults. It was enough to make me smile a little.
“So, tapas,” Jane said. “You’ll let me know when you’re free?”<
br />
I was free every day, but I didn’t want to sound pathetic.
“Definitely,” I said.
Jane waited almost expectantly, and I realized that Jonathan’s very loud fight with Amelia had echoed up the stairway.
“You heard everything just now, didn’t you?” I asked, grimacing.
“Yeah,” Jane said. “Sucks. Sorry my mom’s a total bitch sometimes.”
I gave a shocked titter. “I really didn’t want Jonathan to know. I thought I could just deal with it.”
“You need people in your corner when you’re trying to deal with her,” Jane said. “Trust me. I know these things. Tapas, then? Let me know? Promise?”
“Of course,” I said, smiling. “I’d love to.”
I finished walking up the stairs to Jonathan’s floor and realized the shower was still running. The water was so hot that steam filled the bathroom, and I turned the temperature down before shucking off my clothes and stepping in. I figured I could at least have a shower while I waited for Jonathan to finish hashing things out with his mother. What a mess today had become. I tried to wash all the bad feelings off me with the scalding water.
Wrapped in a robe, I padded to the bedroom and was surprised to find Jonathan sitting on the bed, his head in his hands.
“Jon?”
He looked up and held his hand out to me. I took it, and he pulled me to him.
“I love you,” he said. “But you need to tell me when something’s wrong. Secrets aren’t healthy for us. And when I can help you, that’s what I want to do. There’s no reason for you to suffer like you did with this.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, bowing my head. “I just didn’t want to be a wedge driven between you and Amelia.”
“She needs to understand that we’re getting married,” he said. “That’s why I gave her the task of planning our wedding.”
I felt all the blood rush from my head and had to sit down quickly.
“What?”
“I told her that I was entrusting the wedding plans to her,” he said.
“You’re making her plan our wedding for us as a punishment?” I asked, my mouth hanging open.
“She’s answering to you,” Jonathan said. “You have the final say in everything. She’s just going to be making everything happen. She’s a professional at it, and I think it would be good to keep her busy doing something positive for a change.”
“I don’t know if this is a good idea, Jon,” I said slowly, rubbing his arm. “Your mother hates me.”
“She needs to get over it,” he said simply. “And I think this is a really good way. She’ll know what it’s like to take orders from you.”
“I’m not going to order her around.”
“And Lucy is rehired,” Jonathan added. “Effective immediately.”
“Oh, thank God,” I said. “That was the worst part, Jon. Did she agree to come back? I don’t know if I would’ve, having to answer to Amelia.”
“When I explained everything to her on the phone, she said she’d start back tomorrow,” Jonathan said. “She cares about you.”
“Thank you,” I said, hugging him close to me.
“You need to trust me,” Jonathan said, brushing my wet hair out of my face. “Lean on me like I lean on you so heavily. That’s the only way we’re going to stay standing.”
“All right.”
We stayed silent for a long time, just holding each other. Finally, Jonathan cleared his throat.
“So,” he said. “Tell me what our wedding’s going to be like.”
I smiled. “I’d like it to be in the spring,” I said. “I haven’t really thought of everything, but that’s one thing I’d want.”
“That’s not very far away,” Jonathan said. “Might be tough to get everything organized by then.”
“I’m sure Amelia can handle it,” I said, smiling a little wickedly.
Chapter Twenty Six
I met Jane for a day out in the city not too long after she urged me to do so. We started out with coffees while we developed a plan of attack. Jane was all for blowing some of the Wharton fortune while shopping, but there was only one thing that I really needed at the moment.
“So, I have a kind of awkward question,” I said, toying with my cup of coffee as Jane tapped at her phone.
“Ooh, I love awkward questions,” she gushed, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Anything. Give me the absolute worst. No judgment.”
“Well, I need a wedding dress,” I began, but Jane interrupted me with a shriek.
“Yes, yes, and yes!” she squealed, clapping her hands with delight and catching the attention of several other patrons of the coffee shop.
“Do you know what you’re agreeing to?” I asked cautiously, wishing I could disappear. How was I going to go through with a wedding when hundreds of eyes were on me if I couldn’t handle the attention of a few people?
“Of course I know what I’m agreeing to,” Jane scoffed. “We’re going dress shopping!”
“Is there a time you’re free?” I asked.
“Um, we should go right now,” Jane said, shoving her phone in her purse and standing up abruptly.
“Right now?” I asked, feeling a little faint. “Are you sure? We can wait, you know, if you have anything else to do.”
“There’s nothing I want more right now than to help you find your wedding dress,” Jane promised. “We just have to start trying dresses on. Maybe we won’t even get one today. Christ, I had one girlfriend who took an entire three months trying to find the right dress. She’s lucky she didn’t walk down the aisle buck naked!”
I tried to laugh, but I realized that my mouth had gone dry. The lukewarm coffee was hardly a remedy. Why was I so nervous all of a sudden?
Even as I asked myself the question and followed Jane to the car, I knew the reason. Shopping for wedding dresses was something that mothers and daughters shared. When Jane stopped hopping from man to man and settled down, I imagined that she and Amelia would go out shopping together, looking for the perfect gown for the occasion.
Amelia would never do that for me, and I didn’t want her to. We still weren’t on the best of terms after Jonathan had almost fallen out with her. I didn’t think she liked feeling beholden to me. After all, I had saved her relationship with her only son. She could show a little bit of gratitude, but I was pretty sure such human emotions were out of her grasp.
I would’ve given anything for my mother to be there instead of Jane, getting into a car with me to drive around to all the boutiques, helping me find just the right dress for my wedding to Jonathan. But those two worlds would never exist together. I couldn’t have Jonathan without losing my parents, and I couldn’t have my parents without ever having the opportunity to meet Jonathan. Besides, I couldn’t change the past. Even if I’d rather be spending my present with my parents than Jonathan, there was nothing I could do.
And it wasn’t true, of course. I wouldn’t give up Jonathan for anything.
“Is there anywhere you want to hit?” Jane asked, her eyes shining in excitement. The girl loved to shop, and she was rabidly competitive at it, too.
“I’m not really familiar with any of the wedding boutiques,” I said. “And are you sure we shouldn’t just call ahead? I thought you needed to make an appointment to try on dresses.”
“They’ll make room for us,” Jane said, waving her hand dismissively. “Wharton perks, Michelle. Get used to them. You’re going to be my sister.”
When she said this, she squealed again and squeezed me. I wished I could be as chipper as she was. It was my wedding, after all, and my hunt for the best dress. But I couldn’t help but feel that there were several big parts of me missing from this equation.
“Maybe I’ll call Jonathan,” I said. “He could meet us at one of the boutiques for his lunch. It would be nice to have him there.”
“No, definitely not,” Jane said, aghast. “The groom can’t see the bride in her wedding gown until she’s sashaying d
own the aisle toward him. It’s terrible luck.”
“If you say so,” I said dubiously. “I don’t know where to go. Just pick your favorite place.”
“I know one that serves champagne,” Jane said, lifting her eyebrows in a mischievous gesture that I had seen Jonathan do. “The girls and I used to go there just to get a little midday buzz and paw at the dresses. It was terrible, but so worth it. Oh, high school.”
I shook my head, grinning. “You are a troublemaker.”
“You have no idea,” Jane said, full of sass as she tossed her blowout over her shoulder. The long, dark tresses were effortlessly stylish. I’d spent a solid thirty minutes just trying to get my twist to stay twisted and secured against my head.
The first boutique was so nondescript from the outside that I wouldn’t have pegged it for anything worthwhile. But inside, the décor was chic and the gowns were plentiful.
“We don’t have an appointment, but we’d like to try on some dresses today,” Jane told the attendant. “I’m Jane Wharton and this is Michelle Smith, future wife of Jonathan Wharton.”
“Right away,” the attendant said quickly, her eyes widening at the recognizable “Wharton.” “Can I get you something to drink? Some champagne, perhaps?”
“I think some champagne would be in order,” Jane said, winking at me.
We perched on the edge of a couch with our glasses of bubbly as the attendant grabbed a tablet computer.
“What kind of styles are you looking for, Ms. Wharton—ah, Ms. Smith?” the attendant asked, so nervous that her hands trembled over the touch screen.
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” I admitted. “This is the first place we came.”
“Really?” the attendant squeaked. “Would you go on the record with that?”
“No press,” Jane snapped. “Just bring us a few different styles for her to try on—oh, and keep these glasses full.”
“Yes, Ms. Wharton,” the attendant said, nodding and hurrying away.
“If we decide on a style, that’ll help narrow down the search,” Jane said brightly, downing half her glass of champagne in a single draught. “Any thoughts?”