Page 74 of Beauty and the Beach

Mavis’s miraculous recovery means I need to make some adjustments—major adjustments. And though I never foresaw her return to health…I do have some ideas.

They’re intimidating ideas; scary, even. But, oddly, they feel good, too—in a way I can’t describe. When I think about my options for the future, I mostly feel dread; only one path fills me with any sort of excitement.

I always envisioned my future at the company. I wanted to open a humanitarian branch. I wanted to do good things.

But I don’t know how much longer I can remain under Mavis’s thumb. I don’t know how much longer I can stand the mind games. And I definitely don’t know if I can justify keeping Holland around an environment so toxic.

I think…it might be time.

So I call Wyatt as soon as I’m seated comfortably in my desk chair. The phone rings twice before he answers.

“I’ve been forcefully invited to have dinner with Mavis on Monday.”

“Noted,” he says. “I’ll add it to your calendar.”

“Thank you. Also,” I add—I take another deep breath—“I think it’s time to plan for some changes.”

Wyatt hesitates for just a second. Then he says, “I wondered.”

“Do you remember the contingency plans we discussed briefly when Mavis first sent out the copy of her will?”

“I do,” he says, and I can imagine him nodding, his glasses flashing, his hair combed neatly into its side part.

“Let’s get the ball rolling on that.” Even just saying the words fills me with something like adrenaline, the same kind of nervousness you feel before performing on stage or givinga presentation.

Wyatt pauses once again. But when he speaks, he only asks one question: “Are you certain?”

I think about my phone call with Clarence; I think about Lawrence. I think about Holland and my mother. I think about Mavis Butterfield.

I straighten up in my seat before I even realize I’m doing it. “Yes,” I say, my voice stronger. “I think so.”

Dinner three dayslater is not quite a disaster, but it’s not good, either.

All of my aunts and uncles are present, gathered around Mavis’s long dining table. It’s made of shiny, dark wood, and Mavis sits at the head, a queen surveying her kingdom from her throne. My mother and Clarence and Aunt Rita and Aunt Barbara all look like Mavis, and they all wear similar expressions—haughty, entitled, thoroughly unpleasant. It’s like sitting at a table with a bunch of Mavises; Lawrence and Dorothy-call-me-Dot are here too, and Lawrence wears the same expression as the rest.

There’s still no ring on Dorothy’s finger, I can’t help but notice, and I’m not surprised; Lawrence’s pathological need to remain uncommitted must be locked in battle with his desire to inherit the company. He won’t be able to hold his father off for much longer, though; my guess is they’ll be engaged by the end of the summer.

I think I might feel some pity for Dorothy, even though I don’t like her.

I stick close to Holland from the second we enter the house—a giant, sprawling home that edges into mansion territory. There’s a sweeping staircase that I doubt Mavis cantravel anymore, lots of dark wood, and ornate light fixtures in every room; it’s objectively nice, even if it’s tainted by its inhabitants. I can tell Holland wants to gape at everything—her eyes go wide as soon as we step into the foyer—but she doesn’t; she maintains a cool, almost bored expression, her posture perfect, not a hair out of place.

She was made to wear this dress—navy blue, knee length, with a high neckline and sleeves that come down to her elbows. It shows very little skin, but it’s fitted to every curve, and the dark color somehow makes her hair seem brighter, more golden.

I’m getting distracted, though only partly by her appearance; she still isn’t quite herself. She’s better than she was right after her therapy session, but some of her fire seems to be gone. So I stay by her side, because my family is unpredictable, and she doesn’t need their nonsense right now.

There seems to be little point to the gathering; I keep waiting, but Mavis doesn’t make any announcements, and no one gives any official family updates. There’s no business talk. We just sit around the table and eat for forty-five minutes in near silence, and Mavis appears to be the only one who enjoys it. I’m half waiting for her to cackle, but she doesn’t.

A power play; that’s what this is.Look at how alive I am. Look at what I can demand from you.

I swallow my beef bourguignon with grim satisfaction.Not for long, you old witch.

“Hey,” Holland says out of the corner of her mouth, leaning closer. “We should poach your grandma’s cook. This is amazing.”

“I don’t want to employ anyone who’s worked for Mavis this long,” I breathe back.

She turns her head to look at me, surprised. “What about Wyatt?”

“Wyatt worked for my father until he died,” I say quietly. “He took care of me after that. He’s never been with Mavis.”

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