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The Cromwell Rules
von: Ania Ray
BookBaby, 2021
ISBN: 9781667808079 , 290 Seiten
Format: ePUB
Kopierschutz: frei
Preis: 5,94 EUR
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No One Night Stands Allowed
The packaging had warned “DO NOT IRON,” but there Lily Cromwell stood, ironing curtains in the middle of her living room. She double-checked the fabric to make sure it wasn’t smoking. Unfortunately, it remained its neutral beige. The pleated fabric folded back to where it had been before she ran the hot iron over the material. Useless. Why hadn’t she dropped these curtains off at the cleaner’s earlier?
The sounds of traffic outside the third-floor apartment made her want to throw the iron across the room. It was another day on the corner of 5th and 97th Avenues. Ambulance sirens blared beneath her window and a baby’s cries joined in the cacophony. The drivers were mad at the pedestrians, the pedestrians were angry with the faceless humans driving two-ton vehicles and she was upset that her mother’s impending visit drove her to ironing curtains on a Friday afternoon. Lily should have been working on the presentation she was assigned to give for the new product launch on Monday morning, but her boss was way more lenient than her mother, so she ran the iron over the pleats one more time.
The fabric sizzled. There had been way more fun fabrics that she’d have preferred, but Anne would approve the modern crème of these curtains. Lily lifted the fabric against the bright grey of her living room wall. She had made the right choice for the situation. The pop of red-orange she wanted would have reflected the kernel of spunk within her, but these had a gentle grace about them that garnered attention and demanded respect—qualities that were instilled in Lily since she was a teenager. How else will anyone take you seriously? Anne Cromwell would ask. Surprises make people nervous. Be consistent.
Yeah, Lily thought. Consistently boring.
Lily rested the iron, ran her fingers along the seams, and frowned. It was futile. Lily didn’t care if the damn curtains were wrinkled—she just didn’t want to give her mother another reason to be disappointed. She rubbed her eyes with stiff fingers. Despite years of her best efforts at defiance, she was becoming everything she told her mother not to fret over.
As much as she complained about them most of her life, Lily had to admit the Rules had guided her well. After Lily’s father died when she was four— no wonder Anne claimed people didn’t like surprises—, Anne had always made it clear who Lily was to become: someone who could get anything she wanted with education, charm, and beauty, and have the upper hand in every relationship, so her heart would never be broken like Anne’s was when her husband died. That’s what happens when you let someone have too much of you, Lily Pad. It’s not worth it.
It wasn’t that Lily didn’t want a second toothbrush in the holder next to hers; it’s just that the type of man Lily was taught to intrigue was hopelessly boring or infuriatingly condescending. And Anne seemed to know many of these types. With every invitation from her mother for dinner, Lily knew there would be another eligible, yet inadequate, bachelor waiting to charm her around the maple table. Anne was always so hopeful that this one would work out, but it always ended with Lily leaving early or with the poor man feeling so overwhelmed by the two women that he excused himself from the ménage.
Lily unplugged the iron and swiped her phone to reveal the message. The latest fiasco was probably the reason Anne was coming over now. In fact, Zach had just texted her asking if she’d like to try again some time. Poor Zach. His enthusiasm about competitive fly-fishing didn’t have a chance of baiting her. She swiped back a “Sorry, good luck!” and dropped the phone on the dark blue couch cushions. She shuddered thinking about how much other women worried about hurting men’s feelings instead of asserting their own. Her best friend Marley would have jumped up at the opportunity to try this fly fishing stuff—”It’s not about the fishing, it’s about being with that person and sharing in their interests,” she’d say. Lily rolled her eyes. Sounded like a waste of time and life. Anne’s advice was helpful here; for instance, the Rules told her to protect her own heart and not worry about breaking others’. While most females were uncertain and insecure when it came to relationships and dating, Lily genuinely enjoyed the dating game. She knew how to avoid appearing flustered or weak. Other women spoke too much, or too little. They rambled when they should give an air of intrigue, or were aloof to the point of freezing. This, and her ten years of dating practice, made Lily’s seduction efforts effortless.
Lily was glad she was working on IceStorm’s RACE project. She couldn’t think of anything more useful than artificial intelligence that would lead humans to safety in an emergency. Now that was worth her time and energy. But here she was, making sure the curtains were as straight as she could make them, so Anne Cromwell couldn’t feel compelled to call Lily’s training a waste of time. Again.
Lily sipped her lukewarm coffee and smiled smugly. No… A waste of time they certainly were not. Zach hadn’t worked out, but after that dinner fiasco, a quick stop at a bar on Columbus was effective. She lured Paolo in with a wink and a laugh. He turned out to be a magnificent palette cleanser in more ways than one. His empty cocktail glass sat on the end table like a trophy. No, there was no denying the continued success of the Rules.
She walked over to the bay window bordered by stark white trim. The first snowfall of the season was trying to blanket Central Park West, dodging between tourists and residents. Not even snow could find a place to rest in this city. Gusts of wind threatened to push through her windows. Lily swallowed the rest of her coffee and grabbed the curtain rod. When she was done pushing the rod through the top of the curtains, she climbed onto the couch, bright pink socks shuffling to and fro against the plush cotton. Though she was a dignified 5’8”, she couldn’t reach the end of the window sill from her couch. Lily jumped down, ran to her coat closet and reached below for her highest platform boots. Now tall enough to reach, she easily clasped the rod against the holders and rubbed her hands in satisfaction. She was a problem solver, alright. This was what she was paid the big bucks for.
The knocker fell heavy on her door and draped her in unease. Shit. She didn’t even have a chance to see whether her efforts at ironing had made a difference. Eyes wide, she grabbed the ironing board, iron, and Paolo’s cocktail glass, cursing the boots that were making it difficult to hide the evidence in time. Opposite the entry door was a closet where Lily irreverently threw the ironing board behind her faux fur coats, the iron on the top shelf, and her boots against the wall. The boot’s cuff folded over like a dog’s ear and she winced like Marley would have if someone had bent the pages of her books. Leaning her back against the door, Lily let out a composing breath.
Mommy had arrived.
* * *
The door swung open and the cold rushed in with Anne Cromwell. Lily reached around her, protecting her warmth.
“Darling, hello!” Anne Cromwell said. She was smiling, but the grin didn’t quite reach her eyes. She opened her arms and brought Lily to herself, but the hug felt artificial, like they were only playing roles written in a script— and they had acted out this scene so many times before.
“Hello, Mother,” Lily muffled against her mother’s strong perfume. Lily drew a breath as her mother detached and marched down the hallway like a soldier looking for evidence of treason. Her mother’s shoes resounded through the hallway. Why she was wearing stilettos when they were not practical for walking on icy sidewalks should have been more of a mystery, but she was sure that her mother’s chauffeur, Trevor, had been directed to accompany her. Lily rolled her eyes. If it were socially acceptable, Trevor would carry her mother everywhere. Just like Paolo carried her in last night. Lily groaned as she heard her mother’s footsteps heading towards her bedroom. She started to follow her so she could quickly explain away any incriminating evidence, but stopped short and pivoted to the bar instead.
What would Anne find? The bed was made and last night’s clothes were in the hamper. There should be no lingering sign of Paolo. But even if there were, why should Lily have to hide it? She was a grown woman! But Anne had always had this notion that she needed to play the father role, too, so Lily let her play it. Lily always told herself—and Marley— that she was free to live her own life, but truly free people didn’t have to hide their lives from the eyes of others, did they? Panic shot through her veins. Did she forget to throw the second towel into the hamper? Hopefully Paolo didn’t leave any ridiculous “I’ll miss you” notes under her pillow. Lily didn’t want to hear that she had disrespected the family name....