I bite my tongue, forcing myself not to home in on the word ‘we’ in that sentence. I can let that one go, but I’m afraid I can’t say the same about the flair thing. “More flair?” I ask, feeling my spine straighten.
“Maybe flair’s the wrong word,” Brittany says, seeming to pick up on my irritation. “Perhaps enthusiasm. She was just sort of…depressing to be around.”
Lord Winthrop laughs and looks at his wife. “Now that you mention it, she was, wasn’t she?”
Narrowing my eyes, I say, “Oh, so it’s amusing to come across someone who’s down in the dumps, is it?”
Lord Winthrop looks taken aback. “No, I didn’t mean it like—”
“Did you ask her what was wrong?” I say, cutting him off.
They wear matching confused expressions, and I have the urge to knock their stupid heads together.
“Excuse me?” Lord Winthrop asks.
“Did youbotherto ask her if she was all right? Or did you just go on your merry way, pretending she didn't exist?”
“No, of course I didn't ask her. It's none of my business,” Lord Winthrop says.
“And why would you? It's just another human being who’s obviously in pain. What would that possibly have to do with you?” I say, leaning in toward him in a rather menacing way. “I suppose she doesn't matter at all. She's just one of the help, right?”
I hear the sound of a throat clearing and look to my left to see my father standing next to me. He gives them an overly gracious smile, then says, “Brittany, love, have you tried any of the pâté? Bunny had it flown in from Norway this morning.”
Glancing at me warily, Brittany, says, “I haven’t yet, thank you.” Looking up at her husband, she says, “Let’s go.”
As soon as they are out of earshot my father gives me a cold look. “It appears as though I’ve banished the wrong son from the party. I thought perhaps you’d be in a decent mood now that you’re a big success again, but I can see your disposition is very much the disappointment it was before.”
“On that note, I believe I’ll take my leave. Happy birthday, Father.”
* * *
By the time I’m home, I feel slightly less numb than I did when I left, which is strange considering how much I've had to drink. Suddenly, the reason pops into my mind and I wince internally, realizing that I really am a sick bastard. This little spark of life is brought to you by knowing Emma isn't happy and the depraved part of me thinks it’s because she might be harbouring feelings for me.
I think of her there on that island, serving the likes of Lord and Not-a-Lady Winthrop, and an indignant rage builds inside me. Yes, I do know I wasn't exactly a real treat when I first got there, but at least I had the self-awareness to realize it. Not like those two idiots who probably think they were doinghera favour by being there.
I stand under the rain shower head, scrubbing my hair far too vigorously as I think about Emma having to cook gluten-free, vegan, salt-free, sugar-free slop. The rage is now a full-blown inferno, and it strikes me that it's a great injustice in this world if someone with her talent is being forced to waste even a precious day cooking for ungrateful ingrates.
I push the button that turns off the steam and water and turns on the warm, dry air. As I stand being air dried by the vents embedded in the tiled walls, I think about how pointless it all is for me to be here with every advantage when she is so far away with absolutely none.
Seriously, what's the point of all this money, if I can’t improve the life of someone so deserving?
30
Hurricane Penny Comes to Town…
Emma
“Okay, people,” Libby says, walking around the lobby handing out lists to everyone present. “Now, we knew this might happen, but it's all right, because I've got a plan.”
Of course she's got a plan. She's Libby—the most thoroughly organized bride I've ever seen. She's calm in an almost eerie sort of way, considering the fact that we've had to shut down the resort and most of the island has been evacuated because of the potential for tropical storm Ernie to become a class four hurricane within the next few days.
I find myself watching Libby’s mum, Penny, who happens to be the complete opposite of her daughter. Penny Dewitt is one of the flightiest people I think I've ever met. She arrived two days ago with her super young boyfriend/puppy dog, Jorge, and according to Rosy, she's done nothing but drink by the pool and pretend she's not vaping weed (which she most certainly is).
Jorge looks like he spends far too much time in front of the mirror working on his top knot and keeping his beard looking just so. Apparently, Penny picked him up in Argentina, and it’s clear to everyone in the room, including him, that she’s ready to take him back there and drop him off. She’s been making some obvious advances in Will’s direction which couldn’t be more inappropriate since Will is about to be her daughter's brother-in-law. Also, she seems to have no regard for poor Jorge, who looks like he might just burst into tears at any moment.
She is the least motherly mother of the bride I can imagine. She either calls Libby ‘Mini-Me,’ which makes no sense since they’re total opposites, or she calls her Breeze—Libby’s original name apparently, which is rather ironic since there’s really nothing breezy about her.
“We’ll most likely lose power at some point,” Libby's saying when I finally get back to paying attention. “This means we need to have torches and emergency candles at the ready. We’ll all be staying in the main building for the duration of the storm, and since we’re all together, we’re going to go ahead with the wedding. Fidel has gotten his minister’s certificate online, so he'll handle the formalities this evening. Emma, how's the dinner coming along? Do you need any help with that?”
