Stone Cold Fox (50)

“But, Bea, the good news is that you’re gaining a whole new family soon!”

“Ah, yes, as the newest member of the Case dynasty, I’m sure I’ll be privy to all of their centuries-old secrets and charming quirks. Come on, Syl. They won’t let me in. Not really. Collin seems to, though, and that will be enough for me.”

“You’re a lucky girl, Bea.” Syl grinned and snapped her chopsticks at me, but I actually couldn’t tell if she was being sincere or not.

It made me like her even more.





FRANCIS


   NEW YORK CITY



MOTHER TELLS ME that Francis is a very nice man who will provide a very nice life for us. I’ve never been to New York before. I always thought she was avoiding it. It feels different this time. She feels different. She’s fussing with me in the back of the car. Fluffing my hair. Picking at my dress. Like she’s nervous. But Mother never gets nervous.

“You have to look perfect,” she says.

I catch the driver looking at me through the rearview mirror. Mother hasn’t stopped talking the entire time about someone like Francis being unprecedented for us. A whole new ball game. The school I’ll get to go to is elite. I’ll have every opportunity available to me.

We can’t screw this up.

I can’t screw this up.

If I love her, I won’t screw this up.

Remember, bunny, we’re a team.



* * *



? ? ?

FRANCIS IS A man with staff. They dress in black. Quiet. The man who drives us. The man who answers the door. The woman who brings us tea. The other woman who talks to Mother privately, leaving me alone with another woman who dusts a nearby bookshelf, but I know she’s watching over me while they’re gone. I’m not an idiot. I can feel her eyes on me. She doesn’t speak to me.

No one has spoken to me.

Mother returns with the woman and tells me to go with them. The woman is tall, she wears a long black dress with a white collar, and her hair is in a bun. She could be Mother’s age, but it’s hard to tell, since she hasn’t faced me at all.

The house is enormous, much larger than it looks from the outside. We’re led up stairs, down hallways, around corners. Everything is dark and wooden and old, but obviously expensive. Finally, the woman in black opens a door, a bedroom inside of it, and then stands a few feet away from the door, facing away from us. She clears her throat.

When I go to follow Mother inside, Mother stops me.

“You keep going,” she says. The house is quiet. Too quiet. I want to ask Mother a hundred questions. She actually looks nervous and now I’m nervous and I have no idea why. As if reading my mind, Mother softens her tone, running a hand through my hair. “This’ll be good for us. Don’t worry. You’re a star.”

A star? A new compliment from Mother feels heavenly and frightening.

I do as I’m told and follow the woman back downstairs and down another corridor. We stop in front of a pair of double doors, one of them slightly ajar. She knocks loudly, with purpose, and it takes me by surprise. I flinch.

“Come in.” The man’s voice behind the door is low but friendly. The woman takes her post at the side of the door again, showing her back to me. I open the door and step inside. The room is an office and it reminds me of Dean’s, and I’m stunned because I haven’t thought about him in so long. A big wooden desk, a big leather chair, big bookshelves with big books, a big clock, everything is big.

Except for Francis.

He’s behind the desk, fit and trim and tan and somewhat slight, in a navy polo. Casual and smart. He smiles at me. He could be someone’s dapper dad. He’s different from the rest. No gray in his hair. No protruding belly. No unsightly features. Francis is very handsome. A first for Mother.

“You must be Fleur,” he says, standing up to shake my hand. We’re nearly the same height in my sandals. He holds my hand tight and wraps his other hand over it, looking me in the eye, so familiar.

Like we’ve met before in another life.

Like we’re friends.

Like I’m an adult.

“Welcome! Did you get anything to eat yet?” Francis asks me, and I shake my head. “We’ll fix that. How was your flight?”

“Very nice,” I reply, but it was so much more than that. Mother and I flew into New York on Francis’s private jet. Incredible. The flight attendant even offered me a small glass of champagne. Mother said I could drink it. She had one, too. We both gazed out the window as we sipped. We didn’t toast or clink glasses, but she said I should enjoy it and all that was to come because we were finally going to get everything we wanted.

“I like your dress, Fleur,” Francis says, putting a hand on my shoulder, feeling the fabric between two of his fingers, just for a moment. The dress is black and white, from the junior’s department at Bloomingdale’s. It’s my favorite. It makes me feel like an adult.

“Thank you,” I say. I rub my right foot against my left ankle. An itch I need to scratch. I almost tip over in my sandals, but Francis steadies me, putting both hands on my shoulders now.

“You don’t have to be nervous, Fleur,” he says. “You’re home now. I’m Francis and we’re all just thrilled you’re here. Your mother tells me you’re very smart and accomplished already, so I’m sure your star will only rise here in Manhattan. It’s very nice to meet you.”