by J. J. McAvoy
“It is hardly nothing to be married to a prince. We may not hold much actual power, but we carry a lot of influence, not only here but throughout Europe, too.”
I wanted to ask him if he thought influence and gossip were the same things. If he did, he was correct. Everyone loved to gossip about royals, and the British always took the brunt of it throughout the world. But within Europe, we were the second most gossiped about. Who has what? Who gave more? Who was seen where? And the worst, who was dating who? Eliza refused to leave the country for a year because she took one photo with the prince of Denmark, and all of a sudden, parliament and the whole nation were in an uproar over her. All of that scrutiny, all of that judgment, and for what? The only people who willingly joined this circus were women either hell-bent on joining aristocracy or people with no choice.
Neither option was what I wanted in a wife.
Chapter 2
“Mom, I’m begging you, please, please, do not make a scene.” At this point, I was ready to get down on my knees and plead with her. But since we were still in the car, all I could do was hold out my hands in front me as if I were praying. Actually, that is a good idea. I closed my eyes. “Heavenly Father, as we—”
“Oh, will you relax!” she called out, smacking my hands. “Don’t waste God’s time on this. I have it handled.”
“That is exactly what I am worried about, Mom!”
Instead of paying attention to me, however, she leaned forward and looked into the mirror that she had rigged up on the back of the passenger seat, brushing her tiny curls.
“I really like this hairdo, and they said I couldn’t pull off a blonde pixie cut at my age,” she gushed.
I rolled my eyes. “Can we please focus, Mom?”
“Right, let’s go—”
“Wait!” I stopped her before she could take her Christian Dior clutch and get out of the car. “You didn’t tell me what you and the lawyer discussed. What’s the plan?”
She paused and looked back, her amber eyes finally on me. “The plan is to trust your mother.” She smiled, putting on her sunglasses.
“Mom—”
“Let’s go. We’re late,” she declared, opening the door.
Sighing, I looked up at the ceiling and finished my prayer before getting out myself, the air unseasonably frigid, even though the sun was so bright I squinted.
“Told you to wear the glasses, but no,” my mother called from the other side of the car.
Ignoring her, I walked around, staring at the needle-shaped glass skyrise in front of us.
“Thank you for waiting, Oliver. We will call when we’re ready,” she said to our driver, whom we didn’t really need, but she insisted on hiring anyway.
The old man just nodded to us both before going back to move the car off the street. Like always, my mother walked unnecessarily slowly with her head up and with a slight sway, turning the sidewalk into her own personal runway. I just followed her inside because there was nothing I could say. She’d been walking that way since before I was born, and she’d walk that way until she died, according to her.
I’d gotten used to it, along with the stares. It was my normal. However, she didn’t help at all with the Cruella Deville-inspired outfit she had on. She basked in all the attention as always.
“Hello. Welcome to the law office of Greensboro and Brown. How may I help you?” a woman said from behind the counter.
“Yes, Wilhelmina Wyntor-Smith for Mr.—”
“If it isn’t my favorite beauty queen,” said Mr. Greensboro, a middle-aged man with brown skin and green eyes. He had a voice that sounded like the soundtrack to A Christmas Carol, and he came forward with a whole army of younger lawyers behind him.
“Charles, darling, how did you know we were here?” My mother’s fake polite white-lady Southern accent surfaced as she held out her arms to hug the man.
It drove me insane because she wasn’t from the South. Whenever she was overly polite, she sounded like she was auditioning for a role in Steel Magnolias.
“I was coming to wait, of course. Our star client should not be left alone in the lobby for even a second.” The amount of kissing up he did for a star was both impressive and very, very sad, but then again, with the amount of money on the line, who wouldn’t become a lap dog?
“You’re always so kind. You remember my daughter, Odette.” My mother stepped back so they could see me.
“How could I forget? You are a beautiful young lady. You take after your mother so much that you could be twins.”
I hated it when people said that. “Thank you, Mr. Greensboro. I wish we were meeting again under better circumstance, of course,” I replied, outstretching my hand to greet him.
He took my hand and held on, petting it as if I were an injured child. “Don’t worry for a second. We won’t let them get away with what they’re trying to do. I have all my best lawyers on it.”
“Are you referring to the tagalongs you have here?” my mother asked, eyeing everyone behind him. She went over each one before frowning and looking back at him. “I am not impressed. I hope this is the B team.”
“Mom, why don’t we go upstairs first and then talk,” I injected quickly before she tore them down and left them weeping in some nearby supply closet, wondering why the hell they went to law school.
“I see you are up to your theatrics, as usual, Wilhelmina.”
Oh, God, no! Why?
“You haven’t seen theatrics yet, Yvonne,” my mother said as I turned around to the blonde-haired, big-boobed, blue-eyed Barbie who was my stepmother, Yvonne Wyntor, dressed in an all-purple power suit. Behind her stood her own team of lawyers.
“I think you’ve seen too many performances. You’re supposed to watch the play, Wilhelmina, not steal the costumes.”
“Says the seventy-year-old woman dressed as Barney.”
“I am not seventy, you—”
“Okay! Okay!”
I turned to see my half sister, Augusta, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing her mother just as I grabbed mine. We both gave each other a quick look of understanding before focusing back on her parent. You would have thought they’d be over it by now. But no. For some reason, they just couldn’t leave the past in the past. It was ridiculous how we were often left to play referee between them. And even more so how people always just watched. I could see the small circle gathering and the phones already in hand, ready to be lifted. Apparently, rich women fighting was all the rage now on social media—it trended as fast as the Kardashians.
“I’m fine, sweetheart. No need to hold on to me,” my mother muttered and gave me that look, the mother look. After almost twenty-seven years, you’d think the power would have worn off.
“We forgot something. You all go up first,” Augusta said, forcing a smile.
“Good idea,” I said to her and linked arms with my mother, then without letting go, we turned from them. I nearly dragged my mom from the lobby to the elevator.
Mr. Greensboro let us inside first, but only he followed. The lawyers my mother was not impressed by seemed to vanish with a snap of his fingers.
“Mom, remember the conversation we had in the car?” I whispered to her.
“She started it,” she replied as if she were six.
“Mom.”
“She didn’t have to be here, Odette. She came to fight, so by all means, let’s fight. I’m not scared of her.”
“Aren’t you two tired of arguing? Dad isn’t even alive anymore. Let it go.” For the love of God, please let it go!
“Odette.” She looked over at me seriously. “I’m not the one holding on and fighting for myself. She is making us do this. All of this could have ended peacefully. But she had to come up with some fake excuse to keep you from your inheritance. Your father specifically left it to you. And she can’t stand that. She wants us to beg her for the rest of our lives. I’m fighting for you.”
I was sure she really believed that.
“We’re here,” Mr. Gre
ensboro said as the elevator doors opened nearly at the top of the building.
My mom adjusted her coat, lifted her chin, and walked out with pride. I had only taken a few steps before I felt my phone vibrate.
Meet me in the bathroom. —Augusta.
“Excuse me. Where is the restroom?” I asked Mr. Greensboro before he could show us to the conference area.
“It’s at the end of the hall. I can have Mary show—”
“I can manage, thank you,” I said quickly. I didn’t need a chaperone.
“We’ll be in the conference room,” my mother said to me.
Nodding, I walked down the hardwood floors, and I couldn’t help but notice how stressed a lot of the employees were, hunched over their desks typing, reading, calling, or doing all of the above. They looked miserable, and I respected that. I didn’t know what it must have been like to work at a job that you hated...then again, maybe they loved it. But I could never do it. I was too exhausted to try to mediate fights between my mother and everyone else to ever consider doing that for anyone else.
Entering the bathroom, I walked into one of the stalls before texting back.
I’m in here. Hurry.
Leaning back against the walls, I wished I was anywhere but here...actually, not anywhere. I wished I were at my studio. There was this melody stuck in my head, and I just wanted to play.
“I heard they almost got into a fight in the lobby,” a female voice said, entering the bathroom.
Oh, this was going to be great. Let’s hear what the gossip nymphs are saying today.
“I heard that during the divorce, there was a fight,” another one said.
False, there was no fight. My mom threw papers, but there wasn’t an actual fight.
“What?” the first woman gasped. “What’s the story behind these two?”
Here we go.
“You don’t know?”
“No!”
Why do you sound so shocked? I’m sure you’re dying to gossip and tell her everything. I made a face at the door. Part of me wanted to go out there.
“Oh, right. You’re from the east coast. But you still know about Marvin Wyntor.”
Who doesn’t know of my father?
“Of course, the black Internet entrepreneur who created Etheus, the only real rival to Google?”
Etheus is better... I’m biased, but still.
“Exactly. Marvin Wyntor was a giant of the Silicon Valley. And Etheus always made sure to have the most diverse teams. They said he wanted the best minds from around the world. People loved him, especially black people. But then he married Yvonne Ford. He got a lot of flak for marrying a white woman, especially during those times. I think it eventually got to him. He cheated on her with Wilhelmina Smith.”
Again false. They didn’t cheat. My dad and Yvonne were already separated by then.
“She was a beauty queen, right?”
“One of the first women of African-American descent to receive both the Miss America and Miss USA titles.”
She was the first, actually. They are two separate pageants.
“Wow, she is still gorgeous. She’s a model too, right?”
I’m sure she will be thrilled to know you think she’s pretty after gossiping about her.
“Right, but not pretty enough apparently. Marvin left her to go back to Yvonne.”
So, because my parents divorced, my mom isn’t pretty enough? Have you seen my mother?
“So, that’s where the bad blood came from.”
No, they were born with it. I could feel my whole face cringe at them.
“Yep, and now that he’s dead, they’re fighting over his fortune.”
How long are bathroom breaks here?
“I thought they both signed prenups?”
They did because, apparently, my father knew them both well.
“Yep, but he has two surviving daughters. Augusta—that’s Yvonne’s daughter. And Odette, who’s Wilhelmina’s.”
“So, both daughters get his money.”
Yes, we do.
“Yep, and get this, Yvonne’s daughter is four years younger. Can you imagine being his first wife but getting the second child.”
What difference does it make? A child is a child.
“Do you think he cheated on both of them with each other?”
“Absolutely. I’m sure there are more kids out there, too, somewhere. Rich guys are all like that.”
I would love to get a look at your families. What are your fathers like?
“Wow, men are trash.”
My father wasn’t trash. They never knew him and probably never even heard him speak but felt so free to judge him.
“Right, but he was worth almost fifty billion dollars. I’m sure that’s how he made up for everything. All he had to do was say, “Honey, I’m so sorry. Here’s a diamond ring.’”
“Our dad apologized with real estate, not jewelry. Diamond rings are millionaire-level shit.” I knew that voice. “Odette, are you hiding?”
I stepped out to see two women hunched over the sink, eyes wide and terrified. “No, I was eavesdropping actually, waiting for the perfect time to strike, but you ruined it. What took you so long?”
“My mom was being difficult! Are you two just going to keep staring or what?” She directed the last part of her comments to the women beside us.
I waited for them to leave before moving to the sink. “We’re the talk of Seattle all over again.”
“We always have been. They love us. We’re like modern-day princesses,” she said, stepping up beside me, twirling her light-brown hair with her finger.
We were sisters, but that half really made a difference. While my skin was a warmer brown, hers was a light-brown, almost white. It was the same with our hair color—both were curly, though she straightened hers, and mine was dark brown and curly. Her eyes were like her mother’s, and mine were brown. She was petite while I was tall.
“Different, beautiful, opposite, perfect—”
“No better or worse than each other,” she finished and looked to me. “Dad always said he wasn’t good with words, but he sure knew exactly what to do to make us both feel good about ourselves.”
“Yep.” I sighed. “He never wanted us to be jealous of each other.”
“Never worked,” she admitted. “I mean, it could have if someone didn’t have to go and become some famous singer, too. Now I’m just the beautiful, amazing, smart, and fashionable girl living off Daddy’s money. Meanwhile, you have your whole career.”
I rolled my eyes. “You know, if you want to make me feel bad, don’t throw in so many compliments for yourself.”
She winked before spinning her whole body to me. “I don’t want to make you feel bad. I’m just kidding—well, a little. How is the music coming along?”
“It would be a lot easier if our mothers weren’t at war.”
She sighed dramatically. “I know! When will they let it go?”
“Apparently, they plan to take this right to the grave.”
She laughed. “Can you imagine Dad having to sit there for the rest of eternity with both our moms on either side?”
I thought about it and broke out laughing with her. “Oh God, I can see him just sitting there with his hands on his face, begging for mercy.”
“With our moms just yelling into his ears,” she added, bending over with laughter. “He’d be so miserable.”
“Actually,” I managed to say as I wiped the corner of my eye. “I think deep down, some part of him would have enjoyed it in a way.”
“He wasn’t that twisted.”
“And yet, he somehow fell for both of our mothers?”
She thought about it. “Okay, maybe he was a little twisted. But you know what they say—there is a thin line between genius and madness.”
“I miss him.” I couldn’t believe it had been a year already.
“Me, too. He’d be pissed if he knew what was happening now. He never wanted us to fight with each o
ther.”
“We aren’t fighting. Our moms are.”
“On our behalf,” she said. “I’ve been trying to stop her, but she just doesn’t listen. There is more than enough money for all of us.”
“We could threaten to both give it all up.” I smiled, and she stared at me in horror.
“I think you’re twisted, too! I want to be a good person, but not that good.”
“It’s not about being a good person. It’s about ending the drama.”
“Odette.” She hooked onto me. “Nothing ends the drama. Even if we gave it all away, they would still be at each other’s throats. All we have to do is remember we are sisters. We aren’t going to end up like some Lifetime movie.”
“Now that you’ve said it, that might be exactly how we end up.” I snickered, washing my hands.
“Don’t jinx us!”
“Ms. Wyntor.”
“Yes?” Both Augusta and I turned to look at the bathroom door as a woman rushed in.
“Umm...your mothers.”
Augusta and I shared a look before running out of the bathroom. We’d only gotten a few feet before we heard them loud and clear.
“You would think you’d have a little bit of shame! But you still call yourself Mrs. Wyntor!”
“Shame? What can I do with shame? Can I eat it? Can I wear it? Does it keep me warm at night? No. Then why the hell do I need it?” my mother yelled. “But since we are on the subject of shame, how much Botox do you plan to use in that face. Sweetie, let go and let gravity!”
“You insufferable, uneducated—”
“Mom, let’s go!” Augusta grabbed her.
“I’m insufferable? You’re a gold-digging—”
“Mom!” I rushed into the conference room, squeezing myself through to get to her side and calm her down.
“You know what Marvin did before he died?” Yvonne called from almost halfway out the door. “He apologized for ever marrying you! He said it was the biggest mistake of his life!”
My mother went quiet and suddenly became still.
Oh, shit. The only thing worse than my mom when she was arguing was my mom when she went calm.