Page 20 of Conquer
Chapter Seven
Ena drives us to the airport in the morning, and we arrive in Cali by noon. It’s a surreal experience, returning to my home state via a private runway rather than a commercial queue. Unsurprisingly, Vadim arranged for a car to pick us up, but as I hasten Magda into the backseat, I realize that I never even told my parents I was coming.
In fact, I haven’t spoken to them at all in roughly…
A month? Two months? It’s amazing what shame will do to a person, driving them from even their most cherished relationships. I toy with the idea of calling them now, only to chicken out.
An hour’s heads up is the least of my concerns when it comes to them, all things considered. As the driver takes off, I wrestle with the best way to spring my new life choices on my parents. Well, I’m alive for one. And, I’m not destitute, pregnant, or addicted to drugs—but in some ways, I’m no better off. Pseudo-married to a billionaire, the newly adoptive mother of his daughter, and I’m addicted tohim. Vadim Gorgoshev.
Which reality might cause my parents less stress?
“You lived here?” Magda asks, drawing my attention to her. She has It balanced on her lap, still wide-eyed from the plane ride. If I weren’t too busy seething, I’d wish Vadim could have seen her reactions—utter fascinated interest—to the inner workings of the takeoff and landing. I think in addition to her interest in boats, planes are a newfound discovery as far as her hobbies are concerned.
“Yes,” I tell her, smoothing back her tousled braids. “I used to live here.”
Until a brooding businessman and his magic cock lured me away into a world of manipulation and mind games. It all has the makings of some sordid fairytale.
Too enthralled by the landscape beyond the windows, Magda falls silent until the car pulls up before a set of wrought iron gates, adorned with the phrase“Connors Residence”in elegant script.
“You livedhere?” She sounds far more skeptical now, and I bristle at the doubt.
“Yes, I lived here.” But, as I join her in gaping out of the window, I can admit that the place is impressive when glimpsed from the outside.
My father’s estate is a minor offshoot of his brother’s—my uncle Conroy—vineyard, which supplies a world-renowned label internationally. By virtue of its location, the property is impressive, though it has nothing on the rustic charm of Vadim’s place.
Still, I didn’t grow up a pauper, to be sure. Our house, my mother’s pride and joy, is a four-story white stone Victorian style villa draped in rose vines and oodles of prestige that come with being “old money.” Or so my father used to say.
Everything looks nearly the same as when I left it. The rose bushes, and begonias lining the paved stone paths. The tennis courts beyond the house and the acres of wine country looming just beyond the front walkway. I’ve never appreciated it more. In fact, I think I’m more eager than Magda to escape the car and stretch my legs. First things first, I circle around to the trunk and assist the driver with her bags. The second I lift Magda’s gray suitcase, a familiar booming voice calls out.
“Tiffy? Sweetheart? Is that you?”
“Daddy!” I run to the front porch as he descends the few steps to meet me. Within seconds, I’m in his arms, inhaling his trademark scent of cologne, whiskey, and cigar smoke. He’s wearing his typical polo and light wash jeans, I find as I pull back, his graying blond hair windswept back from his face.
“Where the hell have you been?” he asks with mock seriousness, his blue eyes twinkling. “I think your mother was about to send in the national guard.”
“Tiffany?” As if on cue, a slender woman with reddish curls appears in the entryway, her hair coiffed, her outfit one-hundred-percent authentic vintage Chanel. Her eyes widen dramatically as she spots me, her lips breaking into one of her signature charming grins.
At least until she spots Magda scuttling up the steps after me and said grin slips at the edges.
“This is Magdalene,” I say, getting it out of the way now. Sighing, I glance from Daddy to my mother and shrug. “It’s a long story.”
* * *
“It’sa good thing you came during my afternoon wine,” my mother snipes from over her half-empty glass. We’re in the sunroom overlooking the garden while Magda inspects the blooming flowerbeds under my father’s watchful eye.
“This situation may be far harder to understand otherwise, darling.” Tilting her head back, my mother promptly drains her glass and smacks her lips. Satiated, she reaches for a nearby bottle and pours herself a refill. “Now tell it again, from the beginning.”
“I’m dating someone,” I reiterate, choosing the safest of options to describe Vadim. “Magda is his daughter. He’s…away on business. I decided to give us the week off and come spend time with you guys.”
“Hmph.” Fifty-four years of well honed-bullshit detecting are concentrated in the look my mother levels my way. Desperate to escape her scrutiny, I stand and approach one of the screen windows, watching Magda dutifully follow my father from bed to bed. He entrusted her with a watering can it seems, his voice a soothing hum audible even from here. Gently, he tells her how much or how little to give each plant, sprinkling every bit of advice with charming jokes. The familiarity hits me like a kick in the gut, and I realize just how much I’ve missed this. Missed them.
At least, when they aren’t playing detective into my personal life.
“Did you hear me, Tiffany Ann?” My mother snaps in her no-nonsense chirp deployed only in emergencies. “I insist we must meet him this… What was his name again?”
“Vadim,” I rasp without turning to face her. “And I told you, he’s on business—”
“Poppycock. He can’t spare a few hours to come to visit you? Or meet the strangers forced to accommodate his child? What kind of man is this?”
