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Authors: Vicki Pettersson
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Olivia, dear. I had tests done this week. You and I share the same blood.”
I wanted to say she hadn’t looked terribly worried, nor did she appear all that relieved now, but Olivia was wringing her hands and suddenly speaking fast. “But—But we’re really sisters, right?” I looked at her. “Even if only…half sisters?”
Bless her. Sweet, sensitive Olivia. She was better than the rest of us put together. I put a hand on her arm, to let her know it didn’t matter either way.
“You share the same mother, yes.”
“She has a name,” I snapped, and his head jerked, reminding me again of a bull. “Zoe.”
In the nine years since she’d disappeared, without a note or a trace, Xavier had never, to my knowledge, spoken of my mother. I imagined it would be the same with me. Ten years from now, or ten minutes, he’d have blotted my existence from his memory. I too would be a ghost, wandering the hallways of this house; another name not to be spoken by the servants, though I doubted my memory would haunt anyone.
“I know her name.” He pushed away from his desk and stood. His standard power stance. “Olivia, if you’ll excuse us now, I have some things to discuss with Joanna alone.”
She didn’t move, but bit her lower lip uncertainly and glanced again at me. I patted her hand again. Xavier’s face reddened, his nostrils widened, and that solitary brow lifted high. I waited for the snort and hoof stomp. “Olivia!”
“Yes, Daddy.” She rose.
I shot her a reassuring smile. “I’ll talk to you later.”
The door shut with a soft click behind her. It sounded like the report of a gunshot in the ensuing silence.
“So who is he?” I said without preamble. There was no need for pretense now.
“Who is whom?” he said, flipping open the humidor next to his desk.
“The man who fathered me,” I said. “My real father?”
He waited until his Cohiba was cut and lit, and puffed twice before his eyes found mine. “I neither know nor care.”
No, he wouldn’t. He never had. “So you’ve done it, then. Finally washed your hands of me. Gotten rid of the great embarrassment of the Archer family dynasty.”
“Don’t be dramatic, Joanna. And, remember, this was your mother’s doing, not mine.”
“But you must be so relieved,” I continued, honeyed sarcasm dripping from my voice. “No more pretense. No more stilted introductions, or uncomfortable silences at Thanksgiving. Why, you never even have to see me again.”
“That’s right,” he said, and in spite of myself I flinched, immediately hating myself for it. “Your inheritance is disavowed, obviously. I had the papers changed yesterday. I won’t support another man’s child. Olivia will receive everything.” He looked at me, the smoke rising between us, beautifully symbolic. “You are not my daughter.”
“But Xavier.” I stood too, and leaned forward on his desk, passing through the smoke. “How will it look?”
He’d already thought of that. “As far as the world is concerned you will remain my daughter. Estranged, but still mine. Understand?”
Just another possession, I thought, carelessly cast aside.
“You’ll keep your house, your car, and a small monthly allowance since my daughter seems to care for you, but the family business, the homes and investments, they all belong to Olivia, and rightfully so.”
“And the name?” I said, my voice going dead soft. “Do I get to keep the name?”
He hesitated. “It was your mother’s too.”
“One she obviously cherished.”
He stiffened. “You may leave now.”
I almost laughed at that. I had left long ago. He’d just never noticed.
“Oh, and Joanna?” His voice stopped my hand on the doorknob, and I turned. He was already seated again, angling a stream of smoke upward. He spoke from the corner of his mouth. “Stay out of Valhalla. If I hear of one more incident compromising the reputation of my property, I’ll throw you out myself.”
I used the only
I wanted to say she hadn’t looked terribly worried, nor did she appear all that relieved now, but Olivia was wringing her hands and suddenly speaking fast. “But—But we’re really sisters, right?” I looked at her. “Even if only…half sisters?”
Bless her. Sweet, sensitive Olivia. She was better than the rest of us put together. I put a hand on her arm, to let her know it didn’t matter either way.
“You share the same mother, yes.”
“She has a name,” I snapped, and his head jerked, reminding me again of a bull. “Zoe.”
In the nine years since she’d disappeared, without a note or a trace, Xavier had never, to my knowledge, spoken of my mother. I imagined it would be the same with me. Ten years from now, or ten minutes, he’d have blotted my existence from his memory. I too would be a ghost, wandering the hallways of this house; another name not to be spoken by the servants, though I doubted my memory would haunt anyone.
“I know her name.” He pushed away from his desk and stood. His standard power stance. “Olivia, if you’ll excuse us now, I have some things to discuss with Joanna alone.”
She didn’t move, but bit her lower lip uncertainly and glanced again at me. I patted her hand again. Xavier’s face reddened, his nostrils widened, and that solitary brow lifted high. I waited for the snort and hoof stomp. “Olivia!”
“Yes, Daddy.” She rose.
I shot her a reassuring smile. “I’ll talk to you later.”
The door shut with a soft click behind her. It sounded like the report of a gunshot in the ensuing silence.
“So who is he?” I said without preamble. There was no need for pretense now.
“Who is whom?” he said, flipping open the humidor next to his desk.
“The man who fathered me,” I said. “My real father?”
He waited until his Cohiba was cut and lit, and puffed twice before his eyes found mine. “I neither know nor care.”
No, he wouldn’t. He never had. “So you’ve done it, then. Finally washed your hands of me. Gotten rid of the great embarrassment of the Archer family dynasty.”
“Don’t be dramatic, Joanna. And, remember, this was your mother’s doing, not mine.”
“But you must be so relieved,” I continued, honeyed sarcasm dripping from my voice. “No more pretense. No more stilted introductions, or uncomfortable silences at Thanksgiving. Why, you never even have to see me again.”
“That’s right,” he said, and in spite of myself I flinched, immediately hating myself for it. “Your inheritance is disavowed, obviously. I had the papers changed yesterday. I won’t support another man’s child. Olivia will receive everything.” He looked at me, the smoke rising between us, beautifully symbolic. “You are not my daughter.”
“But Xavier.” I stood too, and leaned forward on his desk, passing through the smoke. “How will it look?”
He’d already thought of that. “As far as the world is concerned you will remain my daughter. Estranged, but still mine. Understand?”
Just another possession, I thought, carelessly cast aside.
“You’ll keep your house, your car, and a small monthly allowance since my daughter seems to care for you, but the family business, the homes and investments, they all belong to Olivia, and rightfully so.”
“And the name?” I said, my voice going dead soft. “Do I get to keep the name?”
He hesitated. “It was your mother’s too.”
“One she obviously cherished.”
He stiffened. “You may leave now.”
I almost laughed at that. I had left long ago. He’d just never noticed.
“Oh, and Joanna?” His voice stopped my hand on the doorknob, and I turned. He was already seated again, angling a stream of smoke upward. He spoke from the corner of his mouth. “Stay out of Valhalla. If I hear of one more incident compromising the reputation of my property, I’ll throw you out myself.”
I used the only
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