The early evening sun hung low on the horizon, casting a long, golden-amber glow across Carrie's backyard. The night hadn't fully arrived yet, but the scene already looked like a royal court that had decisively lost its mind.
Vivian stood on the periphery, the cooling twilight air brushing against her skin. She was just watching her friends with a detached sort of fascination under the darkening sky. They were laughing, singing, and dancing, draped in silks, heavy veils, and jewels that would make ancient monarchies blush. The contrast was absurd—priceless, shimmering diamond tiaras catching the final rays of daylight while people unceremoniously piled desserts onto paper plates and poured their own drinks.
In the center of the chaos, Gunner was completely in his element. He was laughing, tossing his head back, fully immersed in the joy of his friends. Vivian watched as he stepped onto the diving board, his formal attire entirely forgotten. With effortless athleticism, he launched himself into the air, executing a perfect front flip into the pool. A second later, Koda trailed right behind him, shouting a battle cry as he launched into a ridiculous Superman dive, sending a massive wall of water crashing over the sides, catching the golden evening light.
But Vivian's mind was trapped. The laughter around her felt muffled, drowned out by the echo of her previous conversation with her mother.
As Gunner's head surfaced through the water, the pristine white of his shirt clinging to his shoulders, he ran his fingers through his wet hair to push it away from his face. He looked up, his eyes locking onto Vivian. A bright, genuine smile broke across his face. He playfully splashed a wave of water toward Vivian's bare feet, gave her a devastating wink, and dived right back under the surface.
His playful ease felt like a quiet betrayal.
Vivian's chest tightened as she looked at the ripples where he had just been. Her mind raced with the crushing reality of her future. How was she supposed to spend the rest of her life with someone who didn't even think to tell her the truth? Who could laugh and play like this, knowing what tomorrow held, while leaving her completely in the dark?
"Did you just get here too? Come on, let's grab a drink," Darla said, stepping into the light from the side of the house. An infectious, dazzling smile was on her face, and perched precariously on her head was a tiara so massive, so aggressively glittering, it looked as if she must have stolen it from the Miss Omekian pageant.
Totally unaware of Vivian's somber mood, Darla boldly looped her arm through Vivian's, tugging her from the edge of the party and toward where the drinks were.
Darla poured each of them a glass of sangria before clinking her glass with Vivian. "We need to catch up," she said smiling, tipping her head back to drink the contents.
Despite herself, Vivian smiled. It was easy to forget that she wasn't unique. This was the hill, this was their life. Everything was always decided for them. It's how things are supposed to be. There was no reason to be upset.
2 Hours earlier...
"I'm sure your mother is looking for you, Mr. Westbrook," Charlotte said. It wasn't a suggestion; it was a dismissal so sharp it could have drawn blood.
Gunner awkwardly nodded, his jaw tightening into a polite, iron-clad discomfort. "Of course. I should find her." He leaned in, giving Vivian's cheek a small peck at the corner of her lips before detaching himself. For the first time all day, Vivian felt the sudden chill of his absence, the lingering warmth at her waist already starting to fade.
"That was a little rude," Vivian noted, watching Gunner walk away. She felt a growing apprehension the longer she remained in Charlotte's presence.
"Necessary friction, dear. Join me for a drink."
"You want to have a drink with me?" Vivian asked in mock astonishment, holding a hand over her chest as if both honored and startled by the request.
"You'll want to hear what I have to say. Come along."
The drive to the nearby cocktail lounge was conducted in a silence so heavy it felt pressurized. Once they were seated in a secluded booth, tucked away from the prying eyes of the Hill, Charlotte reached up and unfastened her white gloves, setting them comfortably on the edge of the table.
"Why am I here, Charlotte? I doubt I'm your first choice of companions for a midday cocktail."
"Don't be so sensitive, Vivi."
"No one calls me that," Vivian retorted. Internally, she tightened; she had hated that nickname since she was ten.
Charlotte leveled Vivian with a sharp look, indicating that she would call her daughter whatever she pleased. After a beat of tension, she carried on. "I call you that. You wanted to know about tomorrow; I'm here to elucidate you. Tomorrow is your engagement."
The air left Vivian's lungs in a sharp, jagged cuss. "Jesus Christ. To who? Were you just not going to say anything?" Vivian closed her eyes in astonishment, unable to even look at her mother in that moment.
"It wasn't decided that you needed to know beforehand," Charlotte shrugged, her expression unreadable. "I obviously disagreed." As their drinks were placed on the table between them, Charlotte picked up her gin and soda, taking a delicate sip. Her posture relaxed as she stared at her unraveling daughter.
"Conrad was just going to spring this on me? Tomorrow? Why? I mean—" Vivian cut herself off, her thoughts colliding as her mouth moved faster than her brain could process.
"More or less."
"Oh God. It's like you two live to ruin my life. Why? What did I ever do? This isn't even fair."
"Dearest, I have plans, so I'll make this quick," Charlotte said. Her tone cut through the growing panic in Vivian, sharpening it into hot, sudden anger. Charlotte noticed the daggers Vivian was throwing toward her, but she ignored them. "The arrangement is between you and Gunner Westbrook."
Charlotte paused, waiting to see if Vivian would react, and she noted how Vivian's eyebrows raised in curiosity and how her mouth tilted ever so slightly into a smile.
"It could be worse. From what I witnessed today, you like him."
*Gunner.* The name hit her like a physical blow. "Does he know?"
"When has a man ever been left out of a proper conversation, dear?"
Vivian felt a wave of nausea. Gunner knew. He had spent the entire day touching her, smiling at her, and playing the part of the devoted suitor, all while keeping the single most important fact of her life a secret. She felt used. Tricked. Foolish.
"Listen up," Charlotte sighed, leaning across the table, her eyes suddenly burning with an intensity Vivian hadn't seen in years. "It is extremely important that you speak your mind tomorrow. Do not worry about perception or obedience. This is your impression to your new family. Make sure they understand you. If there's something you want, do not be afraid to take it."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I've been in your exact position," Charlotte said, her voice dropping to a cold, dead level. "Forced to marry a man I didn't know, or love, or even like. And when it was my opportunity to speak my mind, I was obedient and quiet. It remains the single greatest mistake of my life—marrying your father."
The confession hung in the air like smoke. "You could leave," Vivian whispered. She hadn't meant to say it out loud, the words slipping past her lips—a desperate thought clawing for freedom.
Charlotte's posture straightened, the cold, distant maternal figure falling back into place, eliminating the sudden warmth between them. "And pigs will one day fly. Let's not talk about nonsense. I am dedicated to your father; I just don't like him. It's nothing abnormal for the Hill."
"So why tell me to speak up, then? If being unhappy is normal?" Vivian gnawed on her lip, feeling anxious.
"I refuse to have my daughter be some simpering weakling when I know she is not." Charlotte took another sip of her drink, her gray bob falling just past her ears, forcing her to tuck the hair back behind her ears once more.
"You don't know me," Vivian scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I've spent my life being raised by strangers. I haven't lived with you or Conrad since I was eight or nine. For all you know, I'm as coy as you were."
"Do not mistake my absence for a lack of attention. I know exactly who my daughter is. And you're not coy or meek." Charlotte slid Vivian's untouched drink toward her as an offering.
Charlotte stood up, finishing her drink in a single, practiced gulp. Reaching out, she tucked a wayward curl behind Vivian's ear. "I kept you as far away from us as possible, Vivian. Your father has a way of breaking things, and I'm not much better." As Charlotte stared at Vivian, she saw her younger self—the one she could have been. Formidable, dangerous, unyielding.
Charlotte straightened her posture once more. "Call it abandonment—because it was. But it was also freedom. A chance to find out exactly who you are without our guardrails on. I won't apologize for helping guide you toward being a better type of person than myself."
Vivian, overloaded with information and unwilling to hear her mother's excuses, clapped back on instinct. "Jessica Glass raised me," Vivian snapped. "You left me with a stranger you threw money at."
Charlotte couldn't help but laugh—a hearty, genuine sound that felt alien in the dark lounge. "Jessica? You think she's a stranger? She was my nanny as a child. Who else would I trust with my own daughter but the woman who helped raise me? Really, Vivian... you may be strong-willed, but you're definitely not curious enough."
With an amused upturn to her lips, she gave her daughter a once-over. "I'm off. Till tomorrow, dear."
Charlotte wiggled her fingers in her signature goodbye and vanished into the sunlight, leaving Vivian alone in the dim light of the booth.
Vivian sat there for another thirty minutes, the ice melting in her untouched drink. She had always seen herself as a burden—the imperfect porcelain with a chip that her parents couldn't bear to put on the mantle. But the truth was far more maternal, and far more haunting.
Her mother hadn't pushed her away because she was an irritant. She had pushed her away to ensure that Vivian's life would always be bigger, and freer, than her own.
Author's note:
Two more to go! The struggle is real!!