Expectations (wlw)

Chapter 16

Ever since my parents, you know, kicked it, everyone who knew assumed I was terrified of planes.

I mean, I do get the occasional what if this is how it ends on planes, but doesn’t everyone? I will be the first to admit that their passing was something I took very hard--understatement of my life--that it plunged me into an awful state, but it didn’t affect my feelings about planes.

Which is just as well, because I had a flight to catch.

I woke up that morning, thinking that the quiet serenity was appropriate for the day’s agenda. The calm before the storm, if you will.

Emil was still asleep, all curled up with the blanket thrown off to the side.

I’m not saying that the people here not knowing that part of my life is why they’re better than if I stayed back home, but I took great pleasure in knowing that the way they act around me isn’t out of pity. Until now, anyway.

I lifted myself out of bed carefully, so I don’t disturb my friend. Several minutes later, I was ready to get on with the day.

But before I even left campus, I had to take care of something.

Christina wrenched her front door open rather violently for such an early time. She was in a loose shirt and shorts, her hair in a haphazard bun, clearly just out of bed. Her features arranged themselves into a mask of tired irritation. Seeing me probably didn’t help her mood.

“What.” She said it like she spat the word at my feet.

“Where’s your roommate?”

“She goes on a jog every morning.” Right, I remember her from track--she was one of the serious athletes. “Why are you here?”

“About the upcoming investigation. Since you’re the first person to see them--“ she grimaced, “--they might come and talk to you. You’ll be an important part of it.”

“Who is ‘they’?” She leaned against the doorframe. “And if you’ve come to try and convince me to lie, you’re out of luck. I don’t feel inclined to help you.”

“I’m asking you to do neither, but I implore you to tell the truth. You know what you saw.”

Her brow quirked and she pursed her lips. After a while, “Whatever. Get out of here, you’ve giving me a headache.”

I waited until she shut the door in my face before I made my way out of the dorms and into the car I arranged last night, parked in front of the Greater Hall.

When I climbed in, before we could move, I addressed the driver. “Could we go down into the city? I need a change of clothes.”

No way was I going to knock on Fairul’s door to assemble an outfit, not with last night so fresh in both of our minds.

Before bed and when I got dressed this morning, I had taken garments from Emil’s closet. Unfortunately, I’m half a head taller than that girl, so I was limited to the oversized options.
Which were all clothes that she took from Fairul’s wardrobe--a fact that I’ve shoved into the back of my mind.

At any rate, I wanted to get out of loungewear, so we stopped at some upscale boutique.

As soon as the glass doors slid open and I stepped in, the attendant--a handsomely dressed older man, judging by his salt and pepper hair--took one look at my ill-fitting shirt and too-long pants and opened his mouth to speak. Before he could, I handed him my card. His expression changed nigh-instantly from get out of my shop to how can I help?

Half an hour later, I walked out of those doors again, clad in a crisp white shirt and a navy blazer. The beige slacks were too long, but he was happy to hem the legs for me.

“You look very sharp, Miss.” Mr. Wayburn had exited the car and opened the door for me, quicker than I could clamber in like I did earlier at school.

“Thank you. Could I just leave this in here?” I was still carrying the folded bundle of clothes. “They’re Emil’s.”

“Of course.”

As we drove through the city, it occurred to me that I haven’t seen very much of this country. This is my second time in town, and the first time was when I passed through on my way home for break. Would be nice to traipse around town if I had a local for company.

We arrived at the airport, but Mr. Wayburn kept going and pulled into the tarmac. From the window, I could see so many planes, some on the runway, others in hangars, but we approached a particular one. It was smaller than most commercial planes, but it was clearly someone’s private jet.

He opened the door before I could do it myself. The ramp stairs were already connected, and, as if on cue, the plane door opened. A man in a neat black suit stood at the threshold.

“Miss Samantha Santander?” He had to shout over the airport din. I walked up the stairs, nodding goodbye to Mr. Wayburn.

“Welcome aboard,” said the man when I stepped into the cabin.

The inside of the plane certainly didn’t look like a commercial one, if the leather upholstery was anything to go by. Already seated were three other people in similar black suits. One of them made eye contact and nodded. I nodded back.

I took a seat away from the others. Moments later, another person came by to say that we were good to go and would I like a drink?

As we taxied off the runway, she came back and set a glass on the little table in front of me, and then walked off to her own seat.

I said yes to the drink so I had something to fiddle with on the flight. Now, I set the glass aside and picked up the coaster it was on, running my thumb over the grooves of the de-bossed Gracián crest.

Last night, I had contacted the Attorney and told her that I wanted to be proactive about dealing with the incident and it would totally be fine if the answer was no but would she be willing to assist me?

I wasn’t quite prepared for the answer to be yes considering the circumstances--I didn’t think I’d get this far--but now I had one of the most terrifying lawyers in the continent on my side. I can’t help but be reassured.

I mentioned that I wanted to get things underway as soon as possible, and the Attorney offered an envoy to go with me.

I snuck a glance at the other people in the cabin. Only the woman who brought me the drink was visible. She had her back fully against the seat, arms crossed, as you do when you’re trying to nap on an airplane. I couldn’t actually tell though, because security people loved wearing sunglasses everywhere with no regard to the sun.

When Attorney Isobel said she would help, I didn’t think she would pull out all the stops. I thought it would be like, one guy with a car. Apparently not, and that’s how I ended up on the Graciáns’ business jet with four bodyguards.

I didn’t think the security detail was necessary, because I doubted that Aunt and Uncle would actually try anything. After all, my estate was their patron, even if they were my caretakers.

But the Attorney convinced me. “It’s about sending a message, Miss Samantha.”

The rest of the flight was uneventful--awkward, even--but I had been so occupied with imagining scenarios and their outcomes for when I confront them that I was surprised when we arrived.

I had Henry drive all the way out onto the tarmac like Mr. Wayburn did, telling him I’d be on a private plane. If he was surprised by this, I didn’t hear it over the phone.

My car started inching toward us the moment I stepped out of the plane door. Henry had exited the vehicle and watched me approach, surrounded by my very grim bodyguards.

I’m sure he was curious, but he was good at schooling his expressions. He ushered us into the car like he expected this, like a professional.

I was glad that Aunt and Uncle insisted on getting an unnecessarily large car, because the six of us fit comfortably with room to spare.

It was already dark when we arrived. I spent the ride deciding how I would do things. They only had a few months left before I was legally out of their reach, so I’ll talk to them about taking back control of my House. Surely they didn’t expect to keep leeching off of my inheritance--it’s what they’re doing, and it’s about time we talked about it--once my opinion actually counted.

The Attorney said that while it was detestable, there wasn’t a strong case against the whole plot involving Fairul--that’s what we’re calling it--because it didn’t pull through and one party (me) was unresponsive. The emails were suggestions at best. I had no doubt that the Attorney could spin it somehow so I could get sued, so once again I was incredibly relieved that she was on my side, more or less.

I had resolved to ease Aunt and Uncle into unemployment--like being parasites to your teenage ward was a job--by the time we rolled into the gates of my estate.

Just a glance was enough to tell me something was off. The windows were brighter than I remembered them at night, and there were too many cars that were definitely not mine parked on the grounds.

“What’s going on in there?” Henry’s neutral face colored with a slight grimace.

“Your Aunt and Uncle are holding a soirée, Miss. I advised against it.”

Indignant anger sparked in my chest, and I inhaled. Not yet.

The two men posted by the door--the door to my house--said nothing as my borrowed guards and I approached. I was their boss, after all.

They obliged, almost happily, when I asked them to shove open the doors.
The live band faltered and the guests all had fallen deathly quiet as the heavy wood slammed and rattled on its hinges. I could have blended in with the crowd, as just another attendee, but the people at my flank wore the universal uniform of hired guards that they looked utilitarian in comparison.

Past the throng of people, by the stairs, Uncle saw me first. I stood my ground, eyes scanning and noting the transformation of the hall.

“Ahem,” he vocalized, grabbing a fork off of the nearest table and clinking it against his champagne flute. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome the Mistress of the House, Lady Santander.”

There were a few polite greetings as I made my way through the guests, but even when I addressed them in turn, they couldn’t wipe the confused apprehension off of their faces fast enough.

I could hear Uncle’s gritted teeth when he announced me, and I could see the barely-hidden dread in his quickly-paling face as I got closer.

“Samantha,” he said, arms outstretched as if to embrace me. The quiver in his voice was enough to tell me that I wasn’t supposed to know about this party, let alone witness it.

I paused in front of him. After several beats, he retracted his arms. His eyes flitted from me to the array of my surrounding guards. The man he had been talking to had taken a subtle step to the side, then left entirely.

“We hadn’t expected you tonight.” He clasped his hands together. I watched them squirm in his own grip as he stopped himself from wringing them.

“Uncle,” I said, sweetly, like arsenic in sugar, “shall we talk? Privately.”

He blanched. “Of course. Allow me to fetch your Aunt.”

For one horrible moment, when I first came in, I thought I had missed a memo or an invitation where they told me about this, but no, I’d learned from my shortcomings and had scoured every goddamn inch of my inboxes poring over every email I’d ever gotten, and there was no mention of this. And then I got mad that I felt bad that I got mad at this, so I let my entourage clear a path through the guests before I shoved somebody out of the way.

We spilled out into a branching corridor, Aunt and Uncle trailing behind. They were glancing at the guards.

“I thought that this was to be a private chat, Samantha.”

“It is.” One of the security people, at my cue, opened a side door. “Come on in.”

The room we came to was one of those auxiliary rooms manors have, where the architect designed the shell first and now has to fill space. I wouldn’t know, this house was much older than me or my parents. This room was furnished like a sitting room where you take tea, with high windows to let the sun in. Now, the sky was dark.

Aunt and Uncle took a seat on one of the couches; I stood with my guards surrounding us, the two men behind me, the women behind the couch they were on.

“If only you told us you were coming,” Aunt started to say. I cut her off.

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Uncle, once he got over the initial shock of it all, looked as if he was getting angrier by the minute, which made me angry. The audacity of this man.

“Let’s keep this civil,” I said, barely keeping my own shit together, and kept talking before he could.

“As we all know, my eighteenth birthday is coming very soon, and I wanted to notify you in advance that I will finally be fulfilling my role as Master of the House, as my father once did, as per my late parents’ wishes--“

Uncle made a spluttering noise. I ignored him.

“As is stipulated in their joint will. Now, the both of you had been caretakers of my house and myself in their untimely absence.”

“And I am grateful that the both of you shouldered this obligation,” I said, after a deliberate pause, just to fuel the flames. “But you no longer have to play regent, because soon I will be capable--legally and in other aspects--of handling the responsibility myself. Thus, consider this a formal notice, and I speak in my capacity as Master of the House when the day comes, that your input and presence will no longer be necessary by then.”

Aunt gave a dramatic gasp. “Samantha, you would turn us out like this?”

“Please, Aunt, this is a civil discussion--“

Uncle got to his feet, wrenched his ascot off of this neck, and hurled it to the ground. The guards watched him passively.

“You,’ he hissed, red in the face. “You ingrate. After everything I’ve done for you--“

“Spend my money and try to marry me off so you could get your hands on the rest of my inheritance?”

I’m convinced that the only thing stopping him from bodily hauling me by the lapels were the arrayed guards. I made a mental note to thank the Attorney for that.

“Is that what this is?” He had settled for pointing his finger directly in my face. “You couldn’t follow the one piece of advice I gave you, and now you come back here a failure."