Page 4 of Cruel Riches

After hearing my mother’s stories about her parents over the years, I honestly couldn’t care less about having any contact with them. Sascha saw things differently, though. She hated having such a tiny family with no grandparents, aunts, uncles, or cousins.

My father’s parents died several years ago, and he was an only child, so there was no family on that side anymore, and because of the estrangement between Mom and her family, we had nothing on that side either. It was just me, Sascha, Mom, and Mom’s new husband Simon, and with Mom and Simon back in California, Sascha and I were on our own here.

After spending several months settling back onto the island, Sascha floated the idea of contacting our grandparents. I didn’t agree with the idea, but I wanted to support her, so I helped her track them down and arranged for them to meet up with us.

Sascha straightened her shoulders. “No, we can’t cancel,” she said. “I’m just worried I’ll say something really stupid. Or forget their names. You know what I’m like when I’m nervous.”

I smiled. “You’ll be fine. But let’s run through it one more time just in case. Our grandfather is Edward James Paxton Jr, and our grandmother is Deborah Anne Paxton. I’m sure they’ll be okay with Edward and Deborah, though.”

“Do you think they’re really as snobby as Mom says they are?”

I shrugged. “Probably.”

Edward and Deborah Paxton weren’t the wealthiest people on Avalon, but that wasn’t saying much, because a sizable chunk of people on this island were richer than God.

The two of them were doctors when they were younger, and they now owned three hospitals—two on the island, and one in Seattle. They lived on a large property between Avalon City (the island’s largest settlement) and Arcadia Bay (the island’s richest town), and from what I’d heard, they still ran in the same stiff, upper-class circles that my Mom had always described.

The doorbell rang, and I sprang to my feet.

Sascha and I headed to the door and opened it with bright smiles. Our grandparents stood stiffly on the threshold, looking exactly how I’d imagined them.

Deborah wore an elegant cream-colored Chanel set, tasteful jewelry, and low heels. Her white hair was scraped back into a low bun and her lips were painted a dusky pink. Even though she was well into her mid-seventies, she was still a very pretty woman.

Edward was handsome for his age too. He wore dark pants and a light dress shirt with a matching jacket, understated but clearly expensive. On the left side of the jacket was a small golden pin—a serpent-entwined rod.

That rod was a common symbol in medical circles—even the World Health Organization had it on their logo—because it was associated with healing and medicine. However, I had a feeling Edward only wore it to subtly remind everyone of his status and all of the hospitals he owned.

“Come in,” I said, ushering the two of them into our apartment. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” Edward said stiffly, failing to return my smile.

He and his wife cast their judgmental eyes around as we led them into the main living space.

“Your apartment is… nice,” Deborah said, though her tone suggested it was anything but nice.

When Sascha and I first moved here, we furnished and decorated the spacious apartment ourselves. In the main living area, we had a large flat-screened TV on a wooden cabinet, two light gray sofas made of soft, comfortable fabric, matching ottomans, and a low mahogany coffee table. Behind one of the sofas was an airy dining space with a gorgeous long cherry-wood table we found at an antique store, accompanied by six dove-gray wingback chairs. The walls were adorned with Sascha’s paintings, and we also kept vases of fresh-cut flowers around the place.

I was proud of how it all turned out—I thought it was modern yet classy—but now, as I watched my grandparents curl their upper lips and cast disparaging looks around the place, it suddenly felt small, cheap, and drab.

“Do you want us to call you Edward, or do you prefer to go by a nickname? Something like Eddie Junior?” Sascha said in a joking tone, clearly trying to lighten the awkward mood.

“You may call me Mr. Paxton,” our grandfather replied in a sour voice.

“You can call me Deborah, I suppose,” our grandmother added.

Sascha’s smile faded slightly, and she nodded. “All right. Well, I’m Sascha, and this is Alexis. You probably remember us as Sarah and Alexandra, so if it’s easier for you to call us by those names, we understand.”

He sniffed. “Sascha and Alexis is fine with me.”

I forced another smile and gestured to the sofas. “Please, take a seat.”

They did as we said, and Sascha went over to the coffee table. “Deborah, our mother told us that you’re a bit of an Anglophile, so I made some scones with strawberry jam and cream. I hope you like it. There’s tea as well. Earl Grey.”

Deborah leaned forward and inspected the scones. Then she nodded, seemingly satisfied. “How nice. It’s called a Devonshire Tea, you know.”

“Oh. Yes. Please, help yourself to as much as you want. I’ll pour the tea.”

Sascha busied herself pouring tea and milk into elegant china cups, and I made up a little plate of scones with cream for Deborah. She cracked a half-smile when I handed it to her, but our grandfather’s expression remained stony, and he refused my offer for food.

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