“It’s an easy solution to the problem. Actually, it’s agreatsolution to the problem. The Antonov family, tied to us through marriage?—”
“No,” I spit. “Not fucking happening.”
Standing next to and slightly behind Dad, my stepmother Felicity sighs dramatically and rolls her eyes, petting the littleshit of a dog in arms like a comic book villain. “There’s that delightful sailor mouth, as usual?—”
“Go fuck yourself, Felicity.”
Dad chuckles as he leans forward, drumming his fingers on the desk.
Felicity scowls when she notices the expression on his face. “You’reamusedby the idea of her destroying this family’s reputation?”
“Oh, I think you’ve done aspectacularjob of that yourself, Felicity!” I beam at her, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t worry, I’m not stealing your thunder.”
Her eyes narrow as her overly-filled lips curl. “You littlecunt?—”
“Felicity…” Dad growls warningly.
“Yeah,Felicity,” I smile sweetly at her. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, young lady? It’s nine PM. Do your parents even know where you are?”
My dad shoots me cold look. Felicity, who’s all of five years older than me, gives me the finger. Chanel, her sewer-rat of a lap-dog, bares her ugly little teeth.
I glance over at my half-sister, Chiara. She's decided to drag herself away from playing wifey to Gio, the son of a mid-level Sicilian don based out of New Jersey, to watch this train wreck unfold back here at home.
She slowly shakes her head while staring fixedly at me. I’m not sure if she’s telling me to stop antagonizing Felicity or if she’s agreeing with me that this is complete bullshit.
“Cesare!” Felicity hisses, aggressively stroking Chanel. “Get angry! Your daughter is out there on TMZ sucking face with some Russian gangster’s kid! He's not even Italian!”
“Aren’t you German and like, Scottish or something, Felicity?” I sigh.
“I’m married to your father!” she screeches. “That makes me Italian!”
“No, that makes you a poster girl for better science education in public school?—”
“Enough,” my father grunts. He leans back in his chair and rests his hands on his rounded stomach. “This is a blessing in disguise. That’s why I’m not angry.” He shrugs, looking right at me. “Honestly, I didn’t expect to marry you off.”
“No, I would think the general crack-whore aesthetic and junkie background probably would have something to do with?—”
“FELICITY!” Dad thunders, turning to glare at his wife. “I said enough.”
He inhales slowly, drumming his fingers on his belly.
“She's right, though.” He lifts his shoulders. “I haven’t seen you up till now as…an option. For marriage.”
“You mean for personal gain,” I mutter.
“For the gainof thisfamily,” Dad growls. “Like your sister has already done.”
I glance at my sister again, akaMrs. Ferrari.
That’s actually her married name. It’s insane.
Chiara and I have never really been super close. Partly it might be the different moms thing. Mine died during childbirth. Hers was a club bunny dad was married to just long enough to knock up, cheat on, then divorce.
We’ve never really gotten along. Well, maybe we did at one point, but those parts of my memories have never returned.
Honestly, I doubt we ever did.
Maybe that’s why I never felt guilty all the times I secretly snuck back to New York to honor Lark on the 83rdfloor—well, except the one year when I was in lock-down at rehab—and never called my own half-sister.
