“Did it ever occur to you he got this way because no one ever has kicked his ass?” They’re cowards. All of them. That’s why he wheels around like a king on his throne. Because no one ever challenges his authority.
“Did it seriously occur to me to attack the most powerful man in Valmont with the kind of resources that could ruin me and my family? No.”
“Nobody’s brave enough, huh?”
“Nobody’s that stupid,” he corrects me.
That’s what he doesn’t understand. The line between bravery and stupidity comes down to success. Fail to take the crown, and you’re stupid. Conquer a kingdom, and you’re brave. Maybe it’s a lot easier to see more than one outcome when you have nothing more to lose.
“Normally, this wouldn’t be the best thing for you,” he says, thumping down a bottle of whiskey, along with a crystal rocks glass, “but it’s got to be better than killing your girlfriend’s father.”
For a moment I try looking anywhere but at the bottle. Cyrus’s face is cast in just a few shades of grey, his expression a mixture of concern and, I think, condescension. Part of me knows that he’s trying to help, that my anger just wants an outlet, but I can’t stand the way these people look at me, like I’m a misbehaving puppy that has to grow out of this phase.
“Thanks,” I say, getting up from my stool and swiping the bottle of whiskey. “I need to get out of here.”
I expect him to object, but he surprises me by giving a small nod. Then again, I did just threaten to murder the father of the groom. “I’ll let Adair know you left.”
I don’t know where I’m headed, but it doesn’t really matter as long as it’s somewhere I can be alone with my bottle.
3
Adair
My heart skips a beat, and I rush towards the ornate french doors along the opposite wall of the room. The biting snarl of my father grows closer with each step I take.
“Wasn’t it wonderful?” a dreamy voice asks as a clammy hand lands on my forearm.
I turn to discover Ginny with one hand on me and the other holding the ivory silk of her dress while beaming like a spotlight from some combination of romance and champagne.
“It was, but my dad” I begin to tell her that I don’t have time to listen to her moon over my brother, who doesn’t actually deserve the admiration, while my father attacks my boyfriend. But it’s not Ginny’s fault that my family can’t behave themselves for one night. Why should I be the one to ruin it for her? She’ll discover the truth soon enough. She knows what it’s like in my house—how could she not? But she doesn’t know what it's like to live that way week after week, year after year. She hasn’t developed radar for my father’s fits of rage. She is happy. At her wedding. I don’t need to take that from her. Someone else will. So I take a second, as if I’m trying to find just the right description of my brother’s show, before continuing, “It was really special. You know, I don’t think my brother ever planned anything before. Definitely not a symphonic flash mob. Did you like it?”
“Not at first. I mean, I was wondering why a piano was suddenly playing, you know? I mean, I didn’t approve a pianist. But when I saw his face, I knew. It was…” she falters, unable to find the right words, before continuing, “beyond anything I ever dreamed.”
That’s one way to put it. “I have to hand it to him. I don’t think anyone will forget your wedding now.”
“It could still be this way for you,” she says idly, but there’s an anxious edge to her voice, like she’s saying something she hadn’t dared say before. “If you make the right choices.”
“What does that mean??” I ask slowly, afraid I already know exactly what it means.
“The perfect wedding. The perfect life.” She gestures behind her, at the champagne fountain, the manicured vista, the ample evidence that everyone here has conquered life. Suddenly, I’m reminded of Jay Gatsby and his parties—and I know exactly how that turned out.
“Not for me, thanks.” I hope she leaves it there, but I know she won’t. She’s a member of my family now, so why shouldn’t she tell me how best to live my life? Goes with the territory.
“Why not? You have everything you could ever need. Security. Prestige. Luxury. People would kill for your life. You just can’t throw it away on bad choices.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ginny. Let’s not do this now.” My self-control is slipping, and it’s the only thing keeping my temper from flaring.
Her mouth clamps shut, and for a split second, I think I’ve convinced her to save it for another time. She opens her mouth, and if it’s to placate me, I will never know, because I hear my father’s voice again and one word: trash. Ginny hears it, too, and when I try to move through the door she steps in front of me.
I go rigid, fighting a surge of adrenaline. Every part of me wants to push my way past her. If she doesn’t get out of my way, things are going to get ugly.
“Let me go before this gets worse,” I warn her.
“This is my wedding, Adair,” she hisses, trying to keep as many of the people around us out of our conversation as she can. Propriety must be observed, especially at weddings. She’s a better MacLaine than me already. “How can you be such a narcissist?”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I say, no longer checking my volume.
She leans in close to me, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper as she jabs an accusatory finger at me. “Jesus, look at you! About to go make a scene by screaming at your father at my wedding. Does anybody get to have a nice moment? Or do you ruin them all?”
“I was minding my own business, Ginny,” I say, grasping at the last bit of understanding inside me and feeling it fray. “Unlike—”
“Like hell you were. Nothing I say can stop you, will it? Because—despite having everything—you still have to be a wrecking ball, don’t you?”
I open my mouth to protest, but the words aren’t there. I take a second to find my voice, and when it comes out I am surprised how calm it sounds. “I’m not the one who has to control everything.”
“No. You’re the one who has to destroy everything. Nothing can exist if it doesn’t perfectly please you, right? Not Thanksgiving dinner with our families. Not even a conversation with your brother or father.”
Does she think her shiny, new wedding ring gives her the right to order me around? Has she always seen behind the curtains to the ugliness we keep hidden until now? I’d always thought she was naive—maybe willfully so. I thought she was too focused on the perfect wedding and blind to the harsh reality. Now? I wonder how much she’s willing to ignore in search of her perfect life.
“I understand you don’t like your family, Adair. And I know your father is…very difficult—”
“—that doesn’t begin to cover it—”
“—but it still doesn’t excuse your behavior. You’ve never had to do chores. Never had to work for anything. You may be able to treat everyone else like that, but not your family.” Her words suck the air out of my lungs. She is just like them. I can’t believe I never saw it before. “You’re just a brat,” she finishes with an exasperated sigh.