High ceilings, adorned with engravings, crystal chandeliers, majestic mahogany double staircases which joined into a massive one on the first floor.
The sound of sharp stilettos on the gray marble floor stopped my assessment of the grandeur of my surroundings.
The woman who appeared from the back of the house was everything I expected my father’s trophy wife to be. I’ve never really seen an episode of the Real Housewives shows but if there was one set in Connecticut that woman would have been the icon.
She was quite a bit taller than me, which wasn’t that hard, considering. She stood at 5’7’’, honey blonde hair falling in perfectly styled waves down her back, perfect flawless make-up which prevented me from giving her a definite age but I would wager she was around her mid-thirties - Quite young for my father really but probably too old to be a first generation trophy-wife. She was wearing a tight red dress stopping just above her knees and an asymmetric neckline which showed quite a lot of her surgically enhanced cleavage.
“Oh William isn’t she beautiful?” She gushed, opening her arms and pulling me into a hug I didn't expect at all.
I pulled away from her as my nose started to itch both due to the peppery perfume and her hair.
She smiled, removing a strand of hair which escaped my ponytail from my face, before squeezing my shoulder. It seemed genuine and almost affectionate, which was quite unexpected from the dolled-up woman in front of me.
“She is,” my father replied – the lack of warmth in his voice so striking compared to hers. “Esmeralda, this is your stepmother Sophia.” he added, pointing at us, not even having the decency to look up from his phone.
“Sophia,” he looked up and once again his eyes lacked any warmth, I'd never really witnessed how married life worked but I hoped that if I ever married, my husband would look at me like I mattered and not like I was the housekeeper. “Show her what she needs to see and make sure you’re down for dinner at 8 as usual.” He looked down at his phone again. “I’ll be in my office, Miller is coming,” he added before walking away without a look back.
“Where’s my stuff?” I called after him, making Sophia wince.
“Later,” he replied sharply, leaving no room for argument.
“I just-” I turned to Sophia, somehow even more unsettled than I was before. She gave me a kind smile, rubbing my arm up and down. “It’s okay honey, let him do his thing, we’ll get your things later.”
Of all the situations playing through my head before we arrived, I didn’t expect to be grateful for this woman and yet here I was.
“Okay so, let me give you a quick rundown of the house, which you will forget but I’ll be here to help and if you’re lost just shout,” she chuckled. “We will get into more details later but the personal shopper will be here soon so we need to move. At the back,” she said, pointing in the general direction my father took at the foot of the staircase, “This way will take you to the back garden where you have a tennis court, the stables and-”
“Stables? We have horses?”
She chuckled again. “Yes dear, eight to be exact. We can go ride later this weekend if you’d like.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know how.”
She patted my shoulder, “I’ll teach you, you’ll see it’s easy.” She sighed. “Anyway, this way will take you outside. If you take a right,” she said, pointing at the corridor right of the stairs, “It will take you to the kitchen, and downstairs to the cinema room and our heated Olympic-size swimming pool.”
I nodded, there was no point gushing at everything now.
“Okay, let’s go upstairs. I can show you your room. I didn't have much time to decorate or make it cozy I’m afraid – your father only told me about you a week ago, plus I think you should make it yours.”
“Thank you.” I replied, and I meant it, it was the attention that counted and as far as I could tell, that woman was genuine.
Once we reached the second-floor landing, she turned to her left and what seemed to be the longest corridor in history, I couldn’t even see the end of it from where I was standing.
“This is where our bedroom is, there are also a couple of guest rooms, the indoor gym and the art studio.”
Indoor gym? Did it imply an outdoor one? “An art studio?” I asked instead. “Are you an artist?”
She grimaced. “I wish, no, I’m passable at best but it does help me relax, and it was already there, you know…” She stopped, looking at me with sad eyes and I understood what she meant by that.
“It was my mother’s,” I concluded for her.
She nodded sheepishly. “Yes… sorry.”
I waved my hand dismissively but somehow grieving this new version of a mother that outlived my birth. It was all new, and I had to accept the new feeling of loss, and the five years of memories I could have had with her.
Sophia changed the subject. “Are you an artist too?”
I snorted. “No, that’s definitely not something I inherited. I can’t draw a straight line.”
“Ah, it’s alright.” She forced a smile, pulling me into a side hug. “We can't have it all, can we?”
I decided at that moment, I kind of liked the trophy-wife.
“Anyway,” she turned around toward a quite identical everlasting corridor. She walked a few steps ahead of me pointing at doors left and right – games room… relaxation room… a small library… rooms I was 99.2% sure I will have forgotten before the day was over.
She stopped in front of a door and pointed at the one just opposite. “This is Archibald’s room. I thought that setting you close to each other would be a good idea and help you bond.” She rubbed her left arm with her right hand. “In retrospect it might not have been the best idea, if you want I can…”
I rested my hand on her shoulder. “It’s perfect, Sophia, thank you.”
She gave me such a grateful smile. I doubted she was shown much kindness from the people sharing this home.
She opened the door of the room and I couldn't help but gasp as I walked in. The room was gigantic! It was probably bigger than the combined living room and kitchen we had in the bungalow.
“It doesn’t have the nicest view,” she continued following me in the room “but you get the sun most of the day and it was also the biggest room available.” She smiled. “I thought you’d enjoy it.”
I did a slow 360 to take in the room. There was a king size bed with a million cream and old rose-pink pillows which matched the bedspread. There was the cream wallpaper with thin old rose lines on against the right wall, with a cream desk by the window, with a matching bookshelf on its right and a chest of drawers on its left. On the other side of the bed there was a beautiful cream French-type dressing table with a matching stool and three panel mirrors. Right across from the bed there was a fireplace with a cream mantel and a giant flat screen TV mounted just above it.
“This is… this is incredible,” I whispered feeling like a princess in one of this Hallmark Christmas movies except for the part of, you know, being sort of kidnapped and blackmailed.
She let out a breath. “Oh, I’m glad! I picked the furniture for you. I've never had a daughter, but I thought…” she shrugged, but I could see the rawness of her statement. She missed not having a child.