“Always is,” I reply to Gram, pushing past a wrought iron gate with honeysuckle twisting through it and stepping into my favorite place in the world.
The Anything but Roses garden is barely big enough to hold ten people, but that’s not why I like it. Enclosed by towering white stone walls and complete with a life-size marble statue of Saint Anthony smack-dab in the middle, it’s something of a hidden sanctuary among the sprawling grounds. Flowers bloom around us, lilies and daisies and daffodils and peonies. Hydrangeas are budding, and ivy crawls up the walls. A magnolia tree takes over the left corner, a cherry blossom in the right.
Across the back wall is a map of Rosetown carved into the surface. It shows every monumental stop in town—the manor near the southern tip, the museum to the northwest, Saint Theresa Church in the center, the harbor to the southeast. Toward the left-hand bottom, there’s even the old factory, which never appears on recent maps because it’s on the edge of town. It closed when I was seven, but I still remember standing on the mezzanine, watching workers hand-stitch coats, the supple feel of faux leather and furs gliding past my fingertips.
Gram stands beside Saint Anthony, stately as ever and boasting the same red curls as mine, though hers are streaked with white and held back with a tortoiseshell clip. Her green eyes shine fondly as she holds a plate out to me piled high with meats and cheeses. “Try the salami. It’s my favorite.”
I make a show of lifting the salami to inspect it for anything hidden. “Can never be too careful with you,” I muse, taking it and a piece of Gouda. “Thank you for my note, by the way. It lost a bit of its charm after nearly giving me a papercut on my uvula.”
“I need to keep you on your toes, Lilylove.” Her forever nickname for me draws a genuine smile, my first of the night. She cups one of the lilies, weathered finger tracing the petal. “Beautiful, aren’t they? Leo does a fine job tending to the gardens. And he’s an even better chess mate.”
I barely refrain from rolling my eyes. Gram’s fondness toward her yard boy is a little much at times. Leo DiVincenzi is a hockey jock extraordinaire, king of parties, and Daisy’s right-hand man. Besides, I have skeletons with him buried too deep to dig up.
“He’s not supposed to be playing chess with you, he’s paid to trim the shrubs.”
“He’s excellent company. Have you seen him yet?”
“Last I saw he was wasted in the pool while my dear cousin splashed champagne over his head. By now, he might have even drowned. Shame.”
Gram laughs, the tail end breaking into a cough. She pats her chest. “Oh, to be young. I hope you’re having a good evening, at least.”
“It’s been . . . okay,” I settle on. Tonight was never destined to be a good evening. One year ago, at this same party, everything was different. Dad was spinning me around the great room. Mom was laughing. I had no idea the horrible summer that was ahead of me. No idea that everything I ever knew would change.
Well, not everything. Gram stayed the same, inviting Mom and me to move into the manor with her after Dad died and the awful truth was revealed that he had dug half the town into debt—himself included—thanks to his financial advisement business going south. The big house I grew up in was taken as collateral, leaving Mom and me no choice but to take Gram up on her offer. Most of our things were confiscated, too: Dad’s flashy sailboat and Mom’s designer bags. But none of it mattered to Mom. His death in July broke her, and she was gone by August, disappearing like she was never here at all. I haven’t seen or heard from her since.
Gram clears her throat. Despite putting on a perfect front, the first Rosewood party without Dad can’t be easy for her, either. “Tomorrow, will you be joining me on the patio for lovecakes?”
It’s our tradition. Before I lived here, I’d always sleep over after parties so the next morning we could eat fluffy pancakes drenched in syrup while going over new designs for Rosewood Inc. My heart pangs that she’s trying to keep some level of normalcy this summer.
“I picked up an extra shift to open the deli tomorrow,” I remember, unable to keep the sadness from my voice. That was the one condition Gram had for me to stay with her at the manor. She’d pay for any necessities, but I had to get a part-time job to pay for everything else. Which was fine with me. It’s the least I can do since she’s taken me in.
“Saving up for business school?” Gram poses it like a question, but I know it’s a suggestion.
I break eye contact with her. With senior year approaching, she’s been trying to broach the subject more and more with me, leaving pamphlets on the counter or my dresser. But the Fashion Institute of Technology is my dream school. Last summer, that was the plan. Go on the Milan study abroad trip for my first semester of senior year this fall, which would make me a shoo-in for FIT, and then graduate with my degree in fashion design and join Gram at the helm of Rosewood Inc. My entire life laid out before me.
But that was before I found out Dad blew my college fund.
“Yeah,” I finally say, turning to pluck a bud of honeysuckle from the gate so she can’t see the lie on my face. I have zero desire to go to business school, but at this rate, I’ll never afford FIT. And if Gram’s not-so-subtle prodding toward institutions with prestigious business programs is any indication, she’d never approve of fashion school. She’s expressed that a comprehensive business education is essential when leading a team and business, despite never having gone to college herself.
“You’re going to do wonders at Rosewood Inc. someday,” Gram told me one night last summer, pride shining in her eyes. It was right after Dad died, the day Mom and I moved into the manor. Mom was spending nearly every hour in her room, so I distracted myself by sketching new designs to transform my old clothes into. I had spent all day making a sundress out of a too-tight jumpsuit.
“Is that something you’d want?” Gram asked me after I showed her my sketchbook of dress ideas. “To take my place as chair of the board of directors when I’m ready to retire?”
I nearly keeled over then and there. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” I gushed. I thought after that, she’d start teaching me more about the company and being the chair, especially after Mom left. But it’s been nearly a full year now, and she’s given Ell way more attention in that department than me. I want to ask why, but every time I try, I can never find the right words without sounding ungrateful or pushy.
I can’t be mad at her, though. Giving me a place to live is enough without anything else. What matters most is proving I can be who she wants me to be so that Rosewood Inc. is still in my future, even if it sucks that FIT isn’t.
“I’m glad you like working at the deli,” Gram says. “It’s so important for you to learn this independence early on. And I like that friend of yours, Miles. You should invite friends over more often.”
I don’t correct her that he’s my only friend. The truth makes a pit of loneliness yawn open inside of me. Instead of tumbling into it, I bring the honeysuckle to my nose, inhaling its sweet scent. It calms me down. I let the flower drop, turning back to Gram with a forced smile on my face. “He’s not a bad secret-note messenger, either, right?”
For a second, a concerned crease forms between her penciled brows. I know she can see right through my act. She’s the only person who always can.
“Not bad at all.” Gram finally breaks the silence, her concern gone in a blink and replaced with a beaming smile. While I know she cares, I also know how highly she values keeping up appearances. Gram’s never been one to show weakness.
She raises a piece of salami in cheers. “We’ll rain check our breakfast date. I’m proud of you, Lily.”
Pride fills my chest at her statement, the enormous pressure lifting for a moment. I bop my salami against hers. “Happy birthday, Gram. I hope you’re having a good time tonight.”
She pulls me into a hug, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Marvelous.”
I pull away with a grin. “And in two weeks, we get to do it all over again for my birthday.”
Her smile withers slightly. “Actually, Lily, there’s something I—”
“How are two of my favorite ladies doing tonight?”
Gram and I look to the gate, and my breath catches. Dad stands there, the dying rays of the sun silhouetting him and turning his thinning auburn hair gold. He wears a crisp navy tux, a signature red rose pinned to the lapel.
But it’s not Dad, of course. It’s his twin—Uncle Arbor.
I swallow down the disappointment, wishing the wound didn’t feel so fresh even after an entire year. Glancing at Gram, I wonder if she feels the same throbbing in her chest. Like looking at Dad’s ghost that will never quite stop haunting us.
“I thought I’d find you two here.” He gives me a small smile and opens his arms. I fit into his hug, and even though it’s not Dad’s arms, it’s close enough to pretend. “It’s almost quarter after.”
I pull away. “And?”
Gram sighs. “I suppose it’s time for the true party to start.”
Realization dawns. “Of course.”
It’s universally acknowledged that Rosewood parties don’t turn truly unforgettable until after cake, when the wine starts flowing and the furniture in the great room gets pushed toward the walls to make a massive dance floor. Even the most conservative townspeople let loose.
We strut through the gate, a wild twine of honeysuckle nearly tripping me before Uncle Arbor grasps my arm.
“Thanks,” I mumble, wishing he’d waited just a few more moments before interrupting Gram and me in the garden. What was she about to tell me?
My heart races. Maybe something about my eighteenth birthday coming up on the twenty-eighth. A thread of hope stitches through my chest that she was going to talk to me about Rosewood Inc., maybe start showing me the ropes like I’ve been waiting for. After cake I’ll bring it up again.
We pass the pool, now empty. Two servers stand by the back double door, opening them for us. I nod in thanks, stepping into the air-conditioned great room of the manor and feeling like my short time in the Anything but Roses garden was a mirage.
Someone must tell the DJ to shut it, because the current song tapers to an end. Everybody turns toward us, Gram’s presence magnetic as they step closer. Some people are dressed in extravagant ball gowns, and others barely pulled together a button-down and matching pair of slacks. These are the people of Rosetown. All together at one magnificent party.
“Oh, please, don’t stop for me.”
Gram’s breezy words are met with laughter. It’s easy to pick out the people sucking up to her. Liz Zhao, the owner of the most popular wedding venue in town, the Ivy, chuckles a second too long. It’s no surprise, given that last week she asked if Gram would be interested in investing in the restoration of the second ballroom. I’m sure Gram declined. She usually does.
Gram’s been the sole keeper of the Rosewood fortune since it was passed down from her mother, Petunia. Rumor has it my grandfather, who took Gram’s last name to keep up the tradition and died before I was born, never even had a say in it. And neither did Dad or Uncle Arbor, although I know she used to dole out occasional allowances until they made their own money.
It’s a rare occasion for her to part with anything sizable, which I can tell bugs some townspeople. But Dad was different. He invested in everything town-related, sometimes with Uncle Arbor, too. It’s why he started his advisement business to try to help local businesses and families.
Funny how everyone forgot about that part when he died.
“I want to thank you all for celebrating with me this evening.” Gram’s voice is that of a leader, easily heard throughout the cavernous room despite the barely noticeable breathy undertones. Probably just due to our brisk walk from the garden. “Winters are long in Rosetown, but I always look forward to this party. Not just for my own sake, of course. Summer is the time when our slice of the world thrives. Just like the roses blooming, I watch the rest of you do the same. If my grandmother could only see how magnificent the little plot of dirt we all now call our home has become, she’d be thrilled.”
People clap. Whoops and hollers come from my classmates, who have dried off since the pool and now crowd around an antique circular table overflowing with food. Daisy stands with them, tugging out one of the ornate dining chairs and stepping onto it. Even with the height bonus, she’s still barely a head taller than most guests.
I grin from behind Gram, watching Daisy try to get the room’s attention and fail as everyone breaks out in singing a terribly off-pitch version of “Happy Birthday.” I join in extra loud just to add to the din. My cousin rolls her eyes.
But I underestimate the lengths she’ll go to to have every eye on her. She takes one of the sushi platters from the table and plops it into the arms of Leo, who looks as if he’s minutes away from either passing out or sprinting outside to throw up all over the shrubs he so carefully tends to. Gram sure knows how to pick ’em.
“Ahem!” Daisy clears her throat, standing atop the table and brushing her chin-length waves away from her eyes. She sways to one side, and a slew of people reach out just in case she falls, but she laughs and swats their hands away. I glance at Uncle Arbor, his grip white around his glass of merlot.
“I have something I’d like to say,” Daisy continues, tugging her dress down to mid-thigh. She flashes a glittering smile around the room before focusing on Gram. “We all, of course, owe the grandest of thank-yous to our stunning matriarch for hosting such a lavish bash, but it’d be wrong of me not to express my own gratitude.”
I’m going to puke. Why does she start talking like she’s from a different century whenever she’s tipsy? It’s gaudy. I shove down the impulse to disappear into the kitchen to skip the rest of her spiel, wanting to know what this urge to thank Gram is about.
“I’m excited to announce that I’ll be spending the first half of my senior year abroad in Milan studying fashion.”
The room erupts in cheers for my cousin, and my throat constricts. Daisy’s eyes skip to me for a moment and flash with victory before settling back on Gram.
“Thank you, Gram, for making this incredible opportunity possible. After all, the trip filled up last fall, so it really was Gram’s magic touch that secured me an extra spot.”
Magic touch? It’s not that at all. It’s Gram’s money. Money I desperately needed last year. Money I begged Dad for, not knowing he had none. I knew a study abroad trip to Milan would skyrocket my application to FIT. That and the Rosewood name would carry me straight to an acceptance letter.
But when Dad refused without explanation, I turned to Gram. It was the one time I asked her for anything. And she turned me down.
Then Dad died, and none of it mattered anyway. But now to find out Gram did all this for Daisy? My cousin has never shown a scrap of interest toward the family business. I’m supposed to be the one setting my future up for Rosewood Inc.
I finally look at Gram, only to find her already staring at me. Chatter blooms in the room, the party resuming around us, but time is paused. How could you? I want to lash out. But all I get out is a broken, “Why?”
“Lily, I—” She reaches for me, but I stumble out of her grasp. Except, I don’t notice the server emerging from the kitchen wheeling out a cart with a towering five-tier cake on it. Not until it’s too late.
I try to change direction but lose my balance, tripping in my heels and smashing into the cart. I topple over it, and the cake goes with me, both of us crashing onto the ornate Persian rug. Pink frosting smears across my face, coating my lashes like mascara as bits of cake litter my dress.
Hands immediately are on me, lots of them, pulling me to my feet as if that could reverse the absolute humiliation I just caused myself. The room is dead silent, and I don’t need to wipe the frosting from my eyes to know that every single gaze is on me.
Someone nudges a napkin into my hand, and I use it to clear my sight. The cake is in ruins on the ground, literally not a single piece salvageable. I look up, taking in the first expression I see. Liz Zhao isn’t laughing anymore, and her daughter, Quinn, a girl in my class whose resting bitch face is usually stapled on, stares at me with her jaw unhinged. Antony DiVincenzi, Leo’s dad who owns the failing Ice Plex rink across town, looks like he’s smothering a laugh. A quick sweep of the room shows that’s pretty average for everyone.
Tears burn behind my eyes. I turn to Gram. “I’m so—”
“I think it’s best if you go get cleaned up, all right?” she says quickly, gesturing for the DJ to start back up.
Music blares through the speakers, the beginning notes to Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing.” I want to strangle them for the song choice.
Apologies brim on my lips, but Gram takes my elbow—also sticky with frosting—and leads me to the foyer. Her voice is careful, the same tone she uses when on business calls with the Rosewood Inc. board. I recognize it immediately as damage control.
“Party’s nearly over. Why don’t you sleep at your uncle’s tonight? I think a night away from the manor could be good for you.”
I stare at her. “But this is my home.”
“What the hell?” Daisy stomps over. Her brown eyes are bright with fury as she gets up in my face. “You couldn’t let me have ten seconds of attention? All eyes always have to be on you, huh?”
“Enough,” Uncle Arbor snaps, grabbing her arm before she can start throwing fists at me; I wouldn’t put it past her, especially in her tipsy state. He turns to Gram. “Mom, are you—”
“Daisy, you go, too,” Gram says.
Daisy’s gawks. “What? Why do I need to leave just because of her?”
“Because you’re being an embarrassment,” I hiss, gaze flicking to the entryway of the great room where guests are gathering to watch our show.
She scoffs. “I’m not the one looking like the Pillsbury Doughboy after a sugar rush.”
My cheeks burn, a retort hot on my tongue. “You—”
“Stop it,” Gram commands, shuffling us outside and away from the guests’ stares.
“I can take them,” Uncle Arbor offers, glancing uneasily at my dress. He’s probably not keen on vanilla cake smeared across the back seat of his red Mercedes.
“Frank will,” Gram says, pressing a hand to her chest, shutting her eyes, and taking a deep breath. When she opens them, the disappointment they hold makes me shrink.
“Frank?” Daisy asks as our family’s lawyer steps through the doors to join us outside, summoned by Gram. “Where’s Stewie?”
Nobody answers about the whereabouts of our usual driver. Frank already has keys, unlocking a black SUV parked in the giant looped driveway flooded with cars. I turn back to the door to plead with Gram, or at least apologize, but she’s already stepping back inside with Uncle Arbor on her heels. The door slams behind them.
“I think we best get going,” Frank says in his ancient, gravelly voice. Gram’s lawyer is more like a great-uncle to me after growing up with him always around, so I slide inside, leaving a frosting skid mark in my wake. The tears I barely choked back now flow down my cheeks as mortification hits me like a train, the shock wearing off and leaving me burning with shame.
“This is bullshit,” Daisy fumes, slamming the car door closed behind her.
“Since when do you care about Milan?” I choke out before she can tell me off again. “That was my dream. I’ve spent hours picking and cutting and sewing fabrics. Sketching designs. I study Fashion Week like a textbook. I’m committed to working for this.”
Her gaze hardens, any brief sparks of sympathy flickering out. She opens her mouth, but a banging on her window makes us jump. Quinn glares from the other side.
“You said we would talk!” she yells through the glass at Daisy, annoyance bright in her dark eyes. Her short black hair is pulled back into her usual bun to show off her undercut. I’ve heard a rumor that she hides a knife among the strands.
“I’m a little busy!” Daisy screams back.
Quinn angrily bangs on the glass again and steps aside as Frank pulls away. We watch through the back windshield as she sticks double middle fingers up until she disappears around the bend of the driveway.
“What the hell was that about?” I ask Daisy, my meltdown momentarily forgotten.
“Mind your business,” she huffs, folding her arms across her chest and glaring out the window as the boom of the party fades behind us.
Frank catches my eye in the rearview mirror, wrinkles embedded in his warm brown skin. He looks tired, more than I’ve ever seen him before. We pass through the open gates of the manor, black wrought iron that twists into the sky. They’re barely ever shut, and even when they are, I know there’s a spot in the hedge on the western edge of the property that’s sparse enough to slink through.
“Frank—”
“Miss Rosewood, I have no more answers than you,” he sighs. His expression is as stoic as always, but his brown eyes soften. “This is a big, stressful evening for your grandmother. And you, as well. I assume she realized perhaps it was a little much for you.”
“I can handle it,” I snap.
“Clearly,” Daisy mutters.
“Give your grandmother grace,” Frank continues as Rosetown bleeds by in a blur of sunset colors. “After all, she’s never let you down before, has she?”
It’s not meant to be a question. I force a smile to my face to keep another round of tears at bay, biting back the hurt burning a hole through my already-singed heart. “Never,” I lie.