Blossom in Winter Page 4

  “Oh boy. Gotham Hall? That’s gonna be huge, then. What about your panic attacks? Are you gonna be alright?”

  “I’m just going there for a few minutes to say hi and leave. But I need you with me, Emma. I can’t do it alone.”

  Emma has never liked my father and his overprotective, strict, rigid behavior, but I know I’m too dear to her heart. She folds her arms and ponders for a moment, just enough to create her usual suspense. “Well, what wouldn’t I do for my babygirl?” My face instantly glows with a big grin. “But promise me we’re there for half an hour max.”

  Chapter 3

  Manhattan, May 16, 2019

  Petra Van Gatt

  My heart starts racing as the limo drops us right in front of the main entrance to Gotham Hall. The venue is so spacious that it can hold up to fourteen hundred people. My father has rented it for several events over the years, but this one will be the very first I am attending.

  We’re welcomed with a red carpet covering the grand marble stairs up to the door. After giving our names, we go to the first floor leading to the ballroom.

  Everyone looks quite posh and glamorous. The gentlemen are either wearing a three-piece suit or a tux, while the ladies are in long gowns paired with overpriced glittering jewelry and extravagant hairstyles. I feel invisible with my simple fit-and-flare black dress and matching heels—which is honestly a good thing. I forgot to wear the white pearls my father once gave me. But I couldn’t care less about this event anyway.

  Standing with Emma by the entrance, I start looking around to find Dad, but there are at least forty tables spread across the dark ballroom and something like four hundred guests sitting and two hundred standing. I don’t recognize anyone. The music is festive and a remix from the fifties, “Gotta Find a New World” by Al Green, is playing. The crowd looks enchanted. Couples are dancing as the waiters mingle among the guests with flutes of champagne. And photographers are flashing their lenses towards everyone and anyone—especially those standing in dark corners.

  “Here we are, babygirl. Hmm…” Emma scans the room for her next prey, just like in a hunt. “Too many old men here. Where are the cute executives? Oh! Look that guy over there.”

  I couldn’t care less but I pretend I do. “Where?”

  “Between the blonde and the brunette at the table on the left.”

  “I don’t see any guy there. Just women…”

  Behind us amid the giddy female laughter, there is a particular masculine voice that sounds familiar. My ears perk up instinctively. I know this voice! I shut my eyes for an instant, walking down my memory lane. It’s a voice from my childhood, but who? Nevertheless, with so much noise interfering, it’s way too hard to remember. I reopen my eyes and try once more to find Dad for the infamous picture.

  But the voice comes back and persists. This time louder and giving me goose bumps. I turn around, trying to put a face to that voice once and for all. To my surprise, all I can see are the rears of three women standing beside the marble stairs in front of him. After walking a bit to my left, finally his figure emerges...

  I gasp and blink twice to be sure I’m wide-awake. “Alex?” I mumble.

  “Who?” Emma asks.

  “Nothing.” I turn back at her voice. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, that’s fine. I can manage.”

  But I’m not getting a drink. I cross the entire ballroom, take the door on my left, and head back to the entrance to check once more. It cannot be him. But the voice, the face…

  My heartbeat starts pounding faster with every step. The closer I get to the entrance, the louder I can hear the laughs of those women.

  I’m now close enough to see.

  What? Is he really back?

  My jaw drops at the sight of him, and I find my eyes blinking faster than they should.

  Wow. I realize I haven’t seen him in ten years!

  Alexander Van Dieren is standing near the marble stairs surrounded by attentive ladies. Sporting a tailor-made black tux, he looks even better than I recall. Unbelievable. It’s really him. I don’t remember him being so lean, his shoulders so wide, and tall—well over six feet. However, I do remember his sharp, stubbled jawline, his charismatic presence, and his rugged appearance. His smile hasn’t changed either—always so charming and rare. His stare is mysterious and piercing as always, and with those irresistible blue eyes, he’s hard to forget. In fact, he’s the only man I know with the same eye color as me. His mid-length hair has retained its brown sheen, still so thick, dense, a bit wavy and wild. I remember how his girlfriends loved to play with it, brushing some strands to the sides or behind.

  His face has a healthy hue, looking tanned like Dad’s. I, on the other hand, have always been the fairest of the family, “like snow white,” they would joke.

  I feel my eyes watering from staring for so long, my heart thundering, and my stomach burning. He really is back. That’s why Dad wanted me here. To surprise me, I think with a smile.

  Mr. Van Dieren is Dad’s best friend, utmost confidant, and business partner. Oh, and he’s also my godfather. Although he’s fifteen years younger than Dad, they are both inseparable, just like brothers. They met twenty years ago when Dad was one of the portfolio managers at the Van Dieren’s family office in the Netherlands. And since Alex had always wanted to make a name for himself, away from his family business, they decided to join forces and start their very own investment firm: Gatt-Dieren Capital, with offices in New York and Amsterdam.

  I spent a big part of my childhood with him. We used to go to the lakes in Central Park to feed ducks and swans, to the beach in the Hamptons to build sandcastles, and to Aspen to ski. In fact, he even taught me how to ride my first pony. I was pretty scared of ponies and heights at the time. Oh boy. He was so caring, supportive, patient, and funny. When it rained, we’d watch cartoons while eating marshmallows until late. I mean, I would be eating the marshmallows; Alex doesn’t like sweets. He was also present the very first time I ever painted.

  But all of a sudden, when I was seven, Alex got a new girlfriend—Amanda Parker. And from that moment on, he didn’t come back to play with me. When I finished my first painting, I was so proud. I wanted to give it to him and show him how talented I was. But he never came back to pick up his gift.

  Days passed, then weeks, and ultimately months, and it was like he’d gone from my life forever. I would often ask Dad about him. Did I do something to upset him? Do you know if Alex will come back? Dad just said Alex had some personal obligations and had returned to the Netherlands.

  But Alex never wrote or even called. I can still remember the terrible sadness and pain I endured when he left, feeling so empty, so betrayed. After all, what kind of godfather disappears like that?

  I feel tears coursing down my face, just like when I turned eight and he didn’t come to my birthday. I dry them quickly and look for a restroom nearby. I’ll leave the party right after I freshen up.

  “Ah, Petra! Finally, here you are,” shouts Dad. “I would love to reintroduce you to someone you haven’t seen for ages.”

  “Dad, thank you, but I’m very busy now.” There is no way I’d meet him again. He’s dead, buried, and well gone.

  “Such nonsense," he protests, holding my arms, but I refuse and free myself.

  “I have to go to the bathroom. I’m sorry.” And in a fraction of a second, I disappear from his sight, running away.

  In the ladies’ restroom, I’m finally alone. Yes, totally alone. Phew! Solitude is such a good friend. I glance at my face in the mirror. I’m pale, white like a ghost. I open my clutch but realize I only have gloss in it, and no medicine whatsoever. I should have listened to Janine. I take a seat in the chair next to the sinks, and breathe.

  “Hello, babygirl!” Emma steps in with a big grin on her face. She stands in front of the mirror, adjusting her dress and push-up bra. “You have no idea who your daddy just introduced me to.” I ignore her. “
The hottest man alive. Seriously, that Dutch man is so hot. Have you seen him? With that sun-kissed skin, and his smell? His scent would drive any woman crazy. Can’t believe Roy has such a hottie friend. What’s wrong, Petra? You look pale. Are you alright?”

  “Hmm… I’m not feeling that well.”

  “A panic attack? Now that I was finally having fun? You need to chill, girl. Did you take your medicine?” I shake my head. “You know what? You need to meet that hottie. From what I understand, he just moved from Amsterdam and is separated,” she adds while applying some blush. “He’ll need some company here in New York. Can I hit on him, or do you want him for yourself? I mean, no offense, babygirl, but he needs a confident, strong, and experienced woman with whom he can have some fun, you know. And you are not really… well… the right fit.”

  I couldn’t care any less. I just want to be alone in this goddamn bathroom. “He’s all yours, Emma. I have no interest to even see him.”

  “Okay, great. Problem solved.” She closes her makeup palette, triumphant. “Now, why are you so pale? Do you want me to call a doctor? Janine maybe? Do you want water? Some blush?”

  “No, that’s fine. I’m gonna go home and rest.”

  “Alright, alright…” Emma mumbles while styling her hair once more. “Don’t worry, babygirl, it’ll pass.” She checks the overall look and shape of her dress. “Well, I have a man to catch. Laters.” And, satisfied, she leaves.

  I heave a sigh of relief. Emma talks way too much. In silence, I’m finally breathing again. I look at my pale, skinny figure in the mirror, splash some fresh water on my face, take a deep breath, and remain there for five more minutes, savoring the precious quiet, before facing my worst enemy—the crowd. A crowd like tonight is hell on earth to me. From the loud music, hypocritical people, and fake smiles to the judgmental stares, irritating laughter, and nasty comments behind my back... Argh! I can’t stand it any longer. My head feels like exploding. Probably a headache. I have to go home. After all, no one will be there to bother or force me to meet people I don’t want to. People like Alex, who disappears for ten years without saying a word.

  Making a quick exit, I head to the front entrance and find a black executive Mercedes S-Class with a driver waiting outside. Such luck. I race down the stairs, greet the man who opens the rear door, and hasten to sit before anyone can see me. He closes the door behind me and sits in front. “Five-Fifteen Park Avenue, please,” I instruct. Finally inside! I made it! I heave a sigh of relief, but suddenly hear the rear door from the other side opening.

  “Ms. Van Gatt?”

  “Mr. Van Dieren?” I gasp before swallowing hard. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was your driver. I’ll take another one.” Looking a bit farther, I can see that Alex is alone. Where’s Emma?

  “Nonsense, kindly stay.” He gets in and sits beside me. I can smell his perfume quite sharply. Damn. It’s exactly the same from my childhood. “Same destination for me, please.”

  And before I can open my door, it locks automatically and the car starts moving. Shit.

  “It’s been such a long time. You look”—he checks me out from top to bottom—“well… different.”

  “Ten years,” I snap.

  He annoyingly smiles. “Such a grown-up now. I bet you don’t watch cartoons anymore.”

  Ha ha, so funny. “Indeed I don’t. I’m into reading, riding horses, and painting.” I’m so mad at him, but keep the conversation polite nevertheless. “What brought you to New York? Dad’s birthday? Work? Women?” But my tone is not as polite as I wanted, rather annoyed, defiant, and nearly rude by the end.

  “Many things, Ms. Van Gatt, many things… Your dad’s birthday, work,” he adds. “I’m undertaking a new job here at the headquarters.”

  “A new job? So you are moving here?”

  “I am. By the way, why didn’t I see you at the party?”

  “I was… not feeling well… so I only went in briefly.”

  He puts his hand on top of mine, smiling at me. “It’s great to see you again, Petra.”

  But I move it straightaway. “Thanks… it’s great to see you too.” No, it’s not! After ten years you come back and think it’s all forgiven? My head is pounding, my heart thundering, the acid in my stomach boiling, and I take some heavy breaths. Argh! I want so badly to ask him why he disappeared ten years ago, why he didn’t ever call or write. Why did he never visit me again. But instead, I give him a freezing smile and decide to keep it to myself. After all, the best weapon is to remain indifferent to him and his return. However, it’ll be hard. Emma is right—dear Lord, he’s really hot! What? Petra! I clear my throat and immediately brush such thoughts away. “Did you manage to meet Emma?”

  “Emma? Is she a friend of yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm, I do remember a young girl with a dress way too tight around her chest and with way too much makeup on...”

  We burst into laughter.

  “That’s her. Definitely Emma. She was into you, I guess…”

  “What? How old is she? Eighteen?”

  “I think so.”

  “Dear Lord.” He shakes his head, letting out a sigh. “Girls nowadays are unbelievable. I could be her father.”

  “You could... but you are not.”

  “Well, kindly tell her I’m not into teenagers.”

  “Alright, I will. By the way, and I know this is none of my business, but… what happened with Amanda? I heard you separated?” He cringes at the question, bothered. I love it.

  “Always so straightforward... just like your father.” A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth and I find myself mirroring it. He seems to be searching for words while looking absently at me. “Let’s say she wanted more from me than what I could offer.”

  “Like what?”

  His jaw drops at my insistence. “How can you be so direct and persistent at such young age?”

  I can’t help but titter. “I believe I grew up with someone like that.”

  “Indeed. If Roy were a woman, his character would be exactly like yours. It’s frightening. But to answer your question, your indiscreet question, I must say, she started to talk about kids and golden rings… you know, the usual.”

  “You guys have been together forever.”

  “Ten years.”

  “And after all that time together, you preferred to break up with her than settle down?”

  “Since it was not what I wanted, yes.” He pauses. “We had a serious conversation and realized we wanted different things in life. I told her if marrying and having kids were so important to her, she should find a more suitable partner. After all, it wouldn’t have been fair to remain together.”

  “Pfff, seems like Dad with his lovers.”

  “Your dad shares his love stories with you?” he asks, surprised.

  “Sometimes. He doesn’t want to, but I manage to make him speak…”

  “You’ve got great interpersonal skills, Ms. Van Gatt.” He gives me another corner smile, his gaze still pinned on me, but I look down instinctively. “Enough about me. What about you? What are you going to do after high school? Your father told me you’ll be joining our summer internship? I thought you wanted to be a painter.”

  “I was seven when I said that,” I rebuke. “Anyway, it’s much harder to make it as a successful artist than as an executive.”

  “Why not take the risk?”

  “Oh, c’mon, and starve until then?” I shake my head. “I still paint as a hobby, but that’s all. I’ll be starting at Columbia University this fall with a major in economics.”

  “Columbia? So you’re not going to live on campus, Ms. Van Gatt?”

  I know he’s mocking me, but I get his point. “Um, Dad is not too keen on any university that has me living away from home. And frankly, after visiting some campuses such as Cornell’s, I’m not too keen either.”

  Alex chuckles. “Well, it’s not your penthouse on Park Avenue, that’s for sure.” And he remain
s thoughtful for a while. “Is this internship really what you want?”

  “Here we are, Five-Fifteen Park Avenue,” the driver announces.

  “Perfect. Thank you very much. Have a great night,” I reply. We both open our respective doors and leave the car. “You have an apartment in the same block?”

  “No, I have a house outside the city. But I’m renting a condo nearby. I’m just waiting for Roy. He asked me to meet him here.”

  “Alright. Then I’ll show you my atelier.”

  “You’ve got an atelier?”

  “Yep. I paint there, and it’s like my private space. Neither Dad nor Janine, our housekeeper, can enter. I lock the door, you know.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  We enter the building and greet the doorman before taking the elevator to my apartment.

  “Wow. It’s so different. So much more modern,” exclaims Alex while stepping out into the entryway.

  “You like it? I asked Dad to change the entire interior design. It was so old and antiquated. It took us five months.”

  “What about Roy’s office and library?”

  “Well, we kept the old Churchill feeling of it. After all, it’s Dad’s favorite part of the house.” His smile gets wider, and a glint of amusement settles in his gaze. “Now, let’s see the best part of the house.”

  I invite him upstairs and unlock the door to a vast room full of paintings and books. An old record player is on the carpet with vinyls spread around, a desk with a Mac on the left, and a vanity space on the right turned into storage for my oil paints, tools, and brushes.

  “Beautiful space you’ve got here. Disorganized but beautiful.”

  “See? I still paint,” I say while showing him all my paintings including my newest, unfinished work.

  “And your dad never comes here?”

  “Nope, or Janine. This is my refuge.”

  Hands in his pockets, Alex starts looking intently at my most recent ones. “You’ve made some good progress…” he utters with his usual sarcasm.