When I lost her two years ago, I thought I was alone in this world. Then Marguerite showed up out of the blue asking me to come home. The whole thing was crazy. Heck, it still feels crazy because this isn't my home. No matter how many times Marguerite says it is, I still feel like I don’t belong.
It doesn't help that my father isn't happy about the fact that his mother went and found me. I could see why since I’m only twenty-two and he’s been married for thirty years with two sons. Both are older than me. I had been his dirty little secret for so long, and now he has to face me every single day. Believe me, welcome is the last thing he makes me feel.
All of this has made for some very strange and brief encounters. Marguerite doesn't seem to care that she makes her son squirm. The whole family dynamic is strange, and I’m still trying to understand it. So for now I try to mind my own business and stay out of everyone’s way.
“We’re going to have a wonderful time tonight. I can’t wait to show my granddaughter off.” I duck my head. I always feel a little shy when she fawns over me. “Maybe someone will catch your eye.” I bark out a very unladylike laugh that only makes my grandmother laugh with me.
“What’s that look?” I ask, getting better at reading her. She’s up to something. She has tried to introduce me to a few men. I swear she is trying to get me married off. But all these men are from a different world than me. My grandmother can say they aren't as much as she wants, but I feel it. I worked at a daycare up until she plucked me from my small town. I’m just a normal girl inside. I don’t fit in with these wealthy people.
“What?” She glances away from me.
“I know you’re up to something.” I let out another laugh knowing she is definitely planning something. It’s funny how in the short time I’ve known my grandmother how close we have become. I can even read her moods I think better than anyone. I wonder if it’s because we’re related, or this is just some kind of kindred spirit thing? I feel such a strong connection to her.
“I do want you to know your father will be there tonight.” I try and hide my cringe. This is after all her son. I don’t care much for her calling him my father, but I’m not going to correct her on it.
“Does he know I’m going?” I lift an eyebrow.
“Doesn't matter. You’re an Abbott.” I bite the inside of my cheek. As close as my grandmother and I have become, the truth of the matter is I’m a Rhodes.
Though I do feel a little bit like Cinderella tonight.
Chapter Three
Gant
“Can’t believe they roped you into this, Gant.”
I take another gulp of the champagne and trade the empty flute for a full one from a passing waiter. “You ever tell your mother no, Petersburg?”
“I’m still standing here in one piece, aren’t I?” he replies, fiddling with his bow tie. I knock his hands aside and straighten it.
That’s a no then. We’re all dressed in variations of the same black suit and tie. Some have satin lapels, some are without, but there’s little to distinguish one from another. “Do you know why all the men wear tuxes at a wedding?” I ask Petersburg.
“Because your mom has said that’s what we should wear?”
“Because if the groom is unable to fulfill his duty, the next guy in line is already suited up and ready to go.”
“That sounds like something your mom would say.” He tugs at his collar. “When my sister got fitted at your mom’s shop, I swear your mom was measuring my worth.”
“It was likely the size of your wallet. You’re still alive so she must’ve thought you were valuable enough to keep.”
Petersburg snorts. “Thanks, I guess. I suppose you’re taking Ben’s place. That poor man. He’s suffered a lot.”
Ben’s traumatic auction experiences must’ve made the rounds. Curious as to whether this was true for others, I ask, “What about you?”
“I pay my sister to bid for me.”
“What?” Why had that plan not occurred to me?
“Yeah. We’ve worked out a deal. She bids on me every auction, and I cover for her when my mom nags her about starting a family.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels as if he doesn’t have a care in the world—which is accurate. Unlike me, who is about to be thrown to the wolves, Petersburg can walk the runway without a care in the world while I’ll be sweating it out under my shirt.
“Damn. This is the real 4D chess.”