Hollie
Five Years Later
I’m not ashamed to admit that I’d rather have invasive surgery than attend a dinner party thrown by my stepmother.
Yet here I am, at six-thirty on a Wednesday. It’s a warm night. When the Uber drops me off outside the glamorous, gated property in Boulder Creek, Canyon’s most exclusive neighborhood, I glance down at my choice of dress. It’s floor-length, emerald green satin with a deep ‘V’ at the front, which I wore during my graduation celebrations in London. Much like my hair, which has a dyed, rose-pink hue, I already know that Evelyn Wallace, the mayor of Canyon, is not going to like it. Through the gates, outside lights illuminate the grand house. There’s a portico around the front door. I walk along the path, noticing the immaculately maintained grounds. It’s been a while since I’ve been here, since I usually avoid this place like the plague.
I’m unsurprised to find my key doesn’t work in the front door, because the lock appears to have been changed since I was last here. Instead, I blow out my cheeks, ring the front doorbell, push out my chin and wait.
It’s a long while before anyone answers. Eventually, one of the waiting staff comes to the door.
‘Good evening,’ she says as I enter.
‘Hello,’ I say politely. ‘I’m family,’ I add, as though to justify my existence.
Above me, my stepbrother’s voice drowns out her response.
‘You do know who is coming to this party, right?’ he drawls as he walks down one half of the double curved staircase.
Doug Wallace is an all-American asshole who gave me the ick from the moment I met him, when he was thirteen. It’s a shame I’ve never had the guts to say that to his face. Now, he’s a classic jock: tall, broad-shouldered, with blond hair, and tonight he’s wearing a tux with a black bow tie. ‘It’s not exactly the occasion to show off your tits, Hollie. Although your rack is so small, I doubt anybody would notice.’
I don’t flinch, because this, coming from my stepbrother, is standard. The waitress scuttles back toward the kitchen. I hear a shrill voice sound out above him: my stepmother of six years, Evelyn Wallace. ‘Is that Hollie arrived?’
‘She’s here, Mom,’ Doug confirms, tilting his head up toward where the voice is coming from. ‘Although, she might wanna rethink her wardrobe selection.’
I close my eyes for a moment and focus on my breathing. When I open them again, Evelyn appears, wearing a knee-length cocktail dress, off-the-shoulder, lavender-colored with an oversized bow. Her hair’s had a fresh blowout and she’s fixing her gold earring. She comes to the top of the stairs.
‘What do you mean, rethink her—’
She moves partway down, then comes to a halt when she sees me. Not ahello, Hollieorhow are you?Just, ‘Oh, Hollie, no. No, no, no. That’s not the look we’re going for tonight.’
I peer down at my dress again, smoothing down the satin material stretched across my stomach. ‘It was all I had.’
She comes all the way down the stairs so that she’s level with Doug. I note how she grips his upper arm, almost in a protective stance. ‘It’s not exactly conservative, honey. The county sheriff is coming tonight, along with the chief of police. Let’s put you in something else.’
‘I’m pretty happy the way I am.’
Evelyn shakes her head. ‘I’ll be frank. It’s too low-cut. This is Texas, sweetie. You cannot wear that dress tonight. Come.’
She’s calling me upstairs. It’s nights like this that remind me why I should move back to England, asap. I don’t know how I’ve ended up back here for so long.
I pass Doug on the stairs. He sticks out his tongue and waggles it up and down lewdly. I offer him a middle finger.
‘Mom! Hollie flipped the bird,’ he says out loud, and for a moment, Evelyn comes to a halt on the stairs ahead of me. I see her head tilt to one side before she continues upward.
I follow her at a distance, around the curved balustrade of the atrium. I swear, this is one of only about five houses in Canyon with an actual atrium, complete with a majestic domed ceiling. On the curved wall are framed pictures of Doug at all ages. Currently in his sophomore – or second – year at Canyon U, aged nineteen, he lives in college dorms, but he has a habit of using this house as his own personal party pad, and he is the main reason I refuse to live here.
I follow Evelyn into the master bedroom, then onwards into her walk-in closet. Inside, I find my father standing in front of the wall-length mirror, straightening his tie.
‘Hi, sweetheart,’ he says enthusiastically in his British accent.
I open my mouth to respond, but Evelyn interrupts me. ‘We’re changing her dress, honey,’ she barks.
Dad turns and looks me up and down. ‘You look lovely.’
Evelyn’s tone is terse. ‘Rick. Honey.’
My lips thin as I indicate the low-cut nature of my dress. Dad’s mouth goes into an ‘O’ shape. No sound comes out, but he nods his head. That she calls him ‘Rick’ makes me crease up on the inside. I don’t know when the ‘h’ in ‘Rich’ got replaced with a hard ‘k’.