“There’s no way that my mother can afford that.”
She already knew. That the gap separating her and Romeo Accardi was far too vast to cross. She knew. There were the people that owned these houses, and there were the people that cleaned them. And there was not enough elbow grease in the world to work yourself from the position she and her mother were in to the other. You could not start from where she did and become one of those illustrious creatures, and much of that inequality began with the education. When you were given access to the best of everything from the very beginning, how could anyone ever hope to catch up with you?
“I will pay the fees,” he said.
“But why?”
He smiled. “You’re smart to ask the question. There are a great many people in this world who do things for the wrong reasons. I like your mother very much. I’ve never met anyone quite like her. And I want to give her a gift. You are the most important thing to her. I know she’ll appreciate it.”
Her mother had. When he’d brought her into the room and told her how it would be, she’d been more than appreciative.
Before Heather knew it, she was being outfitted for school uniforms. The navy blue sweater with burgundy trim and plaid skirt, knee-high socks and loafers felt like something out of a television show to her. Which actually was more real than the private school kids that she had seen wandering around the Upper East Side. It was more likely for her to step into a movie than to join one of those groups.
Fairfield was in London, which put her a short plane ride away from her mother. It was foreign and exciting all at once. She’d been sorry to leave the estate in some ways, but she felt…part of something new. Part of something she’d never imagined she could be, and that made her more excited than anything.
The old building was made of stone, and more of a palace than a school. The night before school started she stayed in Giuseppe’s London town house with him and her mother. Romeo did not join them. He was taking a different plane, apparently.
That sort of casual reference to their riches still astonished her.
They were astronomically wealthy, she knew. You couldn’t live the life that she did and not be aware of it. But to go from their estate—in a private plane—to a glorious town house that also belonged to this family. The a luxury car and the school that was right out of a fantasy novel truly underlined the reality.
That feeling of the wealth surrounding her, compared to her own lack, followed her into the building.
She thought she would just keep quiet, do nothing to expose herself—as one of the impoverished, and as an American. She found out quickly that she wasn’t the only American. The first time she saw Romeo in the hall, she heard him saying at an elevated whisper, “She’s the housekeeper’s daughter.”
And that was when it began to follow her, like a trail of whispers. She didn’t belong. Romeo did his best to make sure that everyone treated her that way. He did not manage to drive a wedge between herself and the initial friends that she met on the day, her roommates, who treated her with kindness even though Romeo was doing his best to ensure that everyone else treated her like she was invisible.
Quite literally.
Sometimes she would speak to somebody, and they would ignore her entirely.
When they went home on break things were no better. Romeo treated her like a ghost that haunted his house. Like an insignificant thing, and she hated it. She ached to matter. To be more. To not be stuck as something lower and lesser simply because she’d been born without money.
She’d always been aware of it.
Her mother cleaned for rich people; how could she not be aware of it?
But existing half in that world and half out of it was a glorious, sharp pain she’d never imagined before.
During summer break, however, she noticed that something was different between her mom and Giuseppe. They weren’t like a boss and an employee.
They seemed like…friends, perhaps.
Or maybe more.
Within a year, Romeo’s parents were divorced, and Giuseppe and her mother were engaged.
At fifteen, Heather was elated. It made herone of them, in many ways. She was no longer the cleaner’s daughter. She was Giuseppe Accardi’s stepdaughter. But that made Romeo her stepbrother, and if she had hoped that it might spark some sort of familial relationship between them, or even a civil one, she was disappointed.
At the wedding, she had on the most beautiful dress. It was peach colored, and finer than anything she had ever hoped to own. And he had been there, lanky and glorious in a suit cut perfectly to his lean frame. He had grown since she had met him the previous year. His face more angular, even more perfect.
His mother was a great beauty. He had his father’s olive skin, black hair and dark eyes, and his fashion model mother’s bone structure, her insolent mouth and the same sharp gaze. The few times that she had met the former Mrs. Accardi, Heather had felt cut to pieces by her steely blue eyes. Mainly, she hadn’t lived in the house. Evidence, as far as Heather was concerned, that she could see a lot of his mother in him now.
“They might dress you up,” he said, looking her up and down, and then circling her slowly, like an elegant predator. “But you will always be the housekeeper’s daughter. And you will certainly never be anything to me.”
It was lucky for her that she was no stranger to snobbery. Even going to the school she had, back in New York, she had been bullied. Her mother was a cleaner. And while many other kids at the school were in the same situation that she was, the ones that weren’t, who still felt insignificant, thought to make themselves feel superior by creating a pariah out of someone else.
The fact that Romeo couldn’t leave her alone let her know that he had a vulnerability. If he was entirely sure of himself, he wouldn’t come for her. Which was what gave her the strength to simply smile in return.
