Chapter 43
43
Saturday 1 October
October. Blergh. Even the name sounds icky.
Ock-toh-ber.
Anyway, tonight is date night with Eric, who landed late last night from Paris. We were going to a new restaurant that his friend, a celebrity chef of some renown, had just opened.
I tried to get him to downgrade the meal (following that realization post-convo with Suresh that I really was being sugared, just a little) to hawker food, telling him about this
bak chor mee
place I’d heard my colleagues raving about, but he laughed in my face. “I don’t eat hawker food, my dear,” he said, waving off my protests.
He picked me up in a glossy midnight blue Rolls-Royce that I’d not seen before.
“New car?” I joked.
“Yes,” he said, not joking. “I just picked it up this morning.”
I didn’t reply. Sometimes it was
so
hard to relate. “I have a surprise,” Eric told me. “We’re going to be joined by someone special.” He picked up my right palm and squeezed it. “Don’t, as you young people say, freak out.”
My heart somersaulted. Was it another scary relative? Or maybe it was Diana again! As much as I could, I started tucking down my boobs, flattening them into my bra. I could tell Eric was amused, but I didn’t care. Stepmothers didn’t have boobs—they have bosoms, maternal ones that had no distinct personality, much like a gently used speedbump.
When we got to the restaurant, we were ushered into a corner booth. A tall, lithe woman with unnaturally pale skin and jet-black hair was already there, resplendent in a mauve sheath dress. She was sipping her tea and scrolling through her phone when she noticed our approach and stood up to greet us.
“Hello, you must be Andrea. My name is Esther,” said the mystery woman, extending her hand for a handshake.
“Esther is, um, my lawyer,” Eric said, a little sheepish.
“Oh,” I said, instantly jealous.
Eric cleared his throat. “She’s also my, ah, stepsister.”
The relief I felt was palpable; I hoped it didn’t show in my face. Of course. “Pleased to meet you,” I said, shaking her hand. Esther grasped my hand with a viselike grip, her glittery rings digging into my flesh. Her eyes were hard, almost cold, even as her smile was wide. She was very attractive in a manicured, varnished way peculiar to many of the
Tatler
jet set: hair and makeup perfect; facial flaws buffed away by a careful surgeon; clothes discreetly luxurious and tailored almost to a fault. “So you’re the woman my brother has been seeing,” she said, giving me a swift once-over without blinking.
“Hmm,” I replied noncommittally; conversely, I had not heard of her till today.
Eric cleared his throat and stood up. “I’ll speak to Jack now,” he said, referring to the celebrity chef. He left us in what he thought was a nonchalant manner, but I could see from his hurried footsteps that he was eager to give his sister room to do her thing. I steeled myself for what could only be an unpleasant fact-finding expedition.
“I’m sure you have questions for me,” I said, as soon as Eric had left, cutting her off before she could speak. “Go ahead. I’m an open book.”
She nodded approvingly. “I could see that you are a no-nonsense type of woman. That’s good. Now, I know that things between
you have progressed quite far; Eric tells me he is quite smitten with you and he wants to make the relationship official. He is even considering marrying you. Has he told you that?”
“N-not in those
exact
words,” I hedged.
“Has Eric told you about his last . . . dalliance, and the arrangement he has with the woman?”
I nodded mutely.
“If you have children, you should know that Diana will still be treated like a legitimate child when it comes to matters of inheritance. She will be the firstborn, and your children, if you have any, will have to acknowledge her claim. You must agree to these terms before you can marry into our family. There will be an agreement you’ll have to sign.”
My face flushed. “I-I haven’t even, I mean, this is . . .” I stood up. “Look, my relationship with Eric is still in its early days. I don’t know why he felt it necessary to discuss this at this stage. This is ridiculous. Did he put you up to this? Well, if he did you should let him know in the future to discuss this with me first.” I pushed my chair back and made to leave until she grabbed my wrist.
“Honey,” Esther said, her voice softening, “I think it’s because he wants to propose to you . . . tonight.”
“What?” I said, just as the lights were dimmed and Sade’s vocals boomed across the room. People whooped.
“Tonight . . . I celebrate my love for yoouuu,” she sang, just as Eric walked out with a huge cake decorated with fabulous sugar peonies, lit with a gold candle. A waiter followed behind with a large bottle of champagne in a bucket and sparklers sending silvery flowers everywhere.
“Oh crap,” I said, my voice faltering when I saw what was written on the cake.
It said, “Let’s get married.” (Yes, with a full stop.) A frisson of annoyance registered in my consciousness. It was so . . . presumptuous. He’d not even phrased it as a question; it was a statement at
best, without even a “pretty please” to soften it. You could say it sounded like a command.
But then he was in front of me and he was holding a ring with what looked like a diamond as large as a thumbnail and my anger levels nosedived quite rapidly. People were clapping and cheering as he clasped me by my shoulders and kissed me deeply. In his deep, powerful voice, he asked, “Will you do me the honor of marrying me, Andrea Tang?”
And there it was. The romantic, public marriage proposal. Every woman’s dream, right? Right? I hesitated, staring at the ridiculously large diamond. I could feel the tension rising in the room with every passing second in which nothing was said. I knew what was expected of me, but I couldn’t do it. Was this really what I wanted? I closed my eyes and tried to shut out my audience.
For some strange reason, I saw Genevieve. She was smiling at me and mouthing something about the matrix. It was so freaky I opened my eyes and gave myself a shake.
“Will you marry me?” Eric said again, smiling, just the slightest steel underscoring his request. The hush that had fallen over the scene was almost unbearable. It carried in it the hope of every single ancestor watching over me at that instant. I could hear the sparklers fizzing in the silence. Someone’s phone buzzed and it was silenced with a rapidity you would not get these days even during a funeral wake.
“Well? What will it be?” Eric said in a low voice, and, it must be said, not very romantically.
I took a deep breath and did the only thing I could under the circumstances: I said yes as loud as I could, then leaned over and said to Eric, sotto voce but very firmly, “I’ll think about
it.”