Page 48 of The Ring
“Thank me after you open the other one,” she replies, handing me the second box.
This one contains a necklace. I open it, and inside is the most beautiful yellow gold diamond necklace. It must have around thirty carats of diamonds—baguette and round cut. It’s stunning, perfect, beyond description. This is definitely my favourite gift so far. The trinity ring never stood a chance—nothing can compete with diamonds. I’d love anything with diamonds on it.
“It’s stunning, thank you!” I say, still gazing at the necklace.
She chuckles. “There is another gift, but I forgot it. Luckily for you, your uncle,” she makes a disgusted face, like she does almost every time my Uncle Roland is mentioned, “is flying next week to come to your party and talk some business with Anthony, and I’ll ask him to bring it.”
I don’t know if you can truly hate your own son, but if it’s possible, my grandmother does. He’s a misogynist who spent his entire life wanting a son. He only stopped his pursuit when, according to my grandmother, he was informed that he produced very few sperm and it was practically a “miracle” that he had three daughters.
Now and then, when he gets angry with his wife or daughters, he declares that Anthony will be his heir, as he believes only a man can properly run his company. I never realised youneeded a dick to manage a hotel and real estate company, but according to him, that’s the case.
Either way, it’s not just his company—it was my grandfather’s. He doesn’t even own the majority; my grandmother does. The rest was divided into four parts: one for my mother, my aunt, my uncle, and the last portion split equally among his five grandchildren. He’s just the acting CEO. And not much of an “acting” one, because the reason my grandmother lives in New York instead of London—even though she much prefers the latter—is to help him run things.
I don’t know what kind of pill he took, because I can’t fathom how someone raised by my grandmother—who openly talks about her sexual escapades—could turn out like that. It’s not like he was influenced by his father either. After my grandmother had my Aunt Miranda (the youngest, with my mother being the middle child and Uncle Roland the eldest), she moved back to London, where she’s from, taking her children with her. For most of their lives, my maternal grandparents lived on different continents. But then again, she also raised my mother, and her relationship with Aunt Miranda is more cordial than loving. So maybe while she’s a great grandparent, she wasn’t the best parent.
Uncle Roland isn’t my favourite person either, but I try to hide it and stay polite whenever I see him, given that I’ll eventually inherit around a fifth of the company and he’s currently the CEO, and majority shareholders being on bad terms isn’t good for business.
“I have my gift in my suitcase, where it will stay until your actual birthday,” my aunt says to me.
“Can you at least tell me what it is?” I ask.
“And ruin the surprise?” she replies. “Not a chance.”
“How about a little hint?”
I’m not really good with surprises—whether it’s giving orreceiving them. They make me anxious. I’m the type of person who always reads the last page of a book before starting it and watches the final episode of a series first before diving in. I’m even worse at keeping them because I want to spill the secret every time I see the person, and it takes all my self-control not to.
“Be patient. Remember, patience is a virtue that has to be cultivated, and you already got two gifts—you can wait a little longer,” my aunt says softly.
I pout. I don’t care much about cultivating patience, but I give in. “Fair enough.”
Chapter 25
Cornelia
Like every weekend before my birthday, I went to Jessica McCormack, Harry Winston, Cartier, Graff, Tiffany, Buccellati, Boucheron—the usual spots—to put some pieces on hold so my friends and family could easily pick out their gifts for me. Most of the pieces are usually bought by Anthony. He always goes over the top for my birthday, overcompensating for the fact that my parents barely remember it.
Annabelle accompanied me, and we left the stores on Bond Street for last so we could do some shopping afterwards, which is exactly where we are now.
“Are we gonna talk about the elephant in the room?” I ask.
“There’s no room; we’re outdoors,” Annabelle muses, glancing at herself in the window reflection.
She knows exactly what I want to talk about, but she’s been avoiding it for the last few weeks. Every time I got remotely close to the topic, she steered the conversation towards TJ, Nate, and me. She was doing a really good job at it. But now that my romantic issues are somewhat resolved and I can finallyfocus on other things, she doesn’t have anything left to hide behind.
“We’re about to enter one,” I say as we walk into Ralph’s Coffee and get in line to order. “Come on, what’s going on between you and Laurie?”
She sticks her nose in the air. “Nothing is going on between Laurie and me.”
“I beg to differ. I may have been caught up in my own drama, but I wasn’t blind enough to miss you two sleeping together in my guest bedroom.” Annabelle opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, I add, “Or that when we were at my grandmother’s house, and I slept in your room, you snuck out and returned early in the morning.”
“You noticed?” Annabelle says, looking caught.
I chuckle a little. “You weren’t as sneaky as you thought.”
She sneaked in with her heels in hand, trying not to make much noise, but she dropped one, which woke me up. I acted like I was still asleep, though—because I know her, and I know there’s a time to pry and a time to hold back, and that was definitely a moment to hold back. Plus, I was tired.
“There may have been something going on between Laurie and me,” Annabelle concedes. “But if you had come out with us yesterday, you would have noticed that it’s over now.”
