CHAPTER TWO

 

Thisbe Vandergoss sat in her parents’ living room in London on the edge of their pristine white leather Chesterfield sofa and swirled her glass of Champagne, idly watching the bubbles burst on the surface. Across from her on the other side of the antique coffee table, her mother, Jiao Vandergoss, tapped at her phone and droned on about her big plans for Thisbe’s future. Plans which, Thisbe noted bitterly to herself, had not included her own input on the matter whatsoever.

Thisbe was twenty-six years old, held multiple advanced degrees in business and economics, ran three different global companies on behalf of her family’s interests, and had amassed several billion dollars of her own just from investing in side-projects. Yet it seemed every week she was dragged into this room to get lectured to as though she were a toddler. Her parents had always been control freaks, but it seemed to her that ever since she graduated college, that invisible iron grip had clamped down even harder on her life. It chafed, but she didn’t see a way of avoiding it. Better to show up every Saturday and let her mother and father get it all out of their system than to blow them off and face hell to pay at some unexpected point in time down the line.

“We'll jet over to New York for a little shopping right before your trip, of course,” her mother said, setting her phone aside. “It's been ages since you got anyone decent to wear, and we can't have you showing up in Hong Kong society looking like some B-list movie tramp, can we? When was the last time you even went in anywhere for a fitting?”

“Easter, I think,” Thisbe replied dully.

The only reason she remembered the Easter fitting was because of the gorgeous red-headed woman she had met at the atelier’s salon. They had fucked each other raw just with their eyes over the rims of their mimosas, then Thisbe had gone back to the woman’s hotel suite and fucked her properly over the course of one very sweltering afternoon. She couldn’t remember what she’d purchased, but whatever it was, it had been worth it for the lasting memory of that red-head’s face between Thisbe’s thighs.

She grinned to herself at the memory, and her mother misinterpreted the look as an interest in a New York shopping spree, which was obviously a blatant bribe that Thisbe wanted no part of. Thisbe tried to correct herself with a scowl, but the damage was already done.

“Easter! That was months ago! Alright, that settles it.” Her mother picked up her mobile again and began rapid-fire typing. “I'm getting you an appointment at House Cavalli. Their waiting list is years long, but that’s a perk of being a Vandergoss. And you love their evening dresses, if I recall.”

Thisbe did, in fact, love a good Cavalli gown. Flowy, ethereal, always tailored impeccably to flatter every inch of the lucky wearer. They were stunners without fail and had the power to make even the ugliest duckling look like a stunning model. On Thisbe, they looked as though they had been created for the pleasure of a goddess.

She also knew just how expensive one of those dresses was. Even for couture, Cavalli was expensive and their styling house, as her mother had already noted, was usually booked no less than two years in advance. Thisbe had made it clear already how much she did not want to pick up her entire life from London society and move to Hong Kong, but she had already made peace with the fact that her mother always got what she wanted, no matter how Thisbe felt. Jiao wouldn’t be pulling out a phenomenally expensive pre-trip to New York if all she wanted was for her daughter to oversee one little corporate takeover for a few months, which is what her mother told her she would be doing overseas. She sensed a trap. Thisbe narrowed her eyes.

"This isn't just about Hong Kong." It was a statement, not a question.

Her mother fussed with her frothy black hair and took a sip of her Champagne, a nervous habit that affirmed Thisbe's suspicions immediately.

“House Cavalli just had a show of their latest collection in Milan, I believe. You'll have the very latest styles to take with you.” She glanced sidelong at Thisbe and then flicked her gaze to her daughter's half-eaten croissant, abandoned on its plate on the coffee table, and her candy apple red lips twisted in disdainful disgust. “Don't tell me you're on another tedious diet again.”

“Mother. What are you and father up to this time? And don't even try telling me this is just a business move. You don't need me in Hong Kong to run basic-arse meetings that I could easily remote into from my office right here in London.”

“We need you to go to Hong Kong in person, Thisbe, because the procedures we've scheduled for you require the best genetic artisans in the world. And it just so happens that the best genetic artisans in the world happen to run their workshops exclusively in Hong Kong.” Thisbe's father strode into the room with the same dry, brisk, borderline-impatient attitude that he always carried in his voice as well. “Satisfied?”

“Procedures?” Thisbe asked, at the same time her mother admonished him: “Hans!”

“Jiao, it's time we had this discussion with her. We can't just fly her out there and have them strap her down to an operating table.”

“What?” Thisbe decided she was definitely not alright with the Hong Kong trip any longer.

“We're paying them enough, we certainly ought to be able to,” her mother muttered into her wine glass.

“Just so we’re clear? No one is strapping me down anywhere! What procedures are you even talking about!?” Thisbe stood up, her body tensed and ready to bolt. Sure, the family security guards would catch her before she even got off the grounds of their estate, but she’d bloody well make them sweat for it first.

The Vandergoss family tree was an old one, rich and powerful for generations, and it loved its little secrets. Lord knew they had more skeletons in their closets than Thisbe would ever be able to uncover in one lifetime—but this was scaring her. She was a young, healthy woman who didn't need so much as eyeglasses. What could they possibly have scheduled a procedure for on the opposite side of the world?

“The fact of the matter is, darling, your college days are well past you. We've given you plenty of space to explore yourself, find your passions, go glamping with your little girlfriends all over the world and whatnot,” Jiao gestured carelessly with the hand holding the wine glass.

“But there comes a point when adult responsibilities need to come first, and I am not just speaking of your role as an executive in the family business. Lord knows we have plenty of fresh, hungry business degree graduates to pick from that could take your place in a heartbeat. Your business acumen does not make you special or particularly noteworthy. No, I'm talking about your responsibility to blood. To family.”

“What we’re saying, darling, is that it's high time you had children of your own,” her mother finished matter-of-factly.

Thisbe had not thought her jaw could fall any further, and yet there it was. Somewhere between her feet. She stared at her mother in stunned disbelief and tried to process what she was hearing.

“So you, what, exactly? You just… decided it was time for me to pop out some grandkids for you and scheduled me for an insemination in Hong Kong? You can’t be serious.”

“Well, you're not seeing anyone, are you? When was the last time you were in a relationship that lasted longer than the time it took to pay your escort’s nightly fee?” (“Okay, first of all, ouch,” said Thisbe.)

“How else do you expect to get pregnant, other than in a clinic? It's not as though you're getting any younger, Tizzy. You have your family's legacy to think of!”

“Wow.” Thisbe paced the living room, clenching and unclenching her fists. “Where to even fucking begin?”

“Thisbe! You will remember your place and your tone!” Jiao somehow managed to sound more shocked and indignant than Thisbe.

The moment felt surreal, like something out of a cold-medicine dream, yet this was her mother. Of course it was real. Playing God was basically how she spent her every waking moment. Deep down, Thisbe had known something like this was coming. But all the same...

“This is a new level of crazy, even for the two of you. Well, you can call up your artisanal doctors and cancel. I'm not ready to have children yet, and when I do it will be my decision! Not yours!”

“What a monstrously selfish thing to say.” Her mother frowned.

“Spoiled and entitled, that's what I told you,” her father replied. "Just like the rest of her generation. This is what happens when you let a daughter think she has all these choices, all these options.”

He turned to Thisbe, and she shrank back a little from the scorn that dripped from his voice. “You think I got to choose what I wanted to do with my life? Do you think your mother did? Do you honestly believe we got to sit around at brunch with our friends, making mood boards about our dreams or whatever the hell it is you get up to in your spare time?”

“Daddy, I just—”

He cut her off, not allowing her a word in edgewise. When Hans Vandergoss wanted to look like an imposing, omnipotent motherfucker, he could silence an army. Thisbe shrank back under the fury of his self-righteous glare.

“We gave you the best opportunities money could buy. From the day you were born, you have been royalty. You went to the best schools. You got your degrees from the finest minds in business in the world. We even let you attend that silly patisserie school after you got your second MBA. Did you pay for that?”

He waited until she shook her head meekly. She hated how in every other situation in her life, she was the smartest, toughest, sharpest person in the room. She had faced down corporate suits with far more experience and credentials than her, and she had won. Not only won, she’d made each and every one of them practically beg her to take their own companies away. But around her parents? She was back to feeling like a bratty teen who could never quite figure out how to control her impulses or do anything right.

“No, you didn't,” her father continued, not that he expected her to reply. “And all so you could bake cakes in your spare time. Ridiculous. Well, the fun and games are over. It is time you got serious and stepped into your role as a real member of this family.”

All Thisbe had ever wanted to be was a baker. She used to have dreams, when she was a bit younger, of moving to Paris and opening a little shop, meeting a gorgeous Parisian woman and falling in love. Her lover would stop into her shop every morning and read Thisbe highly suggestive poetry over croissants and strong cups of coffee. She used to daydream about the cake she would bake when she proposed to her fantasy woman.

Those dreams had come crashing down years ago, when her parents had explained to her in no uncertain terms that her costly education had been an investment in the family business. She was meant to lead commerce from their shining glass fortresses, not ‘putter about’ in some anonymous little café, as her father had put it.

She had done her part dutifully, though it had hurt to wall up those dreams. Thisbe had a good head for business, and she couldn't deny a certain thrill when she faced down billionaire competitors that thought a young woman like her would bend easily to their bluster. But this... arbitrarily deciding when and where she would have a baby...

“And just who is it you plan on breeding me to, exactly?” Thisbe asked bitterly.

Her mother scoffed, as if that was the most ridiculous part of the entire conversation. Thisbe raised her chin stubbornly, crossed her arms over her chest, and scowled back at her. If they wanted a haughty Vandergoss performance from her, she'd give them one.

“No one specifically,” her father hedged.

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Daddy?”

“What he means is that there is no one direct donor,” her mother smiled. “We would never force you to give birth to a stranger's child, Tizzy.”

Thisbe's muscles relaxed a fraction of an inch before her mother continued brightly.

“We plan on using a genetic mix from all three of us—only the very best in artisanal gene construction techniques. Your baby will be one hundred percent Vandergoss. Brilliant, beautiful, and free of any imperfections or surprise health risks.”

“As well as inbred!”

Thisbe's blood ran cold. They couldn't possibly be serious. Even for her parents, this plan was insane. A "pureblood" Vandergoss baby, created in a lab all for the sake of passing on their billions? Their properties?

“Thisbe!” Her mother's voice raised to a sharp, scalpel’s edge. “Don't be such a superstitious luddite! There's no inbreeding happening whatsoever.”

“Your genes, plus dad's genes, plus my genes... enlighten me, Mother, as to how that isn't exactly the definition of inbreeding?”

“Enough!”

Her father stepped in between the two of them, palms raised as if to end the argument then and there.

“You are going to Hong Kong. You are getting the procedure done. And you are carrying this baby to term. If not, we'll simply have no choice but to relieve you of your duties to this family. As well as your inheritance. Think carefully about your next move, my dear.”

“What are you saying?” Thisbe asked. But she already knew.

Absolute disownment. For the first time in her entire life, she would have nowhere to go, no money of her own. She would be a pariah in every one of her social circles. Certainly none of their extended family would take her in—not at the risk of facing her parents' substantial wrath and retribution. It seemed she had no choice.

Thisbe felt her throat tighten up. For a moment, she couldn't get any words out and hot tears stung her eyes. She refused to let them fall, though. Not in front of her parents. Not at such a betrayal of her trust. She had watched them use so many others as pawns in one game or another, all for their own interests, their own gains. Even when she herself was used, she always reasoned it away. Mutually beneficial, she'd called it.

Like when they made her dump her last girlfriend because she happened to be the niece of one of their major competitors. Or when they dismissed her choice of university without hesitation, enrolling her at the one they wanted in their pocket. Or when they made her choose business over her dreams and personal ambitions. Everything they had ever demanded of her, she had complied with in the end. But this…

“No true parent would ask this of their only child,” Thisbe said at last. She took a deep breath and mustered every ounce of her steel and resolve. “I have to go; I have a meeting at the top of the hour. Consider, while I’m gone, how much this is scheme worth to you. And maybe consider having another damn baby yourselves.”

“Tizzy—”

Thisbe left the room and exited the front door before her mother could see her flinch at the sound of that much-hated childhood nickname.