Blossom in Winter, page 1
Blossom in Winter
Melanie Martins
BOOK I
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Melanie Martins, LLC
www.melaniemartins.com
Copyright © Melanie Martins 2019
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrial system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of its publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar conditions being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
First published in the United States by Melanie Martins, LLC in 2019.
ebook ISBN 978-1-7333564-1-1
There is a copy of this book at the Library of Congress. LCCN 2019911301
Disclaimer
This novel is a work of fiction written in American-English and it is only intended for mature audiences. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should never be confused with those of the author. This novel contains strong and explicit language, slang, graphic sexuality, some D/s dynamics, and other sensitive content.
To all of you, my dear readers.
Thank you.
“There is nothing worth living for,
unless it is worth dying for.”
- Elisabeth Elliott
Prologue
Rotterdam, January 2003
Tess Hagen
“I want a divorce.”
Roy doesn’t seem surprised by my announcement. After all, our relationship has been superficial. Empty, to say the least.
“I see,” he replies quietly.
My eyes are drawn to the flames, but the crackling logs in the fireplace do nothing to dispel this cold silence that seems to mirror the harsh winter outside.
“And I bet you want fifty percent of everything I’ve worked so hard for…”
My husband lets his words trail off as he leans against the doorway of our living room, perfectly dressed in a three-piece suit like always. Despite being only thirty-eight, he already has salt-and-pepper hair and wrinkles under his eyes—probably due to the constant stress from work.
Coming from a modest family, Roy is known on Wall Street as a respectable, self-made, well-mannered gentleman and a brilliant, hardworking hedge fund manager. With a light stubble, short haircut, dark-brown eyes, and height over six feet, he’s also very charismatic—the type of man whose presence alone is intimidating.
“I don’t want your money, Roy,” I snap, before emptying my fifth glass of sauvignon blanc. “I just want to divorce you. Go to New York, go to your lovers, and leave me and my daughter alone.”
“You know that’s not possible, Tess. I refuse to leave Petra with you. And with your drinking habits, no judge will ever grant you custody.”
Consumed with hatred and rage, I throw my glass in the fire, where it shatters instantly. Then I turn to face him—hopefully for the last time. “You won’t take my daughter, Roy. Never!”
Petra was unexpected. Roy never wanted a child. He loves finance, money, and power. That’s it. He also likes women, but less than his circle of friends.
Ironically, the last thirteen months have shown how attached he is to his daughter. More than I ever expected.
I know Roy has many friends, mainly from the oldest and most powerful families in the Netherlands. With his network and connections, going against him will be a hard battle. A battle I’m not in a position to win. They will destroy me, paint an ugly reality to the judge.
And who knows if the judge would be a member of his entourage, a friend of a friend, or a close friend himself…
“Tess, let’s be rational,” he begins while moving toward me. “Let me take care of our child.” His hands hold my arms. “I’ll get her a great nanny. She’ll have the best education at the best private schools. I’ll personally make sure she visits you regularly here in Rotterdam.”
I look down, pondering his words.
“You can even keep the house. I’ll give you a generous alimony for the rest of your life. We can reach a good agreement. Beneficial for both of us and, more importantly, good for Petra.”
His voice reassures my mind, but not my heart. Tears start rolling down my face. I don’t want to let her go. New York is far. Too far. Petra is the joy of my life. My only child. My little angel, as I call her. But how can I fight against Roy Van Gatt and his multimillion-dollar lawyers? How can I fight when I’m an alcoholic who doesn’t want to get help?
I’m lost, depressed, and broken. Worst of all, I feel powerless. Totally and utterly powerless. There is no alcohol that can drown the pain of a mother losing custody of her child. But despite my unconditional love for my daughter, I know I can’t fight back.
I put my head on his shoulder and let myself cry.
Chapter 1
Manhattan, May 9, 2019
Petra Van Gatt
“Ms. Van Gatt! Dinner is served!” Janine calls out.
I’m sitting on my bed in a locked bedroom upstairs with Emma, Carol, and Laura—my friends and classmates from high school. Still wearing our uniforms, we’ve come straight here for a peculiar meeting.
“Dad will never let me go,” I finally admit.
“C’mon, Petra. You never go to any of my parties. It’s time to take some risks, babygirl,” argues Emma.
Even though she’s the oldest, I’m not convinced.
“Look,” she says, counting on her fingers. “You’ve never drunk alcohol, never smoked, never had a boyfriend, never disobeyed your father… Fuck, at least come to my farewell party this weekend.”
“I did drink a glass of champagne with Mom in Rotterdam.”
Carol jumps onto the bed. “Okay, but this is the party. The last one before summer, and before everyone goes to college. C’mon, Petra. Everyone will be there.”
“Just this time, please,” begs Laura.
I sigh, tired of their insistence. “Fine, I’ll ask him. But if he doesn’t let me go, I won’t argue.”
Emma huffs. “Such a daddy’s girl. Unbelievable.”
“Ms. Van Gatt, for the final time, dinner is served!”
I frown at the loud, high-pitched voice. “Coming, Janine!” I scream back. “Okay, let’s continue this conversation after dinner—otherwise, Janine will lose her temper.”
In the dining room, we find that supper is waiting for us.
“You know, you should really impose your own will sometimes…” Carol begins as Janine pours water in her glass.
“Carol,” I quickly murmur, glancing at Janine.
But Carol doesn’t seem to care. “You’re turning eighteen in December. I’m just worried about you. And I bet your mom is too.”
Emma, who’s sitting beside her, reaches out to stop Carol from going any further. “Carol, enough.”
Janine’s a lovely housekeeper, a friendly person, and a talented cook, but she’s also a very loyal employee. I know she will tell my father anything to gain a generous tip.
The only people I trust are at this table. Well, almost all of them. Because there is one more—James.
James is not only a friend but also one of the hottest guys at school. And, most importantly, very mature, especially compared to the rest of his squad. We talk about philosophy, history, and literature—all subjects I can spend hours discussing. While he’s athletic, he also likes to read and to recommend his favorite books to me. I managed to meet him once after school by pretending to be at Emma’s doing homework. It was a short date, just two hours, but it was the most exciting time I’d ever spent with a boy. My father doesn’t like James, nor his heritage. For Dad, an affluent and connected family is a key requirement for anyone wishing to hang out with me. But James’s family doesn’t make the cut—his mother, a nurse at a public hospital, works nonstop to afford his education, and his father is a pro bono lawyer. There’s no pedigree behind him, and Dad knows it.
In fact, my father believes boys are a stupid and useless distraction. That’s why he’d wanted me to remain at the Convent of the Sacred Heart, a private all-girls Catholic school nearby, which is where I studied until eighth grade and met Emma. Since she was being transferred to Loyola, a private coed school, I asked Dad if I could go with her. It was nearly impossible to convince him, as he didn’t wa
However, unlike my friends, I’m still not allowed to wear makeup—except a transparent gloss and some powder foundation—or paint my nails. Dad doesn’t like it. And while my friends are real fashionistas outside Loyola, ostentation like theirs is not tolerated. I can’t wear any designer brands either. My style must remain discreet, simple, and casual: nothing too short, too revealing, or too daring. A modern but modest lady, as my father and his entourage would say. But also, according to them, I need no extra embellishment whatsoever. With big blue eyes, wavy brown hair falling below my chest (which I usually clasp with a barrette), dark brows, full lips, a body a bit too skinny for my taste, and very fair skin, I’m described by them as a “rare kind of pure and natural beauty.” Oh, and my favorite: “an angelic creature lost in a vain and mundane world.” Yep, quite poetic.
At school, my classmates think I’m quite reserved and old-fashioned, while my teachers praise me to be mature and hardworking. But somehow, they’ve all agreed I’m the most unreadable and curious person on the planet. According to Emma, I’m a mystery to everyone, and against all odds, the most popular, hated, and desired one.
Speaking of popularity at Loyola, I often wonder how Emily Hasenfratz (or just Emma to friends) became my absolute bestie. In fact, Emma has always been the adventurous, independent, and crazy one—my opposite. Emma’s the type of girl who runs away to attend her friends’ parties in Soho while her parents are asleep, who got her first boyfriend at thirteen, tried marijuana when she turned fifteen, and got her first tattoo by sixteen. She is known as a mean bitch, or just The Bitch. But for me, she became the big sister I never had.
Emma is also very much in-your-face. She couldn’t care less about hurting people’s feelings if it means speaking her mind, which frequently gets her into trouble. The Hasenfratz family is very close to my father, and very loyal too. When I sleep over, all eyes are glued on us to avoid any potential scandal, but since Emma has always been smart enough not to get caught, her parents haven’t realized how wild and dangerous their daughter can be. And yet, despite everything so far, Emma still hasn’t managed to convince me to run away to parties, to kiss random boys, drink alcohol, or even to try a cigarette. If my father is known to have a devoted network of friends and minions at his service, I seem to be the one working the hardest to avoid his displeasure.
“So, any plans for the summer?” Laura asks in an attempt to change the subject.
“I’ll go to the Hamptons for a week and then to Italy to spend some time with my aunt. She’s got a house in Bergamo,” replies Carol.
“Yeah, I think I’m doing something similar,” Emma garbles around a mouthful of truffle oil pasta.
“What about you, Petra? Rotterdam?”
“Not sure. I have a full-time internship starting in June.”
“An internship?” Emma looks over at me, some spaghetti nearly falling from her mouth. “You didn’t tell me about that.”
“Well…” I clear my throat. “Dad suggested I spend a couple of months at his company to get some experience before I start my economics major at Columbia. It’s a paid internship, so it’s not a bad idea.”
“You’re kidding, right? Don't you want to become an artist like your mom and have your paintings exhibited all over the world?” asks Emma, confused.
“First, my mother never got any of her paintings exhibited anywhere. She’s not even a real artist to me. She just paints for leisure, to entertain herself, nothing important.” I sigh, looking down at my plate for a moment. “And if it’s to depend on my ex-husband for a living, no thank you.” Everyone stops eating, staring at me in confusion, a cold silence emerging in the room. “I still paint, but it’s just a hobby.”
“Don’t be silly,” starts Emma. “With the fortune you’ll inherit, you don’t need anyone. You can choose to do whatever you want in life.”
“Not sure if you understand the word ‘inherit,’ Emma. It means when Dad passes away. What do I do until then? I don’t have a trust like yours to spend as I please. My life is no different than anyone else’s. I’ll need to find a suitable corporate job and make my own path.”
“Ms. Van Gatt.” Janine reenters the room carrying a tasty big coconut cake from the kitchen. “What a depressing subject to entertain your guests tonight.”
“You’re right, Janine. My apologies.”
The rest of dinner proceeds in silence. While my friends are eating, I can’t stop thinking about Mom. Since the divorce sixteen years ago, Mom has never tried to make a career of painting. She doesn’t even paint for fun anymore, but instead spends her time—and alimony—traveling with friends, attending social events with an open bar, and funding some nonprofits. I've never fancied her lifestyle. In fact, I've always preferred to follow the example set by my dad, who cultivates a healthy, disciplined, and work-focused routine.
Shortly afterwards, Emma, Carol, and Laura decide to postpone our discussion until tomorrow at school.
“Is there anything else I can assist you with before I go, Miss?” Janine asks after they leave.
“No, Janine, it’s all good. Thank you for the lovely dinner.”
“Don’t you want me to stay until your father comes home?”
“No need,” I reply with a chuckle. “You know how much I love to be alone in the library.”
“Alright, then, have a great night.”
“You too, Janine.”
Ah, finally alone! I switch from my uniform to a comfortable sweater and a pair of jeans. I text Dad: Are you coming home tonight? Then I go to his office, which has an envious large library.
I pick a book, put on some jazz music, and lie on the sofa. I start to read. To me, it’s the perfect evening. With so many nights spent alone, I have developed a love affair with solitude. Reading or painting while listening to music have become my favorite hobbies.
My iPhone beeps with a reply from Dad: Will be there in a minute.
I know it won’t be in a minute. Most likely within an hour or two.
I check my WhatsApp list and realize there are only six people I text frequently—Dad, Janine, James, and the girls.
I decide to text James: Will you be at the farewell party this weekend?
He doesn’t take long to reply. Yep. You?
Maybe… Trying to convince Dad. Any advice?
Lol. It’s a dead plan. But good luck anyway.
Haha. Very reassuring.
“Good morning, Ms. Van Gatt. It’s seven a.m.” Janine flings the curtains wide open, killing the darkness of my tranquil night. “Such a beautiful and sunny morning.”
But I don’t dare to open my eyes just yet. I love sleeping and I hate mornings. In fact, I sleep so deeply that no alarm has ever worked, so Janine has become the only way to get me ready in time for school. Her sweet and musical voice makes every morning sound like a good one, no matter how cold, rainy, or ugly the day can be. I've often wondered what it’d be like to have a mother who’s here on a daily basis, and Janine seems to be the closest to what I imagine.
“Would you like to take breakfast on the terrace? Your father is waiting for you there.”
“Dad’s here?” I stand up abruptly. “Good morning, Janine.” I put on my slippers and excitedly head out to meet him.
