L. Miller - Gilded Wings

“Sorry Vivienne, it won’t happen again.” She intimidated me more than any other human being in this world. She was glamorous and strong and the protection she felt for Henry, her only child was immense. She had to be involved in every decision and every part of our lives. What was worse was that she practically hated me. I was not what she wanted for her precious son. I was not educated enough, pretty enough or from the right social background for me to even be considered by her. She was still seething that her best friend’s daughter, Antonia had not won Henry’s heart. She was positively the perfect socialite.

“Good, make sure you don’t,” she sneered.

We sat in awkward silence. My voice not strong enough to think of the correct thing to say which would be a suitable topic of discussion. I noted the fine cutlery which sat placed in front of me on the off white linen, three of everything.

“So Everline, I hear that you got offered a job?”

This was surprising, was she pleased? Maybe she could see I didn’t want to live off of Henry’s wealth. I lifted my head softly, allowing my eyes to focus on her facial expression before answering. Her face was bitterly unreadable.

“Yes,” I said softly. Trying to gauge where this was going before I exuded to much enthusiasm.

“Well…” she paused, “Although I think although this may have been a Nobel gesture on your part you have to realize this is not a suitable way to behave. If you wish to try and become the woman my Henry deserves, then I suggest you get these ideals of being a working woman out of your head. Henry needs a responsible woman who he knows will make a good housewife and mother to his children”. Children, housewife?

“Do you understand that you have to change your ways Everline, and start to be more responsible? Try engaging in more literature, try pushing yourself to being more intellectually capable of socialising around more of the family associates.”

I could feel tears welling up in the corners of my eyes; I would not let this woman make me cry. Well at least not until I was out of her view.

“Yes” I mustled up, “of course.”

“Good, at least we are clear.”

I was deep in thought, confused and hurt by the conversation we just had. Not that it was much of a conversation, more of a dictation. I thought I had left this behind, but I found myself back in familiar circumstances and all I wanted to do right now was sob into my pillow.

“Can I take your order?” I heard a sweet woman’s voice ask. As I turned to look at her I saw sympathy in her eyes. I had to presume she had witnessed our encounter.

“Can I have the bacon, eggs bened…” I was abruptly cut off.

“Two Caesar salads please waitress, light on the dressing”. She bit out at the waitress. Not even taking the courtesy to lift her eyes from the menu. I stared at Vivienne bemused at her ignorant manner.

“Dear you need to start eating healthier. You have seemingly put on a good few pounds and could do with losing them.”

I was mortified, a few pounds?? Admittedly I did not have a stick thin models figure but I was happy and comfortable in my own skin. I was a petite 5ft2, one hundred pounds, my petite waist highlighted the womanly curve of my hips and full bust. It had taken me years to accept my body respecting it and the curves I possessed. For this woman to demoralize me like this sliced through me like a knife.

We sat through an uncomfortable silence. Vivienne focused on her Blackberry. I started through the windows out on to the lush green grounds, trying to stop myself from whimpering like a scorned child. When our salads arrived I felt a sense of release. I picked at the lettuce leafs knowing that Vivienne enjoyed eating in silence. Not much longer, then I will be out of here. The salad was delicious, everything on the menu was of course. But my stomach was still yearning for more food. Hmm, To — do list. Run out of here, wallow in self pity in my car, then head to the bakers for exceptionally large, warm, freshly back pain au chocolate. Perfect.

“Thank you for lunch Vivienne, it was good to see you.”

“Likewise, just make sure you take head of my advice Everline.”

The cool September breeze rushed against my face. Instantly lowering the burning temperature of my heated skin. I felt the tears start to gather fuelling my overwhelming urge to cry. I rushed towards my car as quickly as my legs would let me. Bodies in suits started to bump into me along the busy pathways, London was hectic at noon. All of the workers ran out for their hour lunch breaks and didn’t think twice about walking straight into me. Their hunger was a shrewd partner next to my emotional turmoil.

I swung open the door to my ridiculously over sized, over priced Range Rover Vogue. It was tacky and represented everything I hate about wealth. It was a statuesque. A car which determined the treatment you were entitled to as you pulled into certain establishments. I hated the idea of this pretentious car determining my place in society. Henry insisted on it. I was happy with my little VW polo, it was compact and efficient. Better still it was not a gas guzzling monster that pounded emissions into our atmosphere.

As I slammed the car door shut the tears started to pour like a wave on unrepressed emotional angst. They were uncontrollable. I was breaking down because of a bitch of a woman who found it suitable to convince me that I was anything but right for her precious son. Really, who refers to their son as ‘my Henry’.

“Excuse me.”

A light tapping against my window startled me. “Are you okay?”

I practically jumped when I noticed a male figure through the driver’s side window. Trying desperately to focus through my water blurred sight. I swiped the back of my hand across my eyes. Looking directly at me was the most intensely flawless face I had ever seen, just inches from me. Still sobbing I wavered my hand and mouthed yes through the glass. Praying this stranger would leave me to wallow in self pity.

“You don’t look okay,” he called through.

What does he care, why is he even still here? Staring at me with his unreadable, beautiful eyes.

“I’m fine,” my voice broke on the fine.

He pulled on my car handle and the door swung open. Damn it, why didn’t I lock the doors. I am going to be murdered in a car park in Mayfair because I didn’t lock my stupid car door. I leaned back ready to jump across the passenger seat and out of the other door before looking into his eyes once more. But instinct told me I was safe with him, his eyes held no threat. He crouched at the foot of the door making no attempt to come near me. He had merely removed the partition that divided our space. His eyes only looked at me with compassion and sympathy, they were warm, inviting, sea blue flecked with glistening amber. I wanted to melt as I gazed into them. I couldn’t help but want to look at him, wanting to take in every part of him. I realized his face was almost perfect. There was one small scar above his right eyebrow. I liked it, he looked raw, primal. His hair was ash brown. Short with a little length on top which had the messy-bad boy-just-got-out-of-bed-look going on. His jaw was chiselled with a little light stubble over. He was, wow, and now I was more than mortified that he had found me sobbing my heart out in my car.

How could I tell him that my boyfriend’s mother had upset me? It sounded so juvenile and pathetic. I was pathetic. This was my personal space, why did he have to invade it with his charming face, kind nature and muscular frame. I started to sob harder as I realized this day could not get any worse. Without saying a word he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and just held me. My body instantly tensed at the thought of another man touching me, holding me. His hold was like a warm comforting cocoon offering my body the support that it needed. As my body relaxed I tilted me head and rested my face on his shoulder. It felt so natural. My heart rate began to settle and in turn my tears subsided.

I pulled back suddenly in the realization that this was wrong, morally wrong. What was more disturbing to me was that I didn’t want to let go, I didn’t want to allow my body to be removed from his hold. I didn’t want to look into his eyes and know that I would never see them again.

“I, I, I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to, um, soak your t-shirt.”

His snow white t-shirt was blotched with tears and smudged mascara. I didn’t even want to contemplate what my eyes must look like.

“It’s okay, don’t ever apologise for being upset. Are you okay?” His voice was soft, caring.

“Not really, but I will be, thank you for lending me your shoulder.” I let out a slight smile, trying to lighten the reality of the scenario, me being held in another man’s arms.

“I should really get back.”

“Oh right, you don’t wanna talk about it, we could get a coffee?” he said looking a little deflated.

“No, I am sorry, but thanks.” I sighed. “I should go”.

I reached for the car door handle. He stepped back allowing me the room to clutch the handle, his eyes never left mine. I pulled my car door closed and drove away from the car park. As I glanced back in the rear view mirror, I saw him standing there looking directly at me. My heart fluttered and my eyes held onto his image for as long as possible before he disintegrated into the distance.

I put the key in the front door lock and wiggled it as I turned it. I really needed to get a locksmith in to fix that. I hoped that I had some time alone to process the day quietly before Henry arrived home. As I walked into the hall I glanced around taking my surroundings in. We had lived here for a little over a year. As I looked around the hall and wandered through to our lounge I realized that none of this felt like home, not to me. Everything was eccentric, ridiculously grand and far too expensive. Everywhere was cream or white with solid oak flooring scattered with the odd antique Persian rugs. Priceless art work adorning the walls. None of which I even liked, a splat across a canvas, that was not art to me. I was proud of my artistic streak and loved to indulge. It was the only thing other than Lucy that helped me keep my sanity through my mother’s death. When I moved into this house Henry allowed me to create a studio in the loft room, it helped fill my monotonous days of cleaning and wandering around aimlessly trying to feel useful. It was my serenity. I could sit there for hours, painting and musing. None of my artwork found a suitable wall to hang from in our home. Henry did not find my art work priceless enough for his walls. I felt a little like a child whose scribbles only managed to find placement of the refrigerator door, yet at least theirs were loved and their parents had pride in them. No, mine were just paintings which sat in my studio. Alone.