Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
I glance at Mrs. Fox who only nods in agreement with her husband. When I look at Ethan, he does the same. I feel a sense of betrayal at this. He knew. He knew all along I was walking into an ambush.
“It’s not like we’re saying the wedding will take place this weekend, Phee,” Mrs. Fox reassures me.
Mr. Fox looks at her in warning, and she quiets. “Six months, Ophelia. We’re setting the date for six months from today. You’ll graduate with honors, I am sure, and we will have a double celebration.”
I clear my throat, sit up a little taller, turn to him. I look into his eyes, eyes that look so much like Silas’s but are missing something I can’t put my finger on.
“I want something.”
He tilts his head, blinks like he’s confused, then smiles. He brings his wine to his lips and raises his eyebrows. “You want something?” he asks finally.
There is an emphasis to that word. A weight. It is the last three years combined of school and housing, of books and clothes and petty cash, as he called it. I never asked for it, I remind myself, but I did take it.
But if I am to agree, I do want something, and I’m not willing to compromise.
“The company. The low-income housing project. It has to continue. I’ll take it over after graduation. I’ll take over that part of the business.”
Mrs. Fox brings her hand to her mouth, but it doesn’t hide her chuckle.
“Phee—” Mr. Fox starts but I cut him off.
“It’s not just my father’s legacy. It will be my own.”
“So, after all we’ve done, you’re going to bargain with me? With marriage to my son as a chip?” Mr. Fox asks.
“It’s not like that. I don’t mean…”
“Dad,” Ethan cuts in, setting a hand over my shoulder and squeezing. “He’s her dad, no matter what. Let’s give Phee this. I just want to be married to her, and if this is what it takes…” He trails off and leans in to kiss me. It’s a kiss I don’t return because are we bargaining? Are we negotiating my hand in marriage, my life? Am I actively doing this?
“Done,” Mr. Fox says.
“Yes!” Mrs. Fox snaps her fingers and calls out for champagne. The waiter appears with the bottle and pours almost as if he was ready and waiting for her signal all along.
“You drive a hard bargain, Phee,” Mr. Fox says, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s laughing at me. But then he draws close and kisses my cheek. “Welcome to the family, officially, sweetheart.”
7
SILAS
Past
Sweet Sixteen
At twenty-one, I still live in the cottage on the Foxes’ property. I realize I’m too old to be living with my mommy, but I have three very good reasons for staying.
Sly Fox, Mira Fox, and Ethan Fox.
Sly is just an asshole, and I never know when he’ll attack. Mira hates my mother because she is the young, beautiful maid her then-fiancé—very original—took up with and, to everyone’s surprise, fathered a child with.
Fathered is a very big word. He deposited sperm.
Ethan doesn’t so much hate her as he hates me. I get it. Ever since he was a tiny little tyke, Mira has been filling his ear with poison about my mother and me, making sure he understands the difference between the staff and himself. Making sure he knows that no matter my parentage, I am not his equal.
For a long time, I didn’t understand my mother’s choice to stay because it was her choice. The Foxes would all have been happiest if she’d disappeared with her bastard son, and Fox had offered her a check to do just that.
But Mom is a first-generation American born to parents who crossed the border illegally and lived much of their lives in fear of being found out, imprisoned, or sent back home. I’m not sure which they considered worst. I never got a chance to meet my grandparents to ask. They were killed in a car accident when Mom was only fourteen.
On her own, she found work and got herself as much schooling as she could, which wasn’t much. But she survived, and she wanted better for me.
I guess in her eyes, living in the cottage or under the Foxes’ roof, despite how unwelcome we are, is still better than being out there on our own and struggling. With those basic needs met, the focus could be my education, me making a better life than she has had.
She is right in some sense. We are living a decent, comfortable life, for the most part, if you can tune out the underlying insults delivered daily—especially by Mira Fox—to Mom. That’s the piece that bothers me most. Mom works her ass off for the ungrateful pricks, and I do too, when I’m not in school.