Page 11 of The Heiress
“Elisha, something’s come up,” he said in a perfunctory tone as if he was announcing his quarterly financial report to his shareholders. “I have to go to London for business and I thought it would be good if Mom and Ya-Ya had a break.”
A break? Weren’t they already having a break in the Hamptons? Yes, the week after I left for Covington Prep, Mom and Ya-Ya had flown out to the Hamptons, saying they were doing renovations at home and needed to leave. Wild thoughts rushed through my brain, and I was verging on hysteria at the realization that I would be spending Thanksgiving without my family. Wasn’t that the whole point of Thanksgiving—celebrating with family?
“But...what...about...me?” The words were choked out in short, convulsive sobs, my parents’ betrayal now completely apparent. All those promised visits and semester breaks were nothing more than empty, hollow words.
“It’s all under control. I’ll make arrangements with the school. And besides, you’re still settling in. Princess, you need to calm down,” he cooed, “Listen to me, this is—”
“But you promised I could come home at Thanksgiving! I’ve only survived this long because I was waiting to come home.”
“Things are a little complicated, darling,” Dad switched back into chief executive mode. “I need you to be safe and staying in River Valley is the best place for you.”
I took a moment to absorb the wordsafe,and gasped, “Dad, what do you mean, keepmesafe?”
“Elisha, you’re distorting my words,” Dad said, his voice wavering. “Look, I know this hasn’t been an easy time for you, but there are some things I’m working on, and it would ease my mind to know you’re in good hands, and once I sort these...” He paused and cleared his throat, “...these business deals. Please honey, trust me on this. I just need you to co-operate.” It was a desperate plea, a wretched plea, my father sounding strangely devoid of confidence.
My chin quivered, not used to hearing my father being anything other than in control. “Co-operate?” I squeaked back, unable to fathom the situation. “Well, can’t you fly me to London, too? Can’t I come in the jet?”
“It’s not as simple as that,” Dad said, seeming to regain authority, yet why couldn’t it be as simple as that? That’s why people had private jets, to go anywhere, at anytime! It was one of the perks of being a billionaire. No need to be constrained by an airline’s flight schedule. “Sweetheart, I know this isn’t what we planned, but winter break will be here before you know it.”
The phone call ended abruptly with Dad saying he had an incoming call. He’d talk to me again after school, reiterating that I shouldn’t worry. I was to carryon like a Millar.
A Millar was staunch and strong and a leader, but I wasn’t any of those things. I was a miserable raging girl with a hole in her heart.
I took one quick look in the mirror to check myself, pressing down on my slightly mussed hair to smooth it down. It was funny how I’d longed to go blond, that old adage of blonds having more fun, of attracting attention, because here at Covington Prep I didn’t want to stand out from the crowd. I wanted to fly under the radar, be left to myself. I grimaced and blotted at my misty eyes, angry at myself, at Mom and Dad, at the world. If I didn’t get a move on, I’d get stuck in the rush of the football team and the clubs who organized breakfast meetings. I shrugged on my blazer and threw my tote bag over my shoulder.
If there was one bright spark in my day at Covington Prep, it was the cafeteria. I could not fault the food they supplied. The range was vast, like a hotel buffet, traditional cooked breakfasts of bacon, sausage, eggs and hash browns, pancakes and French toast, to cereals, fruit platters, croissants and smoothies. And lunch and dinner were even better, the choices varied and tasty.
My interest in food had been cultivated from traveling and being exposed to some of the finest dining and amazing street food in the world. Most of my favorite places were associated with what I ate, like the classic Margherita thin crust pizza in Rome that still made my mouth water just thinking about the smell, or the amazing flaky pastry sausage rolls they sold in cafes in England, or the roti filled with sweetened condensed milk in Thailand.
I shuffled along the path, blinking furiously in the battle to restrain the traitorous tears. Why had my parents deceived me like this when just two days ago my mother excitedly talked about Thanksgiving, about turkey and pumpkin pie, plans in place—and now this?
With my mood as low as it had ever been, a chocolate filled pastry and a vanilla latte was the only motivation that led me to push strongly on the cafeteria door. Only I hadn’t lifted my head, and the swinging door clipped the back of one of Phoenix Carter’s crutches. It slipped on the floor sending him stumbling forward.
I inhaled sharply, bolting through to catch him. To save him from a certain fall.
But I wasn’t quick enough. Taylor, the school’s star tennis player pivoted and stretched out her long limbs to steady Phoenix, teetering on one balanced crutch.
“Phoenix!” Taylor exclaimed, taking hold of his elbow to support him.
Meanwhile, I was in a state of anguish. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I repeated, “I didn’t see you. Are you okay?” I reached forward to steady the crutch that I’d knocked.
“He’s okay,” Taylor’s retort was unreservedly blunt. She snatched at the crutch I’d been trying to straighten.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, “I didn’t see him,” and knowing how bad that sounded—that I was talking about Phoenix as if he wasn’t right there in front of me—I corrected myself. “I didn’t see you.”
I expected a glare, or at least hostility, but Phoenix’s expression was one of fright, like he’d genuinely feared crashing to the ground.
“Well, how about you watch where you’re going? Open your eyes instead of walking around with—” Taylor stopped mid-sentence as Phoenix straightened up next to her.
“I’m okay, Tay,” he interrupted softly. “I’m fine.”
“I, I’m, I...” I stuttered, the wordsorryon the tip of my tongue, but unable to articulate it as I watched Taylor protectively put her hand on Phoenix’s shoulder, my heart rate peculiarly accelerating.I wished it was me helping Phoenix. I wanted to be the one assisting him.
“I’m good,” Phoenix said, adjusting his crutches, his backpack securely on his shoulders, his dark, soulful eyes meeting mine. “Elisha.”
My name lilted on his lips, not quite a statement, not quite a question but it sent a tingle down the middle of my back.How did he know my name?
“I...” Again, no words came, my throat and chest seizing up to make me mute.
