Page 62 of The Heiress
Elisha
I’d slept late, whichwasn’t surprising. Laura and I had gone to bed well after midnight, yet I hadn’t been able to sleep, my mind whirling with the plunge pool episode. It had been hard to concentrate on the movie when the on-screen kisses reminded me of Phoenix’s lips on mine, of his hands around me, the warmth of his skin against mine. And later in bed, butterflies still flapped in a wild frenzy in my stomach as I pictured him downstairs in his room, curled up asleep after a long day.
It had been disappointing when he’d gone to bed early, but I’d reminded myself that he was recovering from major surgery and he’d pushed himself physically. He was bound to be tired.
I had checked my watch at 3:30 in the morning, so it was no surprise that it was after eleven when I emerged from my bed. Laura had left a note on the kitchen counter saying she’d gone out, that I should make myself breakfast, signing it with a cute smiley face.
There had been no sign of Phoenix. Not even a sign that he’d hit tennis balls today.
The level of disappointment was soul crushing, as bad as when I’d been told I was moving to Covington Prep. I missed him already.
The violin ringtone of an incoming call caused me to dive to my phone. I hadn’t talked to Mom in weeks and after Dad’s conversation yesterday, I longed to hear her voice.
“Elisha, darling, how are you?” Her enthusiastic greeting was followed by a subdued, “Can you talk now?”
“Yes,” I said, keeping my own tone hushed.
“I miss you so much, my darling, but Daddy says you’re doing great.”
“Yeah,” I said, straining to hear, her voice so low that she sounded like she wasn’t on the other side of the world, but the galaxy.
“Daddy’s on his way to the south of France,” she said.
“France?”
“Yes, and I’m going to meet him there.”
“What? Aren’t you with him?” I asked.
“No, Ya-Ya and I have been in Thessaloniki with Gramma. I’m going to meet him in Monte Carlo tomorrow.”
I couldn’t get over the spy-like tone my mother was speaking in, and I cried out in frustration, “I thought you were all in London. Mom, what is going on? Dad said he had something to tell me, but he couldn’t do it over the phone.” All this jet-setting and secrecy seemed to be outrageous and out of character.
“Sweetheart, Daddy doesn’t want you to worry, and he says we should wait till we get back,” she said, “but I think you need to know. I think you’re mature enough to handle it.”
Alarm bells rang in my head, gushing out my immediate response, “Are you and Dad getting a divorce?”
“What? No, no, no, we’re not getting a divorce. Nothing like that,” she soothed. She paused and I could hear her inhale deeply. “I thought we might be back next week, but it doesn’t seem likely now. Elisha, listen carefully and I don’t want you to be afraid...”
Tears sprung into my eyes as my mother told me how back in August Dad and a bunch of his colleagues were leaving a restaurant when a shot was fired at the group. One of Dad’s best friends, Jack Doherty, had been hit in his arm by a bullet. Doherty Industries was a leading supplier of construction materials. Jack was all right, but everyone had been traumatized by the incident and it was still unsure who the target had been. This was the catalyst as to why I’d been sent to Covington Prep and why Mom, Ya-Ya and Dad had left the city and gone abroad. They’d taken a good long look at things and decided sending me to boarding school was the best chance to give me some normality and to keep me safe. But after the stint I’d pulled this weekend, Mom wanted me to know the truth, though Dad was reluctant to panic me. She’d been sick with worry upon learning I’d booked myself into a hotel, hated the lack of communication between us—and went against Dad’s wishes.
Guilt swamped me. My selfishness had caused even greater worry for my parents, already in a state of stress and anxiety.
“I’m sorry,” I lamented into the phone. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have acted like a spoiled brat.”
“No, no,” Mom soothed. “We were the ones who handled it wrong. We were scared for you, but we didn’t want to alarm you. I was scared to send you away but I knew in my heart it was the best thing for you. We wanted to protect you, but instead you thought we’d abandoned you.”
I apologized again, my head spinning from this newfound information, my perspective on everything changing in an instant. Mom and Dad had always done their best to keep me grounded. People saw the enviable lives of the rich and famous, full of glamor with their private jets, Italian sports cars, lakeside mansions and designer clothes. And though Dad wasn’t famous to the general public, he was in his certain circles, his life constantly under scrutiny, the press and paparazzi always interested in his next move. And associated with that was the danger, the threats that came with being a wealthy tycoon. But this event had clearly shocked Mom and Dad. You could take all precautions, have all the security in the world and yet something terrible could happen.
I now respected Mom and Dad’s desire for me to have a more normal life this year. Here at Covington Prep, I could fly under the radar, be a regular student focusing on my studies with no fanfare about who my family were, how much they were worth. So far it had been liberating not to be considered the rich girl, the heiress to an empire. And in fact it was Bianca Holbrun who gladly held the mantle of Queen Bee around the campus, who flaunted her family’s wealth. Maybe Addison’s insinuation that I wore a fake designer watch had been a blessing in disguise. No doubt she’d use that to humiliate me at some point in time.
After a last round of tears, Mom ended the call, promising with all her heart that we would be together at Christmas, only a month away. By then, a new security system would be installed at home, bigger gates, higher fences—making it sound like a fortress.
But it was a stark reminder of the world I came from—and would go back to eventually. Covington Prep was a respite, a place for me to be safe and normal.
And my heart sunk like a stone. In the beginning, I’d hated the place, this life, but this weekend it had all changed. Laura’s kindness, Phoenix’s kisses...everything had changed, I’d changed.
But there was no escaping who I was, and Phoenix didn’t need me complicating his life. And as much as we’d connected over the weekend, it had admittedly been forced upon him. Gah! It didn’t take a detective, or a clinical psychologist to work it out. Phoenix and his mother had gone through an emotional disclosure last night, coming to terms with some pretty heavy issues—and in his state of vulnerability, he’d reached out, needing some comfort, some support.
