La Vie en Rose {Life in Pink} (25 page)

Emma drew pleasure from watching her friend flaunt her diversity. From her short hair, buzzed close on the sides, to her oxblood boots, Rarity was everything her name claimed.

Deposited into a private foyer with vaulted ceilings and a sparkling chandelier, the scent of wealth and conceit churned up prickly memories.

The door opened and an older gentleman dressed in gray greeted them. “Mr. Lockhart. Ms. Lockhart.”

“Harold, you remember Emma,” Rarity said.

“Of course.” Tipping his head, he greeted. “Miss.”

Right.

Although every exterior wall was made of glass, displaying the gaping panorama of New York and a gazillion dollar view of Central Park, the condo was taciturn and unwelcoming. Monochromatic, eccentric, and ugly were the words that came to mind.

Marble walls complemented the pale zebra wood flooring and cold metal furniture. Art deco lines created an abundance of space, so much so it became a piece of art in itself, the pricey square footage so blatantly displayed it surpassed braggadocios.

Harold took their coats and they shuffled into what the Lockharts called the fore room where white leather chairs sat beside an étagère wall displaying glass pieces of objects d’art. She hated it.

“You made it.” There she was, Sophia Morgan-Lockhart.  “Most people send notice if they’re delayed beyond an hour. I see you’ve brought a guest without advanced notification.” She smiled tightly, as if she tasted something unsavory. “Emma, how nice to have you with us.” There was nothing sincere in her greeting.

Rarity and Riley tolerated air kisses and a short debriefing of what their mother found tedious so far that day. Emma tried to keep to the shadows, but everything was freaking white and wide open. Fidgeting, she toyed with various poses and places to keep her hands. Rarity collapsed on a settee and Riley filled a leather chair.

Mr. Lockhart entered from a set of gray pocket doors she hadn’t noticed.

“Oliver, the children are here and they’ve brought a guest.” Sophia gestured as if Emma were a stain they needed to address, her enormous canary diamond glinting in the high altitude sunlight.

“Riley.” Mr. Lockhart shook his son’s hand, but only nodded at Rarity. He barely acknowledged Emma. “Your hair’s gotten shorter, Rarity. I sometimes wonder what happened to my little girl in Mary Jane’s and lace.”

“I killed her,” Rarity announced dryly.

“Don’t start,” Mrs. Lockhart admonished. “Shall we have a toast? Harold, tell Lillian we’d like a cordial.” Turning to her husband she mumbled, “Honestly, Oliver, what is she thinking? They’ve been here almost five minutes.” She tsked.

It was clear Riley didn’t want to be in his parents’ presence, but they were there and he should make the best of it. They’d eat and leave and it would all be over soon.

A woman in black wheeled out a glass cart filled with fancy liqueurs and tiny stemmed glasses.

“I’ll take a beer,” Riley announced.

“We’re having cordials, Riley.”

“Bully for you. I’d like a beer.”

“I’ll take one too,” Rarity said.

It clearly took an effort for Mrs. Lockhart to hold her tongue. Shooting Rarity a disapproving look, she said, “Lillian, please bring Riley a glass of whatever ale we have. Rarity, you may have one of the liqueurs if you’d like a cocktail before dinner.”

The maid disappeared and returned with a tall pilsner of amber beer for Riley. She poured several small glasses as Mrs. Lockhart directed her every move down to how she carried the silver tray. Emma carefully took a small glass and sipped the citrus flavored alcohol.
Gross.

“No thank you, Lillian,” Rarity said as the tray came to her.

Riley took a long sip of his beer, eyed his mother, and passed the glass to Rarity who chugged the remainder.

“Your manners are abysmal.” Mrs. Lockhart tsked again. “Lillian, we’ll be moving to the dining room.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The dining room resembled a tomb. Great windows on each wall overlooked the New York skyline. A slab of marble long enough to fit twenty men was coldly dressed with square, white dishes and multiple forks and stemware. Emma settled into an S chair between Rarity and Riley.

Placing her napkin on her lap, she took a moment to squeeze Riley’s thigh under the table. He snatched her fingers so fast it surprised her. He’d been so distant and indifferent since they’d arrived, but as his grip tightened over her hand as if he were drawing strength, she understood how far being here was pushing him.

Here, he was just a boy and these people were, unfortunately, the parents that would never appreciate the incredible man he’d become. She squeezed his hand back.
I appreciate you.

“I haven’t seen you in some time, Riley. What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Same old, same old.”

“I see. And I suppose it’s too much to ask that we have lunch on occasion so you might enlighten me about this secret life you lead.”

“I have no secrets, Mother.”

“Of course not—Rarity, put that phone away. We’re at the table, for the love of decency. I swear, your lack of couth and etiquette is dreadful.”

Rarity finished typing a text and stuffed her phone in her pocket. The servants carried out the first course and Emma watched discreetly to see which fork to use.

“Mazie Sinclair’s daughter is shopping for a place in Manhattan, Riley,” Mrs. Lockhart announced and Emma stilled. “Perhaps you could give her a call and see if she needs anything.”

“Because I’m suddenly a realtor? I think I maybe said ten words to the girl in my entire life.”

“She’s quite pretty.” She glanced at Rarity. “Long dark hair, trim figure. Her new nose transforms her face.”

“No thanks,” he muttered.

Emma frowned. Was he purposely hiding the fact that they were dating? He’d wanted her here. It was part of his argument when he’d confessed wanting to stop hiding their relationship—spending holidays as a couple.

As they ate in silence, Mrs. Lockhart continued to passively berate her children and promote the beautiful New York transplant she wanted Riley to marry. Emma’s appetite disappeared the longer Riley remained silent.

As horrid as his mother was, his neglect to introduce Emma, as his girlfriend was worse. If he’d just tell his mother they were involved she’d likely stop pimping her friend’s daughter. Why wasn’t he speaking up?

The first course was cleared and Mrs. Lockhart appeared perturbed—an ongoing state. “I don’t understand why you won’t consider it. She’s a sweet young woman who—”

“Jesus Christ, Mom, he’s dating Emma,” Rarity snapped.

Riley’s eyes jerked in his sister’s direction and he scowled. Apparently he
hadn’t
wanted to disclose that bit of information for some reason. “What the fuck, Rarity?”

“Watch your tongue,” Mr. Lockhart muttered.

Mrs. Lockhart scoffed. “I beg your pardon?”

Rarity turned, sending a challenging glance past Emma to her brother. Emma folded her hands on her lap.
Dear God.

“Is this true?” his mother asked, appalled.

“Tell them,” Rarity demanded through gritted teeth.

His fork clattered to the table. “Yes.”

Feeling devalued, Emma stared at her lap.

“Oliver, say something.”

“Men often pass their time with various women before settling down. I see no cause for alarm.”

Her breath choked out of her.
Stand up. Get your coat. And leave.
She couldn’t move.

“That’s not what this is,” Riley said. Did anyone see her? “I’m not
passing time.
I love her.”

Mrs. Lockhart laughed. “Love? I don’t think so, dear.”

“It’s true—”

“Then that’s unfortunate,” his mother snapped. “You’re a
Lockhart
. Act like one. I refuse to have some girl, who couldn’t afford the inheritance tax of her family’s sole legacy, sponging off my only son like some New Jersey parasite.”

“That’s it,” Riley stated calmly and stood, pulling Emma up by her elbow. “Get your coat, Em. We’re leaving.”

“Sit down, Riley,” his father directed.

Rarity stood. “Merry Christmas. Yay...” Rolling her eyes she took Emma’s hand and walked her toward the door.

“Everyone sit down!” Mr. Lockhart snapped, rising from his chair.

Riley bunched up his napkin and tossed it on his plate. “This is fucking bullshit,” he mumbled.

“Think about what you’re doing, Riley. We’re your parents.” Then in a more severe tone, she threatened, “You need us.”

He turned and hissed, “For what? What could I possibly need from you? Money? I have my own. You can hold whatever’s left, but you can’t touch what’s legitimately mine. I’d freeze and starve before I’d ever ask for help from you.”

Heart pounding, Emma stood at the entrance to the dining room, stunned. Rarity returned with their coats, appearing unaffected.

His father shook his head. “You’re behaving like a child, Riley. When will you finally become a man? We spoiled you, humored this ridiculous portrayal of some low class, provincial nobody, but enough is enough. Where’s your motivation to do better? Your drive? We gave two children every opportunity to be something great and they’re both living like hippies, surviving on wasted potential and their grandparents’ hard-earned money. It’s a disgrace!”

“I have drive,” Riley growled. “Every day, every single fucking day, I wake up and do my best not to become you.”

Emma’s jaw unhinged as she caught the perverse glint in his mother’s overdone eyes. It was as if she were taking pleasure in this disgraceful spectacle.

His father’s voice pitched low and harsh. “Take your friend and leave.”

Trembling, Emma stared as he turned and took her hand.

“Rarity,” their mother called.

She groaned and turned. “What?”

“We still expect to see you tomorrow evening.”

Rarity glanced at Emma and slowly smiled. “Sorry. I have plans. I’ll be spending Christmas with family—the ones that are there for me and love me no matter what.” She looked at her parents and held out her hands, shrugging. “I can’t keep coming here, pretending to be someone I’m not.”

Together, the three of them turned and left.

****

“O
pen it, open it, open it, open it!” Riley bounced on the floor next to their horribly decorated Christmas tree. Whatever tinsel still clung to the tree was not earning any points in holiday glamour.

Rarity laughed from the couch where she and Lexi lounged together under the boo-boo blanket. Emma peeled back the paper of the large gift. The box was bright with a young girl on the front. “
Nerf Rebelle Agent Bow,”
she read and gave a nervous laugh. “It’s a toy bow and arrow.”

“It’s a crossbow!” he said excitedly. “It shoots up to eighty-five feet! We can use it for zombie apocalypse practice!”

“Thanks.” She smiled and kissed him.

Despite the unfortunate turn of events last night, the moment they returned to the comfort of their home, Riley’s mood returned to his usual upbeat, hyper self. She wasn’t sure if he simply loved Christmas that much or if he was overcompensating for fear that the ominous atmosphere of the previous days would return. Though he usually had more energy than the rest of them combined, today he acted like an excitable squirrel battling an attention deficit disorder in a room full of shiny objects—on speed. Still, it was better than seeing him sad. As far as defense mechanisms went, his was a harmless one.

“You want more coffee, baby?” Lexi asked as she stood. Her long, dark legs stepping around the piles of paper as Emma made room by gathering the shredded trash and crumpling it into a ball.

“Can you grab me a trash bag, Lexi?”

“Sure, Em.”

“Now, open this one,” Riley insisted.

He’d bought her so many gifts. The vintage shaving kit she got him no longer seemed like the great present she thought it would be. “Okay.”

Pulling back the wrapping, she discovered an old hat box. There was obviously something fairly large inside, heavier than a hat. Unlacing the string, she lifted the lid and smirked, amused. “A Polaroid camera?”

“Now we can actually print and hold our pictures instead of posting them on social files for a bunch of people we hardly know to critique and judge. That whole box over there is filled with film. Enough to take a picture every day for a year.”

She smiled, unprepared for the tickle of sadness that seeped in. What would her pictures look like in a year?

“Do you like it?”

She lifted the pink camera and opened the flash. A strange hum started as the camera turned on. “I love it.”

He kissed her. “Come on.” Pulling her to the floor on a pile of crumpled paper, he held the camera over them. “Vintage Christmas selfie—hashtag old school. Everyone say sex please.”

She laughed. “Sex please!”

The flash went off, bright and loud. As the bulb whistled the camera processed the picture, sluggishly purging it from the slit. He took the picture and fanned it in the air.

“Vintage and hashtag don’t belong in the same sentence,” Rarity commented as Emma blinked, momentarily blinded.

“Fine. I’ll say pound sign,” Riley argued. “Rarity’s annoying—pound sign: brat.”

As Emma’s vision restored, Rarity gave her brother the finger.

“Look,” Riley said, holding the picture out for her. A poor resolution image of the two of them landed in her hand.

He kissed her ear and whispered in a voice too low for anyone else to hear, “Pound sign: beautiful.” She shut her eyes, thinking the exact same thing. He was beautiful.

Taking the picture, she studied it as it came into focus. If she’d taken it on a digital camera she would’ve fussed with her hair and edited it twenty times. There was no such thing as candid photos anymore. But what she saw, that expression of total happiness and love in his eyes, that was real.

Her gaze was turned toward him, as her mouth opened in a crooked smile. Lying back the way they were, she had a double chin. But she looked so happy. Real.

Turning, she kissed his cheek. “I love it. We should take a picture every day.”

“For a year?” he grinned, staring close into her eyes.