Page 12 of Vicious Little Snakes
Julia, my nanny, and the girl that stays too long in my father’s office, slicks my hair back with her palms, neatening the ponytail on my head.
“Stop fussing over me,” I snap, swatting her hand. “It’s annoying. I’m not three years old.”
Julia looks nervous. Her eyes dart toward the doorway, opting to smooth the shoulders of my garnet Fendi tea dress. It’s my favorite because the color on me always makes my mother happy.
“Miss Caroline. Your mother was clear. You are to accompany them to the Plaza for brunch, and she wants you ‘impeccably’ dressed. They’re meeting an ‘important family,’ and as you know, social circles are critical in Manhattan society. So you need to make a good impression.”
My eyes roll involuntarily. The only time they include me in their plans is when we need to look like a real family. Otherwise, I’d be a living, breathing version ofHome Alone.
“Here’s a bright side. They have a daughter your age,” she offers.
I slap at Julia’s hand again, forcing her to take a step back. “I said, stop it.”
“Please cooperate, Miss Caroline.”
“Why should I—” My indignation is silenced by the sound of my mother’s heels clicking against the imported Italian marble.
Julia and I both look toward the sound’s direction just as Vivienne Rycroft Whitmore turns the corner. Her presence immediately sucks all the air from the room. My mother is beautiful, with model-esque jet black hair and a body just as enviable, and she knows it.
When she was fifteen, she moved from Paris without a dime or a purpose, and now she lives in one of the largest mansions on the Upper East Side, married to one of the wealthiest men in the world. But unlike the orchid Cavalli dress she’s wearing, she’ll always feel like a fake, and I get to pay the price for her insecurities.
Her discerning eyes drift over my outfit. “Caroline.” Then drop to my shoes. “Ballet flats? Surely you have something with a heel. A lift will help you to look slimmer.”
She bought me these flats last week as a reward for losing three pounds.
“Julia, I thought I was clear. First impressions are important today. Shall I interview new help? Or are you only ineffective for me?Salope stupide.”Stupid bitch.
“No, ma’am. I apologize.”
“Fix it. We leave in ten minutes. I won’t wait a minute longer.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
My mother turns her back to me as Julia grips my hand too hard and jerks me toward the stairs. I pull back, but she doesn’t let go, trudging up the side stairs, towing me behind in silence.
“Ow. Let me go,” I gripe as we land at the top of the staircase and walk down the hall toward my bedroom suite.
Her head shifts over her shoulder—“Shh”—as she opens my French painted bedroom doors, ushering me in and closing them behind us. Julia dashes into my closet, vanishing for a moment before reappearing with black Mary Janes that have a small heel. I despise those shoes.
“I don’t want to wear those. They’re uncomfortable. I don’t think they fit anymore.”
I lift my hands to the end of my ponytail. It still feels dry from the bleach used to make it blonde. My mother said the new color would give my skin the warmth that I was lacking. I hop up onto my bed, laying back onto the soft cashmere throw, and look at the underside of my canopy.
“Caroline. You have to put them on,” Julia insists, holding them out as I lift my gaze, but I scowl, shaking my head.
“No, Julia. Choose another.”
Julia grabs my foot, but I kick them loose, sitting up.
“Quit it,” she snaps, gripping my ankle, her long nails digging in.
“Ow. You’re hurting me. Stop,” I yell, but Julia ignores me, laying over my lap to hold my legs still as she pulls off one of my flats. She’s murmuring to herself as I struggle underneath her. “I’m not going to lose my job over this, you entitled little shit. Fuck your ballet flats.”
My eyes grow wide as she shoves the shoe on, fastening the strap over my foot. I’ve never heard anyone speak so crudely. My lips quietly mouth the wordfucktrying it on for size, unable to stop it from bouncing around in my head.
In the scuffle, she’d dropped the other Mary Jane, so she leans over and grabs it before pulling at my other shoe. My hands push against her shoulders as vicious words hurl from my lips.
“I’m telling my father. And not even extra time in his office will save your job.”
