I told him the truth, but I should have lied.
There was no one to take me in after their accident, no aunts or uncles or well-meaning neighbors. I was placed in the foster care system almost immediately, shunted around from place to place for the next few years.
I think about what it would have been like if Cornelia was my grandmother, how different my life would have been if she’d swooped in and brought me home to Rosethorn after the accident. What a privilege to have a place to feel safe and at peace, never having to worry where I’d live or how to scrounge for my next meal.
I think about this as I go to sleep that night, replaying Nicholas’ words in my head.
“I think you should leave.”
And go where, exactly? I should have asked him.
It was Cornelia who uprooted my life. She plucked me from Holly Home like I was one of her roses in need of pruning.
I wake up the next morning, surprised that I’m still in a sour mood. Last night was not at all what I was hoping it’d be. After Nicholas and I argued out on the lawn, I found Cornelia, feigned a headache, and ran straight up to my room, locking the door behind me for good measure.
Nicholas’ reaction to me was so strong. The way he looked at me across the ballroom—it’s like he hated me upon sight. Is that a thing? People drone on about love at first sight, but what about the opposite? Can someone lay eyes on a stranger one time and decide on a whim to hate them forever after?
I’m not saying he doesn’t have his reasons for being slightly annoyed.
I understand it was probably a shock to see me in his mother’s necklace, but I am going to give it back to Cornelia! And what does it matter anyway? Is he going to wear the damn thing? I doubt anyone’s even laid eyes on it in years. It was probably collecting dust in some forgotten jewelry box inside this palatial house.
And sure, maybe he was also surprised to find me in attendance at the ball instead of working it like all of Cornelia’s other employees, but she’s the one who invited me, so if he has an issue, he needs to take it up with her.
Even viewing the events of last night through his eyes, there was no reason for him to be so rude. The way he spoke to me, the look of contempt in his gaze—he would have ground me into dust if he had the chance.
Ordering me to leave like that?
Who does he think he is!?
My hands turn into fists at my sides and my molars clench. If he were in front of me right now, I swear I’d throw something at him, the first thing within reach—my pillow, I guess. Shame. Too bad I don’t sleep with an anvil handy.
I stay up in my room all morning, telling anyone who comes by that I still have a headache when, in fact, I’m being a coward.
I can’t face him again so soon. I still feel caught off guard by last night. So, I stay in my room and shuffle around, cleaning up anything that looks even remotely untidy. When I’m done, I finish a book I borrowed from Cornelia’s library and then reach for another. I brought in a new stack two days ago and plopped it down on my bedside table. I thought it’d take me longer to work through it. At this rate, I’ll be done by dinner.
Cornelia comes to check on me, worried that I haven’t come down from my room yet.
Fortunately, she finds me back in bed reading. Five minutes earlier and she would have stumbled in on me doing push-ups to cure my boredom.
She feels my forehead then lets her hand gently cup my cheek. “Should I send for a doctor? You’re flushed.”
Yeah, well…I don’t work out a lot.
“No!” My response is too emphatic, so I shift gears. “I’m not that sick. It’s just a headache, maybe a mild cold. I bet I’ll be better by morning.” And if Nicholas is still here, well then maybe this cold will linger for another day or two.
“All right. I’ll have Patricia bring up something small for you to nibble on.”
I almost ask her about Nicholas before she leaves, but I bite my tongue. He’s her grandson, and nothing I say against him could possibly go over well. There’s no way she’d take my side over his.
In the early evening, I find the courage to quietly roam the halls, mostly owing to the cabin fever that was starting to set in. It’s aimless at first, just a way to get myself out of my room, but when I find myself standing in front of Nicholas’ portrait, I realize I was in search of it all along.
I stand back and study it, comparing young Nicholas to the man I met last night. It seems impossible that he could have grown more severe and cold, more confident and haughty, but I have the living proof in my memory.
I think of the way he looked out on the lawn, lit by the warm light spilling out of Rosethorn’s ballroom. There are details about him I wish I could smudge out with an eraser. His coal black hair set against his tan skin. His clean-shaven jaw locked tight in annoyance. His piercing brown eyes narrowed down at me. His lips forming cruel words. I doubt his mouth has ever felt the joy of a smile. I doubt he knows what it feels like to be kind.
Ha.
After that one brief encounter with him, I know for a fact he’s someone I’d like to never see again. And yet, I stand in front of his portrait until Rita finds me and asks what I’m doing.
I jump out of my skin then turn away, ashamed. “Nothing—wandering. Is Nicholas still here?”
“He had lunch with friends and then he had to leave to go back to New York.”
I pretend to study a nearby bust. I have no idea who it is, some old guy in a wig. Meanwhile, relief floods my system.
She frowns and glances back and forth between me and the painting of Nicholas. I know she wants to ask me more, but instead she nods down the hall. “Well, come along. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Someone sent you flowers.”
There’s an overflowing bouquet of pink and white peonies waiting for me on the circular table in the front entry. I’ve never received flowers from anyone, and if you’d asked my thoughts on them before this moment, I would have groaned about it being a silly gesture perpetuated by the Hallmark Channel. That said, now that I’m looking down on two dozen heavy blooms, all meant for me, I can’t help but feel a little flutter of joy deep down inside.
Who in the world sent them? I wonder as I pull out the small white envelope nestled in the blooms.
Sorry we didn’t get to spend more time together last night. I hope you feel better. - Barrett
I’m smiling even before I realize I’m happy they’re from him.
I can’t believe it, really.
I read the note again then hold it up for Cornelia to see when she flutters over, curious about the sender.
“Handsome boy. He was sad you’d left the party, and I’m not surprised he sent these.” She touches a bloom and twists it so it catches the light. “They’re very pretty.”
“I’m sorry. It’s probably inappropriate that he sent me flowers.”
“Why on earth would it be inappropriate?”
“It’s just…I don’t know the rules. I’m your employee.”
“Please stop saying that.”
“But it’s the truth.”
“Well so what? If Barrett wants to send you flowers or take you out, good for you! I hope you have a wonderful time. You might even see him on Wednesday. We have lunch plans at the club with Lydia and Victoria.”