Chapter 19: Never The Best: Chapter 19

It was Sunday, and I knew I’d have to face the music at my parents’ house soon enough. I’d been bracing myself for the final showdown there, but I was completely caught off guard when my father showed up unannounced. I should’ve known—this was classic George Vanderbilt, always appearing when you were least ready for him.

I opened the door when he rang the bell as I was home alone, despite my mother’s constant nagging about why I hadn’t hired a full staff to maintain the house.

Sure, I had a team of gardeners who kept the grounds in shape and someone who came by to check on the essentials—smoke detectors, light bulbs, and things like that—but I didn’t have a live-in staff. I did have a housekeeper who came in the mornings and left in the afternoons. She kept the place clean, made sure my clothes were laundered, and put away the groceries I ordered online on delivery days.

I cooked my meals and handled most of my affairs, and the only reason I needed even the help I had was because the house was massive. Ostentatious, unwieldy, and as much of a burden as it was a legacy. It was the family home. And yet, every time I looked at it, the thought crept in: What the hell am I supposed to do with this place? Can I get rid of it?

“Son.” He stepped past me into my house without waiting for an invitation.

“Good morning, sir,” I replied, barely suppressing a sigh as I shut the door behind him.

I thought about Pearl’s little cottage as my father and I walked to the family room; a giant fucking space with every piece of designer furniture you could imagine. My mother had decorated this house—no wonder it felt like a mausoleum.

“Would you like some coffee?” I asked politely when he was seated on one of the sofas, manspreading like he owned the place, which he didn’t, not anymore.

George Vanderbilt was all about the show, and he sat, exuding his overbearing glory, dressed, at eight in the fucking Savannah summer morning, in a crisp navy blazer, white shirt, and gold cufflinks that gleamed with what I mused was disapproval since I was still in my running gear.

“I don’t want coffee,” he snapped, looking more pissed than a cat in a rainstorm. “I want to know what in the hell is going on with you and Josie.”

So, it hadn’t taken long for Josie to rally the troops. At least he hadn’t shown up last night. Small mercies!

“I spoke with Suellen this morning,” he continued, his voice cold. “Josie is devastated, Rhett. She told Suellen that you’re havin’ doubts. How could you have blindsided her with this nonsense?”

“I am not having doubts,” I corrected him. “I’m damn certain that I’m not marrying her.”

I decided not to sit, refusing to let him think this was some kind of leisurely chat. Not a chance. Instead, I leaned against the wall, casual but deliberate, my posture toeing the line between ease and defiance. He wasn’t used to seeing me like this, and I caught the flicker of confusion and surprise on his face. To be fair, I was a little confused and surprised myself.

I’d been raised to respect my elders—to nod, smile, and stay polite no matter what. And for most of my life, I’d followed those rules without question. But somewhere along the way, I realized respect had to be a two-way street. If my so-called elders expected me to marry a woman I couldn’t stand just to uphold their sense of tradition, then maybe they weren’t so deserving of my respect after all.

My father narrowed his eyes. “What exactly do you think you’re doing, Rhett? You’re engaged to a perfectly good woman from a perfectly good family. Do you know what it looks like when a Vanderbilt calls off a wedding? It’s not quiet, I’ll tell you that much. It’s headlines, hushed phone calls, and a string of well-dressed relatives scrambling to save face. For a Vanderbilt, it’s not just a decision—it’s a scandal and a goddamn embarrassment.”

It wouldn’t do to let him see I was angry; he’d use that to his advantage. I forced myself to remain calm and fought to keep my temper in check. “I guess I’m saving us from the future embarrassment of a divorce.”

“What nonsense. And if you felt this way, why did you propose to her?” he shot back, his voice rising. “You knew exactly what you were doing when you put that ring on her finger. Or are you telling me that, once again, you acted impulsively and now expect everyone else to clean up your mess?”

All of a sudden, my anger evaporated.

I realized I was just too tired to feel that strong an emotion. I was tired of living my life on his terms, and worse, I was tired of living life without knowing what the hell my terms were. I was thirty-two years old, and I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted to be. Oh, I knew who Rhett Vanderbilt was, but he was a persona, a mask I wore, and I didn’t want to do that any longer.

“Sir, there’s nothing to clean up,” I replied, my voice hard.

“That’s what you think. Huck and Suellen are not going to let this go unanswered. You’re insulting their family name.”

“It’s a pity they feel that way when they should appreciate the fact that I’m simply not entering a marriage I know for certain will fail.” I straightened and decided that the hell with it. I needed coffee.

I walked out of the living room as I heard my father call out, “Where the hell do you think you’re going, young man.”

“I’m going to make myself some coffee.” I didn’t bother to see if he followed.

In the kitchen, he glared at me as I worked the coffee machine. Since I wasn’t a complete asshole, I made two cups. He sat at the island and drank his grudgingly. I knew he was feeling off-kilter. I didn’t usually behave in this manner. I was usually overly polite and solicitous. But the plain truth was that I used to let him bully me.

“Just tell me why you think you can do better than Josie?” he demanded after a long silence.

There was a shift in his tone—not quite commanding, but almost pleading. Well, as humbly as my father was capable of pleading, anyway. After a lifetime of being an entitled, pompous ass, it wasn’t like he was going to suddenly change because I’d pulled the rug out from under him.

“I don’t love her,” I said plainly.

His face darkened, and his lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, I thought he was going to shout, but instead, he shook his head, his disappointment radiating off of him.

“You’re making a mistake, Rhett,” he stated coldly. “And I can only hope you’ll come to your senses before it’s too late. This family has a legacy to uphold, and if you think you can just throw it all away because you’ve suddenly decided you don’t feel like playing your part, then you’re more foolish than I thought.”

I took a leisurely sip of my coffee and, with just enough insouciance, said, “Sir, let’s agree to disagree on this matter.”

“Josie thinks you’re balling some other girl. Is that what this is about? Look, we all have dalliances, and there is⁠—”

“Sir, I don’t mean any disrespect, but there is no fuckin’ way you and I are having a conversation about my sex life.”

The look on my father’s face was comical. I’d never sworn in front of him before.

“And I don’t cheat,” I added for good measure.

“What does that mean?” He glowered. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“Sir, just as I won’t discuss my sex life with you, I won’t be making any assumptions about yours.”

I almost wished I’d been recording this conversation, because Aunt Hattie would have gotten a kick out of it. What had started as tedious and difficult was now teetering on the edge of entertaining. There was something incredibly liberating about being authentic, about speaking honestly and not swallowing every retort I’d been biting back for a lifetime. I could tell him to go fuck himself—and, well, I was doing exactly that, just dressed up in more polite words.

My father gawked at me. Then he brushed the coffee cup hard, and it crashed against the tiled floor of my kitchen.

Christ! Why had I been afraid of this man all my life? He was sixty-five years old, and he was behaving like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

Then, as if surprised by himself, he rose, turned, and walked out of the kitchen—and then the house. I even heard the front door slam behind him.

I drank some coffee, feeling much lighter than I had ever felt in my life. A few days ago, my father’s disappointment in me would have suffocated me, but now, one walk on the beach with Pearl, learning what she’d overcome and seeing her courage, showed me that I could be brave, too.

I looked at my watch and grinned.

Now that I’d pissed off the patriarch, I didn’t have to endure the interminable Vanderbilt-Vance Sunday lunch. The Beaumonts would probably be there too, as they often were. I could avoid them all, and that felt like a small victory

A few hours later, I was on my porch, reading the news on my iPad under the whir of the ceiling fan, trying to savor the last bit of cool before the afternoon heat took over Savannah. That’s when my phone rang.

“Mama,” I greeted.

“How could you?” she shrieked.

“How could I what?” I inquired innocently. It was petty, but I was all out of fucks.

“Rhett Vanderbilt, I expect you to come over and make up with Josie and end this foolishness.”

‘You can tell Josie she can keep the ring,’ I drawled, ignoring what she’d just said. Then, because I was still furious at Josie for thinking my parents could bully me into submission—and they would have, if I hadn’t finally grown a spine—I added, ‘She can add it to her collection of engagement rings.’

“Rhett.” Mama sounded like she was clutching her pearls.

“Yes, Mama?” I asked patiently.

“Are you coming over for lunch or not?”

“Not.”

“What?”

Hey, no one was more surprised than me that I was giving my whole family the proverbial finger.

“Mama, you’re upset and yelling at me. Josie’s probably fake crying her way through a whole river, and Father’s most likely strategizing how to chop my balls off. So, no, I’m not coming over for lunch.”

I don’t think I’d ever experienced Dolores Vanderbilt speechless. However, she recovered quickly enough. “Your father is going to disown you,” she warned me.

“Okay. Tell him that I’ll get the paperwork ready, and he can move all his accounts from me to some other wealth manager.” I was now starting to enjoy myself.

“Well, that’s what he’ll do, Rhett,” she sneered.

My mother had no clue that the life she was living was not because of my father but me.

“Tell him that my assistant will be in touch with⁠—”

“Rhett, let’s not mix personal with business,” my father, as predicted, took over the conversation, which I suspected had been taking place over the speaker for all to hear how my mother was going to manage my recalcitrant ass like I was a spoiled teenager.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. Back when I actually had been a spoiled teenager, running wild and desperately in need of parenting, no one had bothered to manage me at all. Instead, I’d been left to my own devices, strutting around like I was king of the fucking world.

If my son—assuming I ever had children—did to someone what I’d done to Pearl, I’d have whaled his ass. Then again, maybe the real lesson was not to raise your kids to be assholes in the first place. This was exactly why I didn’t want to get married or have kids. I didn’t want that kind of responsibility. I could barely manage my own life—how could I possibly take care of others without screwing it all up?

“Sir, let’s talk in my office.” I threw down the gauntlet.

Silence.

“You can call and make an appointment with my assistant,” I continued. I mean, if I was going to insult my father for being a jackass, I should go all out.

I always came to my father’s home to talk to him about his business, but that was before he and Mama decided to take the “I’m disowning you” path. Now, Mohammed would have to come down the fuckin’ mountain.

“Son, I’m still your father.”

“I thought we were keeping the personal and business separate,” I retorted. “I normally conduct business in my office. You know where it is. Have a good day, sir.”

I hung up on him, feeling mightily satisfied.