“Not at first. Ultimately we agreed that I would sit for a life drawing.”
“What’s that?”
He looks away. “It’s when you sit nude for someone.”
“Man.”
“Yeah. They sketched me for a whole week wearing nothing but my rubber boots and hard hat.” His shoulders hang down. “When they kick the bucket, I’m going to have to commit arson so no one sees those drawings.”
“Does my sister know about this?”
“I told her, and she laughed for about two hours straight. Went over to their house to see if she could buy them from the old biddies, but they refused. Instead, they gave her some wedding brooch.”
“Not the Elizabethan one?” I ask in shock.
“Does it have a big green stone surrounded by smaller pink ones?”
I nod. Mom and Caro have that displayed in a special case at their flagship store on Fifth Avenue.
“Then that’s the one.”
“Shit, those are actually your family jewels.” I try not to laugh. I try but it comes out through my nose, and I have to turn away from poor Ben.
“You’re a dick, man,” he whines but without any real anger in his voice. He knows it’s funny, too, but can’t laugh about it because the trauma’s too real. “Anyway, guess I’ll be laughing at your situation in a few weeks.”
That sobers me up. “Nah, I’m going to think of a plan and get out of this. Maybe offer up my inheritance or something.”
“Like your mom is going to allow that.” He slaps my shoulder. “Good luck. I know you’re going to need it.”
Chapter Two
Paislee
I stare in the mirror not recognizing myself. My blonde hair is shinier, and my skin almost glows. My makeup and hair are done so perfectly you’d think I had one of those filters on me that people use when they take pictures.
My fingers trail down the silk of my dress. I’ve never felt anything so soft on my skin before. I’ve been done up from head to toe. I thought the little makeover today was going to be miserable, but to be honest, it left me feeling pretty.
“You look like a princess.” I turn from the mirror to face my grandmother. A woman I didn’t know existed until a month ago when she showed up on my doorstep telling me that she was my family. My same light green eyes stare back at me.
As always, she looks elegant. There is never anything out of place about my grandma. She also looks young enough to be my mother and not my grandma. I hope I inherited some of those good genes.
News of her arrival spread through the small town of Englewood where I grew up like wildfire. It didn’t help that she rolled up in a car that looked like it came from the future. My life had changed in an instant. I’m starting to think she’s a fairy godmother because I do in fact look like a princess. I start to take a step towards her but wobble in my heels which makes her let out a small laugh. I didn’t have good balance to begin with, and with these contraptions on I’m bound to take a tumble.
“Can we see about getting some flats for my Paislee? You can’t even see her feet in the gown. No one will ever know she’s not wearing heels. But I’ll have peace of mind that she won’t hurt herself.” I let out a sigh of relief, stepping out of the heels.
My grandmother's assistant Carol darts off to do as she asked as if my grandmother had a shoe store inside of her home. I wouldn't be shocked if there was. I’ve been living here on her enormous estate for about a month now, and I’m not sure that I’ve even seen every room here.
“I was going to break my neck,” I admit. Her eyes soften on me.
“You look so much like my mother,” Marguerite says, coming over toward me. It’s something she says often. She grabs my hands, giving them a squeeze. She’s always so warm and sweet with me. It makes me miss my mom terribly. At least I’m not alone in the world anymore.
When I answered my door the day she came knocking, she stood there staring at me for a good thirty seconds after I asked what I could do for her. My likeness to her own mother was shocking.
“Thank you. She was a beautiful woman.” I’ve seen pictures of her. They are hung in random places throughout the estate. This whole place is filled with so much family history that I never knew I had. One that some don’t want me to have knowledge of.
I wouldn't have ever known if Marguerite had not tracked me down. She told me that her son had slipped in the fact that he’d fathered a child with a woman in Tennessee. My mom never told me much about my father. Only that he was a man that promised her many things when she was young and living in Memphis. Her dream of being a country singer had inspired her to move there from her small town. She’d only lived there a few years before I came along, and she had to move back home.