I always remembered the wooden gates of Granddaddy's mansion as being a doorway to a magical land. Out of his three granddaughters, I had the most fantastical and imaginative streak. The old bugger told everyone who would listen that he saw it coming when I announced I would only go to film school. His son, my daddy, delighted to his father about having two gifted daughters, one practically so, the other creatively alike.
Now, whenever I walked into this Spanish revival home, I pounded my foot on the pristine hardwood floors and made my way through sun-lit hallways, wondering why I had to be part of his shenanigans.
"You need a hobby. Like an actual freaking hobby," Leigh had told him once.
"I do have a hobby, the best kind! Watching my grandbabies bloom!" Granddaddy had always replied, a smile on his lips.
I made my way into the house with interest and caution this time, because Granddaddy had specifically asked to see me. That hasn't happened since his and Leigh's fight.
When I climbed sparse steps to his study, peeking across the hallway to where Grandmama always sat to play chess, I prayed there was nothing more to this visit than catching up on life and cream cookies.
I lifted my hands to the looming mahogany door and rapped on it twice, loud and firm.
"Come on in."
The old man looked even better than he did at Leigh's wedding. His dark grey button-down and white slacks brought the icy blue of his eyes out. His grey hair, neatly swept to one side of his head, looked oil to perfection. Despite being damn near 90, his muscles were well-defined and sturdy. Who knew aging on this nosey, lovable geezer cleared up his dark spots. "Hi, Papa."
"Oh, look who it is. The whimsical one."
I rolled my eyes at the nickname. "Ok, do not start this off with such embarrassing memories."
"Come now, Rixie. Those were the best times! You were so much better then too; less uptight."
My eyes summersaulted to the back of my skull, more fervently than earlier. "Papa, please. We've been over this. Work is more important than boys, has always been."
Aaron Fox, patriarch of the Fox dynasty, stood from behind his desk and engulfed me in his signature bear hug, the kind I always got when I scraped my knee during practice for school plays or when Leigh and I struggled over who'd get Mr Badoozey the Bright Bunny for the weekend. I sniffed in his wood musky scent and the faintest hint of alcohol and smiled. He had to have locked himself in here, in his safely guarded study, in order to safely take a sip of his well-hidden stash. I heard a creak from across the hall beyond the study door and hoped Grandmama wasn't making her appearance just yet. That woman had the nose of a hawk.
"Better be careful, Papa. Mama should be more important than your secret stash."
Papa guffawed his way back to his desk chair. I propped myself up on the chair opposite him, smiling and dreading the possible reasons I could be sitting in this chair. Waiting for Papa to dillydally around the topic first before asking his questions was not on my agenda. I tossed my bag to the floor and leaned forward on his desk, flicking my wild, long and wavy brown hair away from my face.
"So, Papa, I'd love to chitchat but I've been really busy and I need rest. What's this about?"
My eyes darted from here to there all over Papa's face. I sat pondering on the possible reasons I figured could be why I was here. His hands smoothed over themselves, my eyes flitting from across his silent heaving chest to his moderately twitching brows.
"Well, Rixie. You remember my late friend Wilder and his Lady, Mona?"
Fuck. Me. "I think so. And?"
Papa's eyes twinkled as he sized me up, but I wasn't losing this little battle. I held my chin up and stared him dead in the eye. Well, I glared more so than stared but who cared?
"You remember their boy… Roman, was it?"
FUCK. ME. "Yes," I ground out. "Yes, Papa, I remember him. What are you getting at?"
Papa watched me for a while, then after deciding I planned to maintain my finesse, he equally leaned on the desk, the weight of his elbows pressing down on the polished wood, the ornate chunk of furniture creaking with every ounce of Papa's weight exerted on it. And then Papa spoke, and I wished unhearing was my most refined superpower.
"How about you marry him?"
FUCK. ME. ALL OVER AGAIN. My brain began working overtime, playing all the scenes from when Lady Wilder visited the set to way before, at Leigh's extravagant wedding party on the yacht. Heck, I even thought to Roman's and I's most recent date at the state art gallery. Papa would have had no way of knowing any concrete details that'd have been enough to propose such a ridiculous idea... unless he had me followed. Or had Roman followed.
"Now, Rixie, bolster your horns. It isn't like that—"
"What exactly isn't like what, Papa?" My voice was even and unshaken, but my hazel eyes held ice cold rage.
"Rixie, I only wanted—"
My feet flew out from beneath the desk, my bag kicked to the other side of the study. The strap of my tank top twisted on my shoulder as I ran my hands through my thick hair, pulling and straining on my scalp.
"Jesus, Papa! Leigh hated you for so long for doing the same to her. She didn't love Jethro; she hardly knew him! Or his family! And you turned her into this spectacle for grabs to those people. Do you know how low Jethro's mom thought of her, my beautifully smart big sister, before the woman realized Leigh Rae Fox wasn't just some flashy heiress with no thought in her skull? Leigh went through so much pain. Papa… Why would you do this again?"
Papa sat firm, unflinching at my outburst. Is chest expanded beyond itself on a long, steady inhale, and then he let his breath out evenly through his nostrils. Fine hairs in his nose ruffled with the breeze of his exhale. Papa leaned back in his seat and captured my fuming gaze. "Sit."
"No."
"Sit down, Erika."
I begrudgingly sat, but shoved my chair far from his desk. Granddaddy's command rivaled that of military generals. I guess it was true what they say: businessmen were much more savage and unforgiving in their battles. And more authoritarian too; the right ones anyway. Papa adjusted the lapels of his shirt and leaned forward, urging me closer with a beckoning wave of his hand.
"Now I want you to listen very carefully and very calmly…"