A Ring of Thorns

ONE.

Eleanor Aldrich

I step in front of the floor to length mirror erected in the foyer and allow my mother to proudly hoist two jewels to my earlobes. One is brilliantly emerald, and it sparkles as it nests in my red hair, and the other is a shimmering champagne color that brightens the ivory complexion of my throat. Surveying the earrings, I smile and cock my head toward the smaller gemstone whilst my mother fiddles with the shinier of the two.

"You'll look perfect in green," She declares with a flick of her bejeweled hand. 

As if on cue, a housekeeper steps forward, bearing a costly jewelry box, and from it I pluck two emerald earrings, averting my gaze from the mirror and instead looking at my mother in all her ritzy glory. Vivian Aldrich has stepped into her element: a comfortable environment of pizazz and mayhem, which she conducts with eloquence and, naturally, excess planning. 

She is a shining philanthropist and a public relations goddess, and she will no doubt grace every Manhattan tabloid tonight – lauded for her charitable efforts – whilst the other wives of business tycoons will scarcely scratch the footnotes of tonight's event.

I, on the other hand, have been advised not to say anything that could possibly cause my father embarrasement.

A noise at the door captures my attention. "Benjamin!" I draw away from the mirror with quick, light steps, meeting my brother at the door. I throw my arms around him, and he roughly hoists me up, twirling me under the light of a dazzling chandelier that hangs in the middle of the anteroom. My ribs feel crushed, but it hardly matters as he spins me around. "You know, it is common curtsey to knock, stranger."

His thumb ghosts over my cheek, the apparition of a smile adorning his bee-stung lips. Mother doesn't fuss over Ben ruining the carefully applied rouge on my cheeks (after all the work she had gone through in getting me to wear it, oddly enough) because when it came to my brother and I, we were a lost, hopeless, adventurous cause – and I hadn't seen him in over four months. 

"That would be redundant, dear sister, because you never lock it."

My arms, circled around his shoulders, loosen as I wriggle free of his grasp. "The suggestion still stands," I breathe nonchalantly. "Are you ready to go?"

"Wait," my mother calls out, tapping the buttons on her phone, "not yet. We're taking photos and your father isn't ready."

"Go figure." Benjamin flicks his thumb over his shoulder, "I'll be in the car." He poked his head through the front door a moment later, "coffee?"

Setting the jewelry box aside, the housekeeper let out a sigh. "I'll get it."

"Thank you, Lupita. My house would not operate without you." A fingertip held to her chin, my mother pondered before turning to me with a sympathetic smile. Her hand rolled over my arm, careful not to muse my shoulder-length ringlets, as she cautiously nudged me toward the door. "You know your father and his hair products – we'll be waiting forever and a day at this rate."

I nodded, "He's worse than we are."

"Don't I know it," She murmured as she kissed my head. "You look lovely. All the photographers will want to know your name."

"I look nothing like my usual self," I pointed with the snub of my nose.

"Lovely nonetheless."

-

Upon arrival, I am asked all the usual, mundane questions that every twenty-three year old woman is subjected to – where do you attend school, again? What are you studying? Thinking about tying the knot yet? To which I reply with tight-lipped smiles and vague, genteel answers.

I am introduced, in due course, to all the usual attendees – business magnates, housewives, parvenus, and witty little upstarts that twirl their hair as they smack their gums – whilst my mother rattles off my credentials and recent accomplishments, and Benjamin slinks away to find an unsuspecting and hapless woman to flirt with for the evening.

The event is in full swing by the time we arrive. A sparkling champagne flute is ushered into my hand, and Ben and my father are offered a duo of Columbian cigars – courtesy of the host, Mr Calhoun – which they adjourn to the balcony with, allowing my mother and I make a beeline for a select cadre of women whose throats, wrists, and arms were decked out in enough diamonds to warrant a special strength of SPF, all shining brighter than the Ritz Carlton.

The New York Palace is teeming with young, successful, and culturally diverse social climbers – and embittered, well-heeled, unforthcoming blue-blooded household names: the age old Vanderbilts, the notorious Rothschilds, the grandiose and charitable Archibalds. The champagne is as flat as their humor, and I find myself shifting from foot to foot as Elizabeth Ainsworth, a member of the notorious Ainsworth family, retells a riveting story about her recent vacation to Croatia – that we are all hearing for the umpteenth time.

"Darling." My father's voice is low as his fingertips graze my mother's bare shoulder, gaining her attention. 

Something in her eyes glint mischievously as he interrupts Elizabeth, and by the distinct smirk on his face I can tell that he is mightily pleased with his timing. 

Even Elizabeth – heiress to a multi-billion dollar real estate conglomerate – will stop what she's saying to listen to Mark Aldrich, my father. To say I never cared about my father's line of work was an understatement, but I was particularly fascinated by the notoriety his company gave him – gave all of us, really. The Aldrich name was a 'get out of jail free' card, and Ben and I used it most liberally. 

"Good evening, Elizabeth. I'm sorry to have interrupted, but I must steal my wife away for a moment."

"Oh, please, do not apologise. I was just beginning to tell Mr Lowell about my experience in..."

He quirked a brow, "Croatia, is it?"

"Oh, yes! I must've told you?"

"Oh, a few times. Darling Vivian, there's someone I'd like you to meet. All of you to meet. Nel, where's your brother?"

My brows knitted. "He should be out on the balcony with you. Isn't he?"

"Is he ever where he should be?" My mother chuckled. "I'll find him. Who did you say we were meeting?"

"I didn't," he said curtly. "The Loutherbergh chairman."

"I see." Mother's eyes were pooled with contemplation as her brows dipped downward. She was suddenly quieted. "Well, I'll go find Ben. Don't wait on my accord, sweetheart."

I offer my father my hand, looping my arm through his as we pave a path through the sea of bodies, making sotto-voce apologies as we passed old friends and colleagues. "Now, you understand that I'm doing business with the Loutherberghs. Didn't I tell you that?"

"No, but go on," I urged. "What is he the chairman of, again?"

"The Loutherbergh and Strauss law firm. You remember, they represented–."

"The governor, and Goldman Sachs, and Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, and probably the President himself one of these days. Yes, continue."

"You and that memory – what I wouldn't give." He tapped the side of my temple and pressed a kiss where his fingertip had brushed. "Anyway, all that to say, I have been intending to make this deal for a very, very long time, and it seems to be going underway swimmingly. The Loutherberghs are a most prestigious institution – more money than God, really – and I've learned to count my blessings in this world."

I laughed softly, wrinkling my nose. "And your point is?"

"My point is, silly, make a good impression," he said, releasing a sigh as we weaved through the ballroom. I managed to snag a glass of bubbly while passing by an unsuspecting server, and I took a small swig as my father reached up and tapped a man on the shoulder. A circle had formed around this particular gentleman, as though Athur's knights at the round table. He wore a smart black suit, and towered above everyone around him. I had to crane my neck just to see the back of his dark head. "Leonardo?"

My eyes flashed with shock as he turned around. 

It could not be him.