Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

AURORA

S everal months earlier

I have my father's eyes.

It was the first thing my mother hated about me.

My mother leaned over and laid her hand on my bare shoulder. I winced as her long red nails dug into my skin. When I was little, I thought they were claws dripping with blood.

"Aren't you going to open your birthday present?" she asked, a pretense of a smile pasted onto her Botoxed features.

My birthday present that was two and a half months late because my mother scheduled a spa retreat on my actual birthday. The only reason why we were even here celebrating it now was because my mother got annoyed that her friends had eaten at this new restaurant, and she hadn't yet.

I pushed my dinner plate aside and reached for the small box. Judging by the size, it wasn't the new metronome I had asked for after my stepfather knocked mine off my piano in a drunken stupor last month. I pulled on the yellow ribbon and picked at the tape on the wrapping paper.

Alfred, my stepfather, let out an exasperated sigh. "Jesus Christ, this is like watching paint dry." He raised his arm and rattled the ice in his glass to get the server's attention.

I slid my hand over to the right and captured a small breadcrumb with my fingertip. I dragged it over to a line of two other crumbs. That was three drinks for Alfred.

My mother tapped her lacquered nails against her martini glass. "I need another one, too."

I slid a grain of sea salt across the white linen tablecloth, marking four for Mother.

I learned at a young age to count.

I opened the box. It was a silver locket. I stared down at the small oval with the image of two intertwined hearts engraved on its smooth surface. Instinctively, my hand went to the locket I wore around my neck. I stroked its familiar warmth, feeling the slight indentation of the engraved treble clef. My father gave it to me the last time I saw him twelve years ago, on my birthday, when I was only six years old. There was no picture inside.

My mother dug inside her purse looking for her compact. Without even glancing up at me, she asked, "Don't you like it?"

I cleared my throat. "It's very pretty, but?—"

She opened her mirror and twisted the cap off her lipstick. "Well, put it on!"

I closed my hand around my treble clef locket. "Mom, I already have a locket."

She slammed the compact shut and hissed, "I told you never to call me that out in public!"

I blushed. I tapped out my favorite piano sonata, Beethoven's No. 14, with my fingertips on the tablecloth, a nervous coping habit. "I'm sorry. Meredith, I already have a locket. The one Dad gave me."

She rubbed the tip of her index finger over her front teeth. "You wear that piece of crap just to spite me."

Apparently, everything I did was just to spite her, including existing.

The server brought their drinks.

My mother's vodka martini sloshed over the lip of the glass as she took a sip. She left behind a crimson crescent of thick, crusty lipstick. I stared at the red stain on the glass. I'd spent half my life scrubbing her lipstick stains off of glasses.

My mother looked up sharply. "Oh, there's Susan. I need to talk to her about the spring fete next week." She rose and smoothed her Chanel tweed skirt over her slim hips before heading across the dining room.

My stepfather and I sat in awkward silence.

The ice rattled again in his glass as he lifted it to his mouth and drained the whiskey and soda in one gulp. He stared at me, or more accurately at my boobs, as he licked his lower lip. "So how does it feel to be eighteen?"

I crossed my arms over my chest as I shrugged.

He leaned back in his chair, twirling the empty glass in his hand. He gave me another assessing look. "You're totally legal now."

Gross.

I was legal two years ago, when I turned sixteen, but thankfully Alfred didn't seem to realize that.

The server returned holding a birthday cake flanked by two other servers.

Oh, God.

I stared at the pink and white confection. They'd spelled my name wrong. I'd like to have said this was the worst birthday ever, but it didn't even make the top ten. Too bad I hadn't been born on February 29th instead of the 28th. Then I would have only had to put up with this farce once every four years. I'd probably be a more interesting person too. People born on a leap year were automatically fun and interesting just by the circumstances of their birth.

I wasn't fun or interesting, but I knew I had the potential to be. Right now, I was like a heroine from those rom-coms. I was in the first half of the movie where everything was boring and bleak, but I just knew the second half was coming. Soon, I would graduate from secondary school and head to university in Paris. I would finally start my life.

My mother came scurrying over just as they began to sing "Happy Birthday." She stood over me with her claws on my shoulders. To everyone in the dining room, it would seem like a protective maternal gesture of love, but I knew better. She hated having the spotlight turned away from her, even for a moment. By standing, she made sure all of the diners around us saw her first.

While the singing continued, my stepfather took a call on his mobile and spoke loudly over the sound of the celebration song.

The servers exchanged uncomfortable glances.

I knew how they felt; at least I was used to it.

The servers scrambled away the moment the song was finished.

I picked up a knife and slid it into the center before pressing down, cutting into the white icing and soft yellow cake. Before I could make a second slice, my mother slapped my hand and grabbed the knife from me. "What do you think you are doing?"

I rubbed the back of my hand. "Cutting the cake."

"So that I can point to your graduation photos and say ‘that's my fat daughter on the right?'"

My mother had been on a diet for the last two decades. I was a perfectly normal size. In fact, I liked that I had a bit of a bum and nice hips with a tucked-in waist. Not my mother. She wasn't happy unless she was stick thin. For my sixteenth birthday she got me several packs of cigarettes and told me to start smoking if I wanted to keep the weight off as I got older.

In retrospect the silver locket wasn't so bad.

I sighed. "Mom, one piece of cake?—"

"Don't call me Mom!"

Suppressing a sharp retort, I defiantly snatched one of the chocolate-covered cherries that decorated the cake and popped it into my mouth as I gave my mother a smirk.

Alfred stood so abruptly he knocked his chair to the floor. He picked up his used linen napkin and wiped his brow. "We need to leave. Something's come up."

My mother put a hand on her hip. "I haven't finished speaking with Susan and I have another drink coming."

Alfred's head swiveled from side to side as he scanned the restaurant like he was expecting someone. He brushed aside the server who scurried to right his fallen chair. "Now, Meredith."

My mother's red lips thinned as she raised her chin. She was unhappy, but she wouldn't cause a scene. The very last thing my mother would do was cause a scene in public and tarnish her perfect socialite wife reputation. She had worked too hard, and burned through too many previous husbands, to let that happen after finally bagging a rich man like Alfred. My mother snatched her purse from the empty fourth seat and followed Alfred, tossing over her shoulder, "Don't dawdle, Aurora."

I glanced over the table.

A tipped-over martini glass.

Two empty vodka glasses.

An uneaten cake and an unwanted birthday present.

Happy belated birthday to me .

Our house in Knightsbridge was dark when we pulled up. The house was never dark. There were always some lights on as the house staff bustled about with their work. They definitely wouldn't have turned off the hall and entry lights, knowing we were out to dinner.

Neither my stepfather nor my mother seemed to notice as they got out of the car.

Alfred slammed his car door shut a little too hard. "Pack a bag, Meredith. We're taking a trip."

"A trip? Where?"

He made a dismissive gesture over his head as we followed him up the stone steps to the main entrance. "Someplace. Anywhere. I haven't decided yet. I just know we need to get away. Now."

"Well, what about Aurora? She has school tomorrow."

Alfred turned and stared at me as if he had completely forgotten my existence. A look I was unfortunately familiar with. They both had stopped including me on family vacations back when I was ten.

"She can come later—maybe. Stop asking questions and just do as I say!" he blustered as he unlocked the door and flicked on the hallway light.

Nothing happened.

Alfred flicked the light switch up and down several times.

Before I could wonder why the electricity was out, something moved in the front parlor.

We all turned to see the dark outline of a man rise from the chair where he had obviously been waiting. The figure took several steps forward toward the entrance hall. The moonlight streaming in from the upper casing windows over the door cast his features into strange shadow.

Alfred's face lost all color. "Mr. Winterbourne. You're here."