Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
The truth hurts. I plaster on a smile so harsh it burns my cheeks.
“She can’t tell you, legally,” I say. “Don’t hold it against her.”
“Sure, but you can. So what’d the old goat leave you?”
“It was a good inheritance. Very generous. More than I expected, honestly.”
“Shit,” he mutters, trying to hide his excitement. When I don’t say more, he finishes his glass and fills it again, twisting his lips. “What I don’t get is Uncle Leo’s obsession with leading people on wild goose chases when he could just leave them easy money. Don’t tell me he boned you like that, did he? I’m not having it.”
Ehhh.
If I agree, he’ll know it’s a colossal inheritance instead of just a good one. Then he’ll start fuming.
But if I stay silent, he’ll make some blind guesses and start fuming anyway.
“See? Just like I thought.” He scoffs, tapping his finger against the table. “Just like your cousins. Remember? Stupid, the hoops they had to jump through. It’s a fuckin’ miracle no one got hurt in Margot’s case with those break-ins. Christ.”
While that’s true, PopPop never could’ve known she’d be in danger. Half of it came from her husband’s past anyway.
Gramps had a special way of doing things, but he was never cruel.
Hearing Dad talk, you’d think PopPop was a deranged sadist. When Margot inherited that old house up north, he wouldn’t stop raging for days.
“I’m his goddamned nephew! What thanks do I get for it? Nothing, that’s what. He should’ve known better than to treat this family like his personal circus.”
Familiar heat floods my veins.
Just because Margot has rich parents doesn’t mean she’s not entitled to her inheritance. She actually spent time with Gramps and stayed on good terms with him.
Far better terms than Dad ever did.
He loves to ramble on for hours about what he’s owed, but he never did anything to earn it. If he’d been better with money, if he hadn’t started lying to Gramps, then maybe he’d be the one with the egg trying to find it a home.
But alas, here we are.
And here I am, sitting like a doll while he blames everyone else.
Typical Dad.
“I don’t know,” I finally say, swirling my wine. “Maybe their journey got a little crazy, but it ended pretty good. Ethan and Margot both got happily married out of it.”
I smile, remembering Margot’s gorgeous lakeside wedding.
Her hot former hockey player hubby wasn’t half-bad either. A grumpy single dad, a lot like—
Oh no. Don’t even think it.
But they seem happier than anyone I know.
“You might think it’s generous, Clee, but Uncle Leo was a bitter old miser till the end. Selfish with his money and his secrets. He lived for drama, let me tell you.” Dad jabs his fork at me. He’s clueless who he’s really talking about. “There’s a good reason my Evie kept her distance. She knew him better than anyone and she ran.”
Elvira, my second cousin.
Her legendary falling out with PopPop caused huge ripples.
I remember Margot and Ethan not wanting to talk about it much whenever we’d visit. Why their mom hated her father so much.
Even so, Elvira never kept them away from him.
“That’s not fair,” I say as gently as I can manage. “Also, there’s no point in getting worked up over it anymore, right? He’s gone. Let it go.” Another lump in my throat I try to swallow. “There’s no point in staying mad at him.”
My father’s eyes sharpen, glacial blue.
“No point? You think I should roll over and let people walk all over us? He should’ve treated me better, Cleopatra. We’re family! We were a family. Once.”
“Dad, come on.”
“Miserly old fuck.”
My teeth grit together.
I’m surprised it still gets to me. Dad was never shy with broadcasting his feuds, and I normally stay out of it, but this is different.
PopPop loved me even though I was just a grandniece. He loved me when my dad said he hated him almost weekly.
He went out of his way to love me, to help me, to spend time with me while Dad was off in Europe or LA, trying to find another sucker who might offer up exorbitant sums for very basic stone sculptures.
No, I won’t just stand back and let Dad shit-talk him.
“It’s not his fault your art wouldn’t sell,” I say firmly. Dad’s bloodshot eyes snap back to me. “I know you want someone to blame, like always, but it’s not his fault.”
“Careful, girl. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh yeah? You only talked about it a million times. I’m not a kid anymore.” I push my wine back. “Besides, didn’t he pay for you to study in France? That’s super generous.”
“Not enough. Not nearly fucking enough. Do you know how much he had? Billions. His connections? Infinite. He could’ve done a lot more. I got the bare fucking minimum, Clee. A puny little pat on the head because he missed his brother.” His nostrils flare as he huffs and he pours himself another glass.