Blossom in Winter (Blossom in Winter #1)(10)

“What? Dad, you know I hate your dinners and parties full of old folks and kiss-asses.”

“Watch your mouth, young lady.”

“And what about my panic attacks?”

Dad lets out a sigh. After all, he knows perfectly well that it has never been easy for me to attend his social events. Every time I do, it’s an agonizing experience, a painful personal challenge, and a huge mental effort to prevent panic from setting in.

I was eight when I suffered my very first attack. It was at a Christmas dinner organized by his company. The event had gathered over five hundred guests, including journalists, photographers, investors, family members, politicians, and more. After being in the room for one hour constantly stared at, interrogated, photographed, and forced to fake smiles, my heart accelerated briskly, like it could explode at any moment. Breathing became harder and harder until I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I ran away to the restroom. I cried, locked in one of the stalls, and threw up. Later on, I was diagnosed with agoraphobia—the fear of crowds and of feeling trapped, helpless, and embarrassed among strangers. Since then, I’ve been under medication and therapy, and my father has never insisted on having me at his social events ever again—his birthdays either.

“You can bring Emma with you; she loves attending parties.”

“Emma’s presence is mandatory,” I assert. “But I have one more condition…”

He raises an eyebrow suspiciously. “And what is it?”

“Can I skip the dinner and just stop by when it’s over? Like, just for the picture?”

“Hmm… Promise me you’ll really attend. I want at least one photo with you. Can you do that for me?”

“I guess so.”

“Perfect. I’ll have a limo pick you up at ten p.m., then.”

I roll my eyes. I hate limos. “Deal. But Emma comes with me,” I remind him before standing up and making my way out.

“Oh, by the way...” Crap! I turn around to face him. “I forgot to ask, how was the party?”

“The party was… great.”

“Perfect. Glad you enjoyed it. See you later.”





Every Sunday, Emma and I meet at eleven o’clock sharp for our brunch at the St. Regis, just off Fifth Avenue. It’s a ritual we cherish dearly.

While most New Yorkers go to the trendiest restaurants for brunch, we prefer the ones served in hotels, as they usually feature a more international clientele rather than a local one. After all, hotels provide more privacy, and we are far less likely to be accosted by local acquaintances, bloggers, reporters, or hangers-on. Emma’s already at our table, drinking black coffee, when I arrive. As usual, she looks so incredibly fashionable, sporting a large Gucci T-shirt and a fine black choker necklace; her mid-length black hair and bangs are also perfectly styled. My eyes keep darting down to my own outfit. I feel, as always, underdressed in a plain light-blue shirt, skinny jeans, flats, and my usual barrette.

“Hey, babygirl.”

“Hi, Emma. How are you? You look wonderful,” I reply, sitting in front of her.

“Alright, alright... What do you want?”

“Nothing. I just think you look great.”

“I always look great, darling, so what is this about?”

“Oh gosh, you know me too well.” Emma smiles. “I need you to come with me to a party Thursday evening.”

“Yeah, right. Your parties are not really my thing, babygirl.”

“Actually, it’s Dad’s birthday party. I need to go, but I can’t make it without you.”

“What? Ha ha. Your dad is definitely not someone I…” She looks down at her coffee, trying to find the right words. “He’s not someone I particularly get along with,” she finally finishes.

“I know, but he’s inviting half of Manhattan, media included. It’s a gala dinner at Gotham Hall, and unfortunately I need to go.”

“Oh boy. Gotham Hall? That’s gonna be huge, then. What about your panic attacks? Are you gonna be alright?”

“I’m just going there for a few minutes to say hi and leave. But I need you with me, Emma. I can’t do it alone.”

Emma has never liked my father and his overprotective, strict, rigid behavior, but I know I’m too dear to her heart. She folds her arms and ponders for a moment, just enough to create her usual suspense. “Well, what wouldn’t I do for my babygirl?” My face instantly glows with a big grin. “But promise me we’re there for half an hour max.”





Chapter 3





Manhattan, May 16, 2019

Petra Van Gatt





My heart starts racing as the limo drops us right in front of the main entrance to Gotham Hall. The venue is so spacious that it can hold up to fourteen hundred people. My father has rented it for several events over the years, but this one will be the very first I am attending.

We’re welcomed with a red carpet covering the grand marble stairs up to the door. After giving our names, we go to the first floor leading to the ballroom.

Everyone looks quite posh and glamorous. The gentlemen are either wearing a three-piece suit or a tux, while the ladies are in long gowns paired with overpriced glittering jewelry and extravagant hairstyles. I feel invisible with my simple fit-and-flare black dress and matching heels—which is honestly a good thing. I forgot to wear the white pearls my father once gave me. But I couldn’t care less about this event anyway.