Modern day city—the city of Luxembourg. The Whitman Estate.
The Botswana conference invitation burned in Jace Parker's hand. Eight days of flights. Ten days total. All for a two hour meeting that could have been an email or a zoom call.
"Do I look like a company representative?" Jace sneered as his knuckles whitened around the folded paper. "I am just the house pet you keep chained up in the west wing."
Across the posh sitting room, Morana Withman's diamond bracelet clinked against her teacup. "We are investing in you darling. Our branch over there needs a representative for the upcoming conference and we have no choice but to send you." She replied coldly as her smile dripped venom. "Consider this your 'performance review."
Jace's phone buzzed. Liam's text…Papa! Barney tickets are HERE!! 2 DAYS!!! followed by six heart emojis
His throat closed. His son's birthday. The promise.
"No choice?" Jace asked incredulously. "Send Mr. Bennett—he usually handles these trips."
"Mr Bennett is on leave and, you are….available, so stop questioning me!" She snapped, standing abruptly to leave the vast sitting room.
Available? More like…unemployed.
Jace blocked her path, with his hands clasped together, pleading, "Please mother, you know I can't travel that far for a two days trip. Botswana is in Africa and it will take me four days to get there, I can't spend eight days on a flight for a trip that will only last two days."
He swallowed hard. "Besides, my sons's birthday is this weekend and I don't want to miss it."
But Morana just laughed, pushed him aside and said sarcastically, "Go or don't go, that's your decision, but you will bear the repercussions of your actions, you good for nothing mongrel."
"Repercussions?" His voice trembling. "You mean like when you reprimanded me for hugging Liam at his school play? Or when you—"
Morana's slap cracked across his cheek. Her diamond rings drew blood and she sneered, "You are mongrel who married above his station. Botswana is a mercy and you should be grateful."
Jace touched his bleeding lip in shock—what a bitter reminder!
Once, he had been a starving scholarship student…naive enough to believe a Whitman heiress could love a nobody like him
For a brief moment, she had played the role perfectly….very sweet, welcoming, different from her pack of mousy haired socialites.
For a year, he had bled himself dry for her, had skipped meals to be able to fund her Birkins, had sold his winter coat for that red Versace watch. Still, the numbers never added up…his salary, her whims…endless. But love, they said, is blind.
Immediately they got married, he was soon turned into a live-in husband because his wife's family didn't like his measly job and the fact that he was earning pennies, they had considered it an insult and even when he wanted to work at his wife's company with her brothers, they had refused, stating that he had no place in the company and they were over staffed.
By the time he and his wife began to have kids, he was placed in charge of their wellbeing. Liam's first steps? Marie's first word? All witnessed alone, his celebratory champagne replace with a warm quick cup of coffee.
Now, suddenly, they wanted him—him—to represent the company at a conference for two days…away from his kids, and the venue so far that it will take him eight days to make that trip for a conference of two hours for two days…..ten days total.
How does this make sense?
****************************************
"Wifey, I don't want to travel to Botswana, can you please help me rectify this issue" Jace announced to his wife as he entered their lavish bedroom.
Stella Whitman didn't glance up from her wall of Birkins….each worth more than Jace's former annual salary.
"And exactly how is that my Buisness?" Stella asked coldly as she rummaged through her bags collection in their walk in wardrobe and yanked a crocodile skin bag from the shelf, inspecting it for any flaw or scratch, "If they want you to go, go!"
Jace blocked her path. "Liam's birthday is Saturday. You know what—"
"I decide what matters. Be grateful we even let you play daddy."
Jace laughter sounded bitter. "You don't mean that wifey." He wasn't surprised one bit about her attitude. She had been like this, immediately he moved in with her, after their wedding and watched with dismay as the sweet, calm princess he had fallen in love with, turn into a vindictive devil—alongside her whole family.
"Mean what?" Finally, she turned. Her contouring so sharp like the smirk she wore. "That after six years, you are finally being useful? That I should waste my breath defending a man who can't even—" Her manicured finger jabbed repeatedly at him. "—fulfill his fucking purpose."
He exhaled and said cautiously, "There are many reasons why I can't go. One…" he raised a finger up, "…I am not in the fucking payroll….two…" he raised his second finger up, "….Liam turns six on Saturday, and three…eight days in transit—" His voice cracked. "For what?"
Stella's wineglass froze mid-sip. Not at his logic, but at his tone. No one raised their voice to a Whitman.
No one.
"Was I the one who sent you for this trip?" She shrieked and flung her big Hermes handbag at him, narrowly missing his head. "Why are you bothering me?"
"Please, Stella. "I just can't go…" The words tasted like bile—begging the woman who had begged him for poems and back rubs.
"Just this once….talk to your mother. For Liam." He hated himself more with each syllable.
"Aren't you so shameless" Stella sneered as she bent over to pick up her designer bag from the floor, "A father using his child as a shield…an excuse."
Jace's control shattered. "When did you become this cruel?" The words tore from his throat like shards of glass. "Liam's birthday in two days. And you are shipping me to fucking Botswana for a meeting that could be an email!"
His palm slammed the dresser, rattling her perfume bottles…the Chanel he had sold his father's watch to buy.
This isn't Buisness, Stella. This is your family's sport. A game. And I am done being the prey."
"Husband," Stella crooned, her Dior lipstick smearing like blood stains as she smiled. "Liam won't starve without you. There will be cake from Laduree…presents from Harrods…everything you would give him, if you could afford it."
She stepped closer, her heels clicking on the pure marble like a countdown.
"Consider this…your interview."
"Interview?"
"For the life you claim to want" Her voice became a deadly whisper, "Or are you contented in being this useless forever?"
The door slammed behind her and Jace was left alone as he stared at his reflection in the broken mirror—a defeated shell of a man.
Buzz. Unknown caller.
A male voice sounded from the phone speaker. "Mr Parkinson, your grandfather is—"
With a swipe of his finger, he ended the voice message and quickly deleted it.