Luxury brushes imaginary wrinkles in her skirt and then turns back to me. She still seems eager to survey the grounds. “I’m hyperventilating, Vic. You really are...”
“That I am, Little One.” My palm brandishes the small of her back as housekeepers create a line across the porte cochère. I start introducing her to the lot of them when she steps forward, glowing like Aswan, Egypt on the longest day in the year.
A peculiar look of awe flits over the staff’s faces as if they’ve spent their tenure invisible until now. As Luxury greets each one, they respect her, revere her.
Wearing a small smile of his own, Burt speaks in a subdued voice at my side. “You’re a lucky, chap.”
“I . . .”
Dressed in a flowing cream chiffon ensemble, Mum and her very own mother start out of the double-arched doorways that shoot to the heavens. My petite mother could rule her own dominion if she weren’t begrudgingly completing my father’s duties.
“Fuck,” I murmur. Many staff members have fallen back in line, though those closest to Luxury are engaged in a chin-wagging with her, and others still await her attention.
I stroll to Luxury, guiding her away from the introductions and toward the angered princess.
“Luxury, this is my mother, Princess Mary, and my lovely grandmother, the Dowager Sarah. Mum, Grandmother, this is my woman, Luxury Whitson.”
Although I can feel Luxury’s sharp inhale, her spine lengths as she extends a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both, Princess Mary, Dowager—”
“This is howyougreetme?” Princess Mary scoffs.
Rebuffed, Luxury slowly lowers her hand. Her lips start to form an apology, but my voice adopts Mom’s noxious bite. “My mother willdiscernher tone in the future.”
“I will do nothing of the—”
Grandmother steps up a few paces, a sloppy, albeit, atoning smile on her face. “Sweetheart, don’t mind Mary. We do not shake hands here. We’re huggers.”
Rubbish. We are not affectionate. She is drunk.
“Well, alright.” Luxury’s gaze questions me as Grandmother Sarah enfolds her in an exaggerated embrace. The back of my mother’s hand drops to her forehead at the uncharacteristic sight. As always, when my mother chooses to faint, I catch her in my arms.
15
Luxury
“Burt, I thought all princesses were supposed to be nice. Radiant like the sparkly tiaras in their head. Mary hates me,” my murmur fades down a massive corridor. My eyes momentarily shut as I’m overwhelmed by the culture.
The decadent walls.
Everything is dripping in gold or ensconced in marble.
Everything is lined in history.
There are murals and paintings that predate my parents’ linage in the States.
“That might be the case in America,” replies Jane, the maid who has helped Burt with my items.
“What have I done?”
“Princess Mary felt slighted when you introduced yourself to the staff before saying a word to her,” Burt says.
“You did receive our favor,” Jane adds.
“I didn’t see her. My friggen short stature.”My height screwed me over. Groaning deeply, I fork a hand through my hair.
“I assure you, no. Apologies aren’t necessary. That mother of Victor’s has a ghastly habit of preying on everyone. I assure you, she was not even outside when introductions commenced. She’d have expected you to walk on the backs of commoners just to bid her good day first. Her love forselfhas always rivaled—” Catching himself, Burt clears his throat and continues with my luggage.
“But . . .” I slow down.