“Yes, sir.”
Jesus. Wife Number Five was bad. But Wife Number Six is even worse.
Grandpa’s paintings deserve respect, not this…shit. My gaze lingers on a landscape of Tuscany—the sky dark, wind and rain and lightning churning the sea and raging through the field. Yet somehow there is a hint of light in the work, a sense of a better day to come once the storm passes over.
It’s one of my favorite pieces, a reminder of the happy summers I spent with my grandfather. I wanted to buy it, but Dad refused to sell once he realized how much it meant to me.
Fucker.
So instead, I got an olive tree that looks just like the one in the painting tattooed across my left shoulder and back. It reminds me that I can succeed so long as I work hard. That was my grandfather’s constant refrain, and if it hadn’t been for his encouragement, I might’ve never even attempted acting.
The housekeeper comes out and leads Paige to a sitting room. “Strictly a family matter,” Jarvis says in a stage whisper.
I almost roll my eyes at Dad’s ridiculous attempt to separate the “small” people from the family. As my assistant, Paige knows everything there is to know about the family situation. She takes a chair by the door and pulls out her phone, while I go farther in.
Jarvis takes me to the second floor and opens the fifth door to the right. It’s an office, newly done, every wall covered with shelves brimming with brand new leather-bound tomes. I see Shakespeare, Milton, Ibsen and Proust. Dad won’t read any of them—and probably neither will Wife Number Six. He doesn’t marry them for intellectual curiosity.
Dad isn’t in the room, but Blake and Elizabeth are. Blake looks a lot like me—the dark hair, the famous Pryce profile—but hard-edged, with an expression that says he’ll fuck you up just because. He’s dressed in black, including the denim pants. I can’t remember a time when my older brother didn’t look forbidding.
He gives me a nod.
Elizabeth is softer, and she has a gentle smile that puts people at ease. But then she works tirelessly to feed and educate underprivileged children. She is one of the few women whose inner beauty matches the outer.
And there is a lot of outer. If she weren’t my sister, I might’ve fallen in love with her.
She’s chosen a conservative pink dress for the showdown. Her expression makes me pity her a little. Nerves show in her trembling mouth, and I squeeze her hand before taking a seat in a brown barcalounger.
“Don’t worry, sis. You’re his favorite.”
A small smile pops onto her face, and the muscles in her shoulders relax.
Unlike me and Blake, she has Dad’s coloring, if not his temperament. That made him proud, although it wasn’t enough for him to keep Mom. And she had too much pride to beg him not to break up the family. She lawyered up, retaining the nastiest piece of work she could find, and crushed Dad in court.
“What do you think this is about?” Blake says.
I shrug, trying not to imagine the worst. It’s surprisingly difficult. “Dunno, but maybe he just wants to yell at us for missing his wedding.”
Of course it isn’t our fault he and his bride chose to marry on the same weekend as Mark. But I’m sure that isn’t how he sees it.
The door opens again. I turn, expecting Dad, but it’s my half-brother twins. They really took after their mother’s coloring—dark hair and pale skin that burns easily—but got their pale blue eyes from Dad.
They’re completely identical, like they’ve come off a production line. I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart except for hairstyles. Lucas wears his long, and it falls so that it covers half his left eye and most of the left side of his face. Hidden underneath is a jagged scar that runs from the corner of his eye to an inch below the bottom of his ear. An accident two years ago left him that way, and he’s changed since then—although he denies it.
The twins sit in a love seat…which kind of looks a little creepy. Their presence doesn’t bode well.
Elliot and Lucas are Betsy Ford’s children. Dad’s second wife. She married Dad’s half-brother after the divorce. That didn’t go over well—naturally—and Dad has transferred his hatred of her to the twins. Then there’s the relationship between Mom and Betsy. They hate each other so much that if it wasn’t illegal, they’d probably face off with pistols at dawn.
I know. It’s complicated. But in spite of all that, all five of us kids are close, which infuriates all three of the older generation.
“Why are you here?” Blake tosses the question in the general direction of the twins.
Lucas shrugs. “Dad practically demanded it.”
“Did you guys get invited to the wedding too?” Elizabeth asks.
“Yeah,” Elliot says.
I scowl. “I thought he stopped inviting you to his weddings.” After Betsy married his half-brother. It’s too bad Dad doesn’t have another brother for Mom to marry. Then maybe we would’ve been spared the multiple nuptial bullshit as well.
“His wife wanted it.” Elliot sighs. “No idea why.”
The door opens again, and this time Dad walks in. He’s in black and white, his strides unusually long for a man of such modest height. His mouth is set in a nasty snarl, and he doesn’t even look at us.
A brunette who looks like she’s barely out of high school follows him in a bright magenta dress that comes to mid-thigh. She carries a huge purse, though for what reason, I can’t tell.
Maybe she’s another of those women who can’t spell “asshole” right.
I dismiss her without a second thought. Wife Number Six won’t stay around for long. Within half a year, Dad will get bored. Then she will be crying into crumpled divorce settlement papers, which will leave her with virtually nothing.
Dad spins around once he reaches his desk. His splayed fingertips rest on the smooth wooden surface as he leans forward. “I’ve never been so ashamed!”
Why, nice to see you too, Dad.
“What’s the problem?” Blake says, his voice hard but no less polite for it.
“You! You all not showing up at your own father’s wedding!”
“We”—I make a small circle with my index finger to include Blake and Elizabeth—“had to go to Mark’s wedding.” I should stop at that, but I can’t help myself. “It was his first.”
Wife Number Six gives me an open-mouthed, disbelieving stare. “It was my first too!” She has an usually high voice.
“I would hope so. Child brides are frowned upon,” Blake says.
Elizabeth coughs, and I suck my cheeks in. Elliot stares at the ceiling. Lucas merely smirks.
“I told all my friends all of you were coming.” Wife Number Six’s hand, however, gestures at me.
Ah. Now things are becoming clearer. I give her my most sympathetic smile. “I can send everyone an autographed poster. Just email my assistant their names and addresses.”
“Nowhere near good enough,” Dad says. “I’ve let you run wild for too long.”
Elizabeth’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. She’s probably wondering which part of organizing charity events and feeding the hungry he considers “running wild.”
“Too wild…for too long!” Dad waves a hand. Agitated. “And I want to see all of you repent!”