FIFTY ARABELLA

FIFTY

Arabella

THE CRACK of her palm across my cheek is loud in the hushed silence of the room, the move so unexpected, all I can do is stand there in stunned silence, clutching the cheek my mother just slapped, my skin hot and throbbing from the force of her hand.

“You—hit me,” I whisper.

“You are a vulgar and rude young lady.” She tilts her head up, staring down her nose at me. “How dare you speak to me that way?”

“I’m speaking the truth!”

“You know nothing.”

“I saw you. When you sent me away to take photos of the Eiffel Tower. He kissed you! And it wasn’t the way two friends kiss when they’re saying goodbye either. There were—tongues involved.”

A full body shiver moves through me because gross.

She gasps, resting her hand against her chest. “You can’t speak to me like this.”

“What? Speak the truth? Do you have a problem with that?” I can feel the tears forming in the corner of my eyes and I wish I wouldn’t cry over everything but I do. I cry when I’m sad or happy and also when I’m angry. “Does Father know about your affair with Maurice? How long have the two of you been together anyway?”

My mother crumples right in front of me. Falling to the couch and covering her face with her hands, her slender shoulders gently shaking. I worry for a moment that I upset her too much but then I remember that she hit me, and I let my anger fuel my reaction. I don’t feel bad for her.

She did this to herself.

“Of course, your father doesn’t know. How can I tell him? I don’t even know if he’d care if he found out. He’s so wrapped up in his work. It consumes him and leaves me with … nothing.”

Crossing my arms, I stand in front of her, needing more details. “Go on.”

“I met Maurice earlier this year. When I came to Paris for Fashion Week. He charmed me completely and the next thing I knew, we were at a bar and he bought me a drink. And then another—and then another one after that. He let me talk all night and he listened. I’d never felt so seen. The next day I went to the store where he works and he personally showed me all of the pieces they had. I foolishly spent over one hundred thousand euros on a pile of jewelry I didn’t even particularly want. Not that your father cared. He said I deserved it—which I do, for putting up with him. Maurice stayed in constant contact with me and our conversations became more … intimate. The next thing I knew, I was looking for any excuse to come to Paris.”

Closing my eyes, I take a deep, fortifying breath before I open them and speak. “Like finding your daughter an apprenticeship at his place of business? That would certainly give you all the excuses for coming here.”

She drops her hands from her face, glaring at me. Her cheeks are dry and her eyes are clear so the crying moment was clearly a false production. “I did that for you , Arabella. You really did enjoy making jewelry—”

“When I was thirteen!” I practically screech, throwing my hands up in the air. “I didn’t care much about it once I got into high school. It was just a hobby, Mother. A stage I went through—lots of girls my age went through that sort of thing. I never wanted it to be my life’s work.”

Mother stares at me, her lips working, and I can tell she’s trying to come up with the right thing to say but failing miserably. “You loved it,” is all she can manage.

“Maybe in another life I did, but this isn’t me. This isn’t what I want.” I look around the gorgeous suite, but all I can see is how boring everything looks. Sterile. This isn’t a lived-in space. It’s perfectly put together and chic but I don’t like it. It’s cold, just like anywhere my parents choose to live.

I don’t want this life anymore. I never really did.

She remains quiet, her head bent, her phone sitting next to her on the couch lighting up with a notification. She picks it up and types a response, and something tells me that text is from Maurice.

“Why don’t you just tell Father you don’t want to be with him anymore? Then you can be with Maurice,” I suggest, which only makes her laugh.

“You silly, foolish child. You make it sound so simple.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “It most certainly is not. To leave your father would be to leave the status that comes with being married to him. The status and the immense wealth.”

“Wouldn’t he take care of you?”

“He would, but it wouldn’t be the same.” She shakes her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m not a child.”

“And yet, you are.” She rises to her feet, standing directly in front of me. “I’m sorry that I slapped you. What I did—is unforgiveable.”

She’s right. I don’t know if I can ever forgive her for what she did.

“But when you said that to me, using such—ugly words. I was shocked.” She shakes her head. “Perhaps that’s all you see Maurice and me as, but we are more than that. He is in love with me, and I’m in love with him.”

I wrinkle my nose. I hate hearing that. Even though I’m not close to him, this is all incredibly unfair to my father.

“But again, you wouldn’t understand what I’m trying to tell you. When a person is so in love with another, they are desperate to see them. In any way they can.”

If she only knew about Rowan, she’d know I definitely understand. “I don’t want to do this apprenticeship.” She parts her lips to speak but I keep on talking. “I’m not going to be the excuse for you to keep coming to Paris. That’s the only reason you set this up. You didn’t do it for me. You did it for yourself.”

“That’s not true,” she whispers but I shake my head, cutting her off again.

“What’s worse is, you don’t even see it.” I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I’m booking the next flight out of here.”

“Where will you go? It’s winter break! Spend part of it here with me. I’ll take you shopping.” Her smile is small. “Somehow convince you that you might want to stay here after all.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I agreed to this because deep down, all I ever wanted was to earn your approval. At the very least, gain your attention. You’ve been oblivious to everything I’ve done for years. I finally saw this chance as a way to make you proud of me. To make you want to spend time with me and see me. Your daughter. Your only child.”

The tears fall from my eyes and she tries to wrap her arms around me but I dodge out of her way. “You don’t care about me. You never really have.”

“That’s unfair, Arabella. I do care. So very much.”

Her words mean nothing. Her actions are everything.

“It’s sad, how you think this is your way of showing me love. When really, you’re so focused on what you can gain out of what you’ve supposedly done for me.” I stand up taller, feeling stronger than I think I ever have before. “I’m going home as soon as possible. You can tell Maurice I turned down his apprenticeship. I’m not going to be the excuse you’re looking for to continually sneak around with this man.”

Mother’s face turns about twenty shades of red, she’s so angry. “You little fool. What do you think you’re ever going to amount to? I give you an opportunity others would kill for and you’d rather be lazy and spend your father’s money.”

“You should understand. That’s exactly what you do.” My voice is eerily calm, as is my demeanor. I refuse to let her hurt me. I’ve given her that power for the last eighteen years. I’m done.

Another gasp escapes her, and I see the way her hand rises up and she catches herself. What, like she was going to try and slap me again? “Little bitch. I should lock you away in this room and not let you out for a couple of days. Tell everyone you’re sick. It’s what you deserve.”

“You try that and I’ll call my father right now and tell him everything.” I hold my hand up, showing her my phone that’s clutched between my fingers. “That would ruin your little plan, wouldn’t it?”

“Go ahead. Call him. You’re not brave enough to tell him.” She flicks her chin at me.

“Want to bet?” I speed dial my father’s number and hold my phone to my ear, waiting for it to connect. Mother marches right up to me, snatching the phone out of my hand and hitting the red button to end the call. “Hey!”

“You’re not leaving, and your father isn’t going to bail you out, either. You need to stay, Arabella. This is a good opportunity for you.” She reluctantly gives me my phone and I pocket it before she can take it again.

“More like a good opportunity for you .” I stress the last word, though it’s not like she’s going to see how selfish she’s being. She never does.

Mother smiles, her eyes sparkling and all I can do is stare. I’m baffled by how easily she turns it on, like a light switch. “Come on. If you don’t take the apprenticeship, then at least stay here with me for a few days. It could be fun! Don’t you want to shop? Paris is beautiful during the holiday season.”

“We don’t need to pretend we have this wonderful, close relationship, Mother. There’s no point. I don’t want to go shopping at Dior and Chanel. It means nothing to me—you can’t buy my love no matter how hard you try. None of this means anything to you either. Just let me go home.”

“To Lancaster Prep?” She raises her brows. “No one will be there waiting for you.”

Ouch. It’s as if she knows how miserable I was, spending holidays on campus when no one was really around, but she flat out doesn’t care.

“No. To my—friend’s house.” I stand up taller. “My boyfriend’s house.”

“What? You have a boyfriend?”

I nod, for the first time since she slapped me, feeling good again. Feeling positive. “Yes. I do. I told you about him.”

The skeptical look on her face tells me she thinks I’m full of it. “Oh really? What’s his name?”

“Rowan Lancaster.”

She scoffs. “A Lancaster, darling? I’m sure he’s just using you.” Her automatic assumption hurts, but I refuse to show it. “You don’t even know him.”

“For all I know, you don’t either. And you’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here.” Her smile is triumphant. “With me.”