Because while they were not pursuing civil charges against her, there were still criminal charges staring her down. Outside of a few of her friends in Bozeman, nobody was sticking up for Isabella or offering to help pay for her legal fees. She was still under house arrest in Montana with an ankle monitor strapped to her so she couldn’t harass them too much, but Monica knew there was no going back from this. Isabella was officially cut off from their family. The only way she would ever see Abigail in the flesh again was if Monica physically took her there. Or Abigail turned eighteen and decided to go for herself.
But that would come another day. Right now, the Warrens wanted to know what was happening to prepare themselves for more issues.
The field director was blunt that while there was clear criminal activity here – and that kidnapping charges would hold – they expected Isabella to use what money and influence she had to talk herself down to long-term house arrest and probation. Assuming she did not commit more crimes and violate probation, she would probably never see the inside of a prison cell.
In a way, Monica was relieved. If she could tell Abigail that Grandma was just “busy in Montana,” then all the better. Who knew how knowing Grandma went to jail for taking her to France and Thailand would affect Abigail?
“Sort of the best outcome we could have asked for,” Henry drolly said in the back of their car as they were driven back to Warren Manor. “Mom’s far away from us and reduced to long-distance meddling, but we don’t have to deal with a long trial or seeing her in prison. Abigail aside… that would affect all of us greatly.”
“Would it be terrible of me to say that I wouldn’t mind it?” Before Henry could givethe look,Monica said, “Just for my fantasies. Let me have it.”
“I know more than anyone that my mother has left destruction wherever she’s gone. Especially emotional destruction. Which reminds me, who is taking Abigail to therapy this week? Do you need me to do it?”
“Ah, yes, I’ll be having my final meeting with the contractors on that day. Do know that I’ve been giving Matilda those afternoons off, so it will be just you and Abby for the day.”
“Oh, no. A father spending so much time with his daughter. Whatever will we do?”
“Whatever it is, I hope no fucking Chicken Jockeys are involved.” Both Mom and Dad had the great displeasure of finding outwhatthat was in the days following Abigail’s return from the movies.I actually heard Eva get angry at her for throwing popcorn all over her living room.Eva never got angry at Abby!She said, “How could you do this to Ivy? You know she vacuums in here, and you’re being such a naughty kid, making her job harder!”At least it got through to Abigail that it was impolite to trash other people’s rooms. Someone had to clean them.
“You so rarely say ‘fucking’ in this context, Princess.”
She snorted. “Because I meant it.”
Her husband offered to wrap his arm around her. Monica removed her seatbelt and cuddled up next to him, content to enjoy the rest of their ride in peaceful silence.
The next day, as she prepared to take a long drive up to the mountains to help host a party at the Château that weekend, Monica received a phone call from an unknown number.
“Hello, Monica! This is Carly Wainright fromModern Femmemagazine. I’m one of the lead writers and have a wonderful chance to profile someone from the area who is defining womanhood in their own way. Would you be interested in a feature in our magazine?”
“A… what?”
The first thing she did after hanging up was call her lawyer to make sure Carly Wainright wasn’t a scam. The second thing she did was call her husband and ask what the hell was in the air that week.
“Over here would be brilliant.” Carly directed the photographer to the windows overlooking the grove of trees and marigolds growing along the perimeter of the yard. “The lighting is perfect, don’t you think?”
Monica didn’t have much say over this outside of insisting that the photo shoot was in her home. Carly had pushed for the Château or the Salon, but Monica didn’t want to be defined by her places of business.Once upon a time, I would have been happy to feature the Château in a sophisticated way.But as theyears went by, she became more defined by her family and her ascending the fake title of Lady Warren. Something that she also negotiated would only be allowed in the articleonce,to clear up any airs that she thought of herself that way.
Because she didn’t. She was Monica Warren, the wife of Henry and the mother of Abigail. Everything she did after that didn’t matter as much to her.
“You’ve been known for your elegant wardrobe and styling for as long as you’ve been known to the public, Monica.” Carly was still enamored with the silver platter a maid brought in to serve tea. “But it’s clear that you’ve brought such an authentic sophistication to this room. Does it come naturally to you?”
That was far from the only question she asked as they sat down after the photoshoot to catch the afternoon light. Monica kept her knees closed and her ankles off to the side as she sat up straight on the couch and offered Carly her undivided attention.
She asked about being an “outsider” wife in such an old and prestigious family.“I was never intimidated by it if that’s what you’re asking.”She asked about motherhood and why Monica never had more children.“I only felt the need to experience it once. Having that decision in my hand is one of the most powerful things about the modern age.”She asked about her reputation for being New England’s “most reverent madam.”“I believe in an experience where all parties get something out of it. It’s not always money and sex. It’s companionship, expressing yourself, and knowing that nobody will judge you for what you like.”And she asked about Monica’s quiet poise and how she could attract the attention of an entire room without ever looking at anyone.“Do people say that about me?”
Yes, Isabella came up. It had all been in the news, after all, and Monica was able to pull some concessions here when she agreed it was the magazine’s exclusive interview.
“I do not wish to speak ill of the women who came before me in this family,” Monica diplomatically stated, knowing who the magazine’s audience was. “They all dealt with their relationship to the Warren name. For my mother-in-law, it was always clear that ensuring the family’s future a certain way was her most important duty. It was old-fashioned and unsuited for the modern era, and we couldn’t see eye-to-eye on it. When it comes to my daughter, all that matters is thatsheis prepared for adulthood. For womanhood. She will define it on her terms. She will be intelligent enough to know what direction to take her life and her family in when I, too, am out of touch and clinging to a world that no longer exists. It’s a fate that befalls most of us if we are privileged to live long enough.”
Carly was pleased with that answer. But not as pleased as when Abigail came unexpectedly running into the room after school, Eva chasing after her with the words, “I told you that your mother had private guests today!” echoing in the hallway.
Monica would not consent to her daughter’s face in the photoshoot but didn’t decline the opportunity to hold Abigail in her lap, hugging her and stroking the back of her head as she looked into the camera with a simple message.
“This might be the last time I ever hold her in my lap. I know it. You know it. Let’s get it on the record.”
“What’s the most important thing to you, personally?” Carly asked after Eva took Abigail out of the room. “A concept, as opposed to someone or a thing.”
Monica plucked one of her daughter’s blond hairs out of her lap. “Agency,” she said. “The ability to forge our destinies, to be the people we’re meant to be. That’s all I want for anyone. But especially my daughter.”
