Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“That’s not what I said.” She reached over and placed a firm hand on my arm. “She’s rough around the edges, but so are you. You’re suitable for each other. That should be all that matters. But she’s young, and young women are fragile. You have no trouble brushing aside cruel remarks because none of this matters to you. Charlotte will have to struggle to belong in your way of life, and those things will matter to her.”
“Your way of life,” I argued. “Not mine.”
“Yes, even yours. I know you think of yourself as a man of the people. Most of your close friends are new money. But even the new money live differently than she ever has.” Mom sighed. “Darling, I’m not suggesting you rid yourself of her. She clearly makes you happy. But can she be happy with you?”
“I can make her happy.” Wow, that statement sounded a bit desperate and creepy. “What I mean is, I’ll defend her. I’m not going to throw her to the wolves and blame her for getting bitten. I’m not Dad.”
Mom’s face fell, and I knew I’d fucked up. The hurt in her expression ricocheted back to me. I cursed under my breath. “I’m sorry. That was a messed-up thing to say.”
“It was the truth.” She shrugged off the pain as if I could possibly believe that she was fine with what I’d said. “You’re right. Your father did let a lot of people get away with disrespecting me.”
“And look at you now. A whole weekend of people fawning over you. The same families that rejected you back when you and Dad were first married are dying to be seen with you. It’s possible.” I wanted it to be possible. I needed it to be possible, because I needed Charlotte.
At the same time, did I truly need my mother’s social circle to give a damn about Charlotte? Couldn’t we be happy together, without worrying about either of them?
That aspect of my life had always felt like a prison. One that everyone constantly told me they would love to be locked up in. I had everything, and I was ungrateful for it. I would never know how the real world worked.
I’d heard all of that for as long as I’d known how to express my feelings. No one, not even my mother, had ever understood that I was aware of my extreme good fortune. I didn’t bemoan being able to indulge my every whim and never think about how much was in my bank account because it would always, no matter what I wanted, be enough.
That wasn’t the part of my life that I detested. It was the lack of connection, the constant fear that someone only liked me for my name and the zeroes that came attached. It was the way generational wealth destroyed a person’s ability to understand a world beyond ballrooms and boardrooms, to not view other people as a means to an end.
I didn’t hate my wealth because I thought there was some nobility in being poor; there wasn’t any nobility in being rich either. The thing I hated was being born into a world where money was expected to buy happiness, and if it couldn’t, that was a you problem.
“I’m saying these things because I know how much you care about her,” Mom said gently. “And I don’t think you’re truly aware of all the ways she could get hurt. If you’re not happy in your life, how is she supposed to be happy in it?”
I didn’t have an answer.
“Let’s not keep her waiting,” Mom said, effectively closing the conversation. “Just think about what I’ve said. Not that I’ve ever been able to dissuade you from anything.”
I rose and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Happy birthday, Mom.”
“Thank you, dear.” She caught my hand and squeezed it. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The walk back to the foyer was interminable. I wanted to race to Charlotte, snatch her up in my arms, and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe, until I could believe that the conversation with my mother hadn’t bothered me. Instead, when I saw Charlotte, I gestured at the doors and said, “Ready?”
“Yup.” She shot to her feet and practically raced me outside.
“You’re eager to leave. Did you finally see the ghost?” I teased. Being near her loosened the iron bands that had clamped around my chest. Somehow, sitting in that conservatory, I’d felt like I’d lost her.
She didn’t laugh or admonish me for making another joke about it. She dropped into her seat and put on her belt in silence.
“Everything okay?” I asked as I hit the ignition switch.
She nodded and gave me a smile that might have convinced someone else. “A little tired. Ready to get back to New York.”
I pulled away from the house, my feeling of unease deepening. I blurted, “My mom likes you a lot.”