Blossom in Winter Page 3

  “Is this your first party at Emma’s house?”

  “Without my dad or her parents around, yes.”

  “Damn. Why is your dad so overprotective?”

  I laugh as I try to think of an answer. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s scared of what he can’t control.”

  “Well,” he says, his eyes lost in mine, “if I had such a beautiful daughter, I might also be crazy-protective.” I smile, speechless, and lower my gaze. “Would you like to walk around the gardens?”

  “That would be great.”

  He offers me his hand. I gladly accept, and, walking hand in hand, we slip away from the party, the stares, and all the noise.

  After strolling around for a couple of minutes, his words finally break our silence. “I heard you won't be joining the girls for their annual vacations…”

  “Indeed. I’ve got an internship starting next month.”

  “So it’s true? You’re really gonna work until you start Columbia?”

  “Well, yes, as an intern, but it’s a paid job.”

  His lips twitch into a smirk. “Of course, at Gatt-Dieren Capital, right?”

  I frown at his tone. “Right...”

  “Oh. That’s not work, then.”

  “Why not?”

  He chuckles. “Let’s be honest, your dad just got you this job to keep an eye on you.” I ponder his words as he slows down his pace. “You know, Emma and her friends have never worked with their parents. They know working with family only brings trouble.”

  “Well, technically I’ll be working for him. But I’ll be part of a group with other interns, and we’ll have a supervising manager. Dad won’t be around.”

  “Will your supervising manager know who you are?”

  “You mean, will he know I’m Roy’s daughter?” He nods. “Hmm, I guess so… Should I fake my last name?”

  “If you want him to treat you as an equal among your peers, yeah. Otherwise he’ll treat you differently.” He sniggers. “Just like a little princess.”

  “You’re right. I don’t want that. I want to use this opportunity to get experience, start making my own money and career.”

  “And here we go, Ms. Van Gatt sounding so annoyingly mature.” I giggle, shaking my head. “Seriously, though, don’t you ever think about having some fun?”

  We stop walking. We are already a fair distance from the party, immersed in the vast garden, lit just with some mellow lights and the stars above.

  “But I am having fun,” I reply, my voice soft.

  He takes me in his arms and looks steadily in my eyes. “Last time we met, you left quite abruptly from the theater.” I smile, lost in his closeness. “If I remember correctly, we didn’t even have time for a kiss.” He gently moves some of the strands of hair covering my face, probably because of the breeze, and with his hands holding my cheeks, he slowly bends down to touch my lips, giving me a slow, tender kiss. I can’t help but blush—it’s the first time someone has kissed me on the mouth! I close my eyes, reveling in his touch and smell. My mind is bouncing in excitement. I kiss him back, longer this time. Then we embrace each other, my heart melting from our first kiss. I did it! We kissed!

  “I’d like to show you something,” he whispers, taking me by the hand. “It’s a surprise.”

  I feel light-headed, flying like a butterfly. I love surprises! We walk in silence back to the house and finally reach the door of a guest bedroom.

  “You’ve got to close your eyes first,” he instructs.

  I do so.

  He opens the door and escorts me inside. “Okay, now you can open them.”

  The entire room is lit with candles, rose petals have been scattered everywhere, and a bossa nova soundtrack is crooning in the background.

  “Oh, James,” I gasp, my heart pounding so loud and hard. “It’s wonderful!” I kiss him again.

  As we head to the bed, he continues kissing me and helps me lie down. With our excitement growing with every breath, he starts to unbutton his shirt, and I find myself helping him to strip it off. He knows I won’t do more than cuddles and kisses, but even so, it’s still a big milestone for me.

  Emma Hasenfratz

  I’ve just gotten a phone call I don’t like at all. It’s from my security. Alert code “intrusion” has been activated. My mind’s going wild, and I’m feeling fucking betrayed. Why can’t everyone simply follow the rules of this party? I’m currently winning the tequila contest against Fred and have managed to drink over ten shots. A record so far! But I’ve got to excuse myself and leave the terrace with a fake smile. I run inside the house, flying through the corridors but keeping quiet so not to be heard. I’m glad to see two of my security guards already there waiting for me, hidden near the wall of the guest bedroom. When they see me arriving, they nod at each other as a signal.

  “Don’t move! Drop the phone now,” screams one of them, pulling his gun out.

  Jerk Number One, aka Kevin, drops his iPhone in shock and puts his hands in the air. I grab it from the floor and find exactly what I expected.

  Enraged, I step right into the bedroom, turning on the lights. “Sorry to bother you, babygirl, but James is a fucking asshole!”

  Jerk Number Two, James, is already shirtless on top of my bestie, devouring her mouth, their faces sweaty, her hair messy. They stop immediately at the sound of my voice.

  She pushes him aside instantly. “Emma! What do you mean?”

  I lift the iPhone and play the video for both of them.

  Petra gasps and covers her mouth in disgust. The video is five minutes long, explicitly showing everything they’ve done so far.

  “How did you get this?”

  One of the security guards brings Kevin inside.

  “Unfortunately, I believe Kevin, James, and Fred are in this together,” I reply.

  “We’ve already apprehended Fred, Ms. Hasenfratz. One of our guards has him. Carol and Laura are also on their way to take care of Ms. Van Gatt.”

  “Perfect, thank you. Take James to the basement and tie him to a chair.”

  “Yes, Miss,” replies the security guard, moving toward him.

  “Don’t touch me! Emma, I can explain,” shouts James as he’s led by force out of the bedroom. “Please, Emma! Please!”

  “Emma, what are you gonna do?” asks Petra.

  “Ah! Here you are, Fred.” I cross my arms at the sight of Jerk Number Three. Brought in by another guard, his hands are already tied behind his back. “So, I believe you are the mastermind behind this little operation, aren’t you? But the real question is why? Let me guess… Jealousy? Money? Revenge?” But Fred remains mute, his stare absent and cold. Kevin too. I have to scare them. “Your little friend James is already tied down to a chair in my basement. He’ll be bleeding very soon…” The duo starts to tremble but don’t say a word. Jeez! I’m getting fucking impatient with their little game. “Aright, folks, if you don’t tell me the truth, I swear I’ll make sure your bodies get flogged like Jesus Christ on the cross!”

  Fred keeps quiet, but Kevin starts to crack. “Please, Emma, don’t beat me. It was all Fred’s idea. He wanted to blackmail you and the Van Gatt for money… Please don’t hurt me. I swear that’s the truth,” he finally fesses up.

  “For how much?” I ask, intrigued.

  Kevin swallows hard, looking down. “Three hundred thousand dollars,” he mumbles.

  Babygirl remains sitting on the bed, her face frozen. I can see her blue eyes watering and her little heart wounded by what she just heard. Oh boy. It really hurts me to see her like this.

  “Wow. So you thought humiliating my bestie during her very first romantic encounter would be worth making a few bucks, huh?” I nod thoughtfully. “Very well. Take them all to the fucking basement!”

  “Please, Emma,” interrupts Fred. “Kevin told the truth. You already have the phone. I promise there are no other copies of the video. Please don’t hurt us. We’ll disappear from your lives and do no harm.”

  I fina
lly sight my girls stepping into the room. “Ah, Laura, Carol, please take Petra back to the party. She has been absent for too long. I don’t want rumors to spread.” Then I look back at my security guards. “Get these two jerks out of here.”

  “So you really thought you could blackmail us, huh? You fucking bastard!”

  James has been tied down to a chair, shirtless, and already bears some red-and-blue bruises from where I’ve been hitting him with my baseball bat. I never allow my temper to come out, but this time, and with the help of tequila shots, I snapped and I’ve got an uncontrollable urge to make an example of him and his squad. Heck, he’s crying, sobbing, begging me to stop. But no one can hear him. The basement is too far from the party.

  “Emma, enough!” I hear screaming from behind me.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, Petra?”

  She glares at me in horror. “Are you crazy? Enough! You’re gonna kill him!”

  “Oh c’mon, I just hit him a few times. Don’t exaggerate,” I protest, before dropping the bat.

  I grab James by the hair, pushing his head back. “No one messes with my friends, are we fucking clear?”

  “Clear, Emma, clear,” he replies, his voice broken and body shaking.

  “That’s Ms. Hasenfratz, you poor fool!”

  “Clear, Ms. Hasenfratz, clear.”

  I call my security guards. “You guys can release him and escort him back to his tiny apartment, God knows where.”

  They untie James and drag him away.

  Babygirl keeps reproaching me with her stare. “Petra, I’m sorry for all of this. But I can’t stand jerks like him.”

  “You didn’t need to be so violent,” she rebukes.

  “He deserved to be taught a lesson,” I snap back. “In a week he’ll be fine.”

  She sighs in annoyance, head shaking. I hold her by the arms and look straight into her eyes. “Petra, we are best friends. Don’t tell me you’re gonna be mad at me just because I wanted to protect you?”

  “I know we are. But you’re nuts sometimes.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fine,” I spit out, crossing my arms. “Next time, I’ll just kick him in the balls.”

  We burst into laughter. There is nothing better than hearing her giggling after this incident.

  She glances quickly at her watch. “I have to go, it’s getting late. My driver will be outside in a minute. Do you still want to meet tomorrow for brunch?”

  “Of course.” We hug each other longer than usual but always so tight. “I’ll always have your back, babygirl,” I whisper in her ear.

  “I know you will,” she murmurs.

  Manhattan, May 12, 2019

  Petra Van Gatt

  Dad was right. James was not worth it. At the first opportunity, he betrayed me for money. I feel so stupid. Even naive. I’ve been so careful and selective, and yet I’ve fallen for the wrong guy. He was cute, attentive, and had a good reputation. How could he do such a thing to me? Dad was right from the beginning: boys are a useless distraction and not worthy of my time. I’m so heartbroken that I want to cry, but I can’t. Anthony, his driver, could see my reaction and report it. I’m definitely not in the mood to be questioned about my tears.

  “Here we are, Miss,” he announces, dropping me off at the entrance of my building.

  “Many thanks, Anthony. Have a great night.”

  Entering into the entryway of the house, I remove my shoes to remain noiseless and head to my bedroom.

  Oh God, I can’t believe I gave him my first kiss. I’m wounded, disappointed, but also quite relieved we did nothing more than kiss. I can still feel where his warm hands caressed me, and it sends a chill down my entire spine. Yuck! The thought of his mouth now feels so repulsive that I shiver. I take off my dress, remove all my makeup, and get into the shower. I want nothing more than to get rid of his smell. Afterward, I light a fire in the living room. Once the fireplace is burning brightly, I take the dress I was wearing and throw it inside, hoping somehow it’ll extinguish his memory once and for all.

  “Good morning, Miss. It’s ten a.m.” Janine spreads the curtains wide, her voice always so sweet and welcoming. “We are lucky; today the sun is even stronger. You should definitely go outside and get a tan.”

  “Hmm…”

  “Ms. Van Gatt, kindly wake up. Don’t forget you have brunch at eleven o’clock.”

  I sigh, timidly open my eyes, and pull back the blanket. “Alright, alright…” After some hesitation, I finally stand up. “Good morning, Janine.”

  She stares strangely at me. “So?”

  “So what?” I ask.

  “How was the party?”

  “It was fine, thank you.”

  “Just fine?”

  “Yeah. Disappointing,” I add, keeping it short.

  “Oh, I see…” Janine doesn’t ask further. “By the way, your father would like to talk to you. He’s in his office.”

  My heart skips a beat.

  Office talk means serious talk. What can Dad possibly want to discuss? I just hope no one has spoken to him about last night’s incident. How can he already know anyway? Did he really send some spy to the party? Did Fred, Kevin, and James talk to him? I take a deep breath, trying to calm down, but my heart is already racing with anxiety and fear. Nevertheless, I head to his office, ready to face my demons. You got this, Petra. It’s all good.

  The door is closed. Not a good sign.

  I knock.

  “Come in,” he orders icily.

  “Hi, Dad.” I quietly step inside, putting on my most angelic and innocent face.

  “Ah, Petra. There you are. I need to talk to you. It’s very urgent.”

  This is it. My last minute on earth. He knows everything! “Sure. What is it?”

  “Please close the door and have a seat.” His face remains rigid. I swallow hard. “Well, as you might know, I’m turning fifty-five in four days.” Nope, I didn’t remember. “Therefore, I’m hosting a dinner gala this Thursday evening at Gotham Hall. Everyone will be there. Hedge fund managers, bankers, stakeholders, government officials, even the media. We’re expecting around seven hundred guests. I need you to be present.”

  “What? Dad, you know I hate your dinners and parties full of old folks and kiss-asses.”

  “Watch your mouth, young lady.”

  “And what about my panic attacks?”

  Dad lets out a sigh. After all, he knows perfectly well that it has never been easy for me to attend his social events. Every time I do, it’s an agonizing experience, a painful personal challenge, and a huge mental effort to prevent panic from setting in.

  I was eight when I suffered my very first attack. It was at a Christmas dinner organized by his company. The event had gathered over five hundred guests, including journalists, photographers, investors, family members, politicians, and more. After being in the room for one hour constantly stared at, interrogated, photographed, and forced to fake smiles, my heart accelerated briskly, like it could explode at any moment. Breathing became harder and harder until I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I ran away to the restroom. I cried, locked in one of the stalls, and threw up. Later on, I was diagnosed with agoraphobia—the fear of crowds and of feeling trapped, helpless, and embarrassed among strangers. Since then, I’ve been under medication and therapy, and my father has never insisted on having me at his social events ever again—his birthdays either.

  “You can bring Emma with you; she loves attending parties.”

  “Emma’s presence is mandatory,” I assert. “But I have one more condition…”

  He raises an eyebrow suspiciously. “And what is it?”

  “Can I skip the dinner and just stop by when it’s over? Like, just for the picture?”

  “Hmm… Promise me you’ll really attend. I want at least one photo with you. Can you do that for me?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Perfect. I’ll have a limo pick you up at ten p.m., then.”

  I roll my eyes. I hate li
mos. “Deal. But Emma comes with me,” I remind him before standing up and making my way out.

  “Oh, by the way...” Crap! I turn around to face him. “I forgot to ask, how was the party?”

  “The party was… great.”

  “Perfect. Glad you enjoyed it. See you later.”

  Every Sunday, Emma and I meet at eleven o’clock sharp for our brunch at the St. Regis, just off Fifth Avenue. It’s a ritual we cherish dearly.

  While most New Yorkers go to the trendiest restaurants for brunch, we prefer the ones served in hotels, as they usually feature a more international clientele rather than a local one. After all, hotels provide more privacy, and we are far less likely to be accosted by local acquaintances, bloggers, reporters, or hangers-on. Emma’s already at our table, drinking black coffee, when I arrive. As usual, she looks so incredibly fashionable, sporting a large Gucci T-shirt and a fine black choker necklace; her mid-length black hair and bangs are also perfectly styled. My eyes keep darting down to my own outfit. I feel, as always, underdressed in a plain light-blue shirt, skinny jeans, flats, and my usual barrette.

  “Hey, babygirl.”

  “Hi, Emma. How are you? You look wonderful,” I reply, sitting in front of her.

  “Alright, alright... What do you want?”

  “Nothing. I just think you look great.”

  “I always look great, darling, so what is this about?”

  “Oh gosh, you know me too well.” Emma smiles. “I need you to come with me to a party Thursday evening.”

  “Yeah, right. Your parties are not really my thing, babygirl.”

  “Actually, it’s Dad’s birthday party. I need to go, but I can’t make it without you.”

  “What? Ha ha. Your dad is definitely not someone I…” She looks down at her coffee, trying to find the right words. “He’s not someone I particularly get along with,” she finally finishes.

  “I know, but he’s inviting half of Manhattan, media included. It’s a gala dinner at Gotham Hall, and unfortunately I need to go.”