José had driven alongside 79th Street through Central Park to her parents’ building while anxiety cooled Taddy’s thoughts. The Brillfords resided in the San Remo, a twenty-seven-story luxury high-rise, home to Manhattan’s elite. Staffed with servants and guards, the building was primed for celebrities who sought privacy in the Big Apple.

The summer Taddy’s bastard child rumors had circulated, she’d overheard San Remo’s doorman discussing Irma’s past affair. They’d mentioned she’d fallen in love with another man in the building. Notable residents at the time included Steven Spielberg, Bruce Willis, and music band U2’s lead singer Bono. She’d created a birthfather list in her head, but conceded that no one could replace her dad, Joseph Graf. Maybe he couldn’t love her as his own, but she’d always loved him.

Taddy glanced out the Cadillac’s window, feeling Warner resting his face against the back of her neck.

“You okay?”

“I hope to be.” She turned to look at him and kissed his cheek. Then she sat forward to talk to her driver. “José, this is it.”

José pulled up front, parked the SUV, and opened the door for her and Warner. “Good luck, Miss Brill.”

“Thank you. I’ll call when we’re leaving for you to come back around.” Drawing her sunglasses up into her hair, she noticed Warner staring at her. He was worried.

“Come here.” He hugged her and whispered in her ear, “I’ll help you through this, as much as you want me to.”

“I can lean on you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Any final advice before we go in?”

“Listen to what your mother has to say. Focus on what she says.”

“I intend to.”

“We can leave whenever you’re ready.” His arms cinched around her waist, pulling her tight.

Having a guy with her for emotional support was new for her. It felt pretty damn good. Taddy hoped to get used to having Warner at her side. He gave the doorman their names, and he buzzed them up.

When the elevator doors opened, Taddy smelled a familiar cleansing agent the maids wiped the walls with. Built in the 1930s with mediocre ventilation, tea tree oil was used to keep the building fresh. She stared at the double doors for a minute. The sign read, “26EFG.” The cooperative occupied three units. Half in eagerness, half in terror, she rang the bell. Her pulse throbbed as childhood memories came back to her.

Taddy did her best to drop the self-preserving defenses she’d used in the past so she could remain open to whatever her mother wanted to talk to her about. Standing in that building felt awkward but she had missed her home. How could they have let so much time elapse? Why had they done this? Maybe soon she’d have the answers she finally longed for. And maybe then the hole she’d felt in her heart would finally be filled.

When she rang the doorbell a second time, she could hear the chimes on the other side echoing through the penthouse. The door opened and, to her surprise, Mr. Constance wasn’t the one to greet them.

Countess Irma stood before her.

Irma must’ve been about five-foot-two. Her mother’s fingers fluttered around her collarbone as if she was uncertain whether she should offer a hug or a handshake. “Tabitha Adelaide…” She put her arms out for an embrace, as much as she could. Taddy felt it was cold and lacking, but it was a start.

Her mother wasn’t as she’d imagined. Irma barely resembled the woman Taddy remembered. Somehow, she’d shrunk. Irma was flat-chested, her body frail and her face sunken. Her black eyes had hollowed, reflecting her emptiness.

Obviously, Irma didn’t subscribe to the cosmetic surgical maintenance procedures Birdie used to keep up. Sure, Irma wore designer clothes, certainly that season’s Escada. Her makeup was caked into a mask, a perfect illusion. But underneath her overpriced clothes and titanium dioxide face were many imperfections. Nothing a beauty day could fix or cover. Her pain felt palpable to Taddy.

Unsure what to call her, Taddy said, “Mom, this is Warner.”

A soft gasp escaped from Irma’s lips.

Taddy deflected any attention from herself. She wasn’t comfortable with her mother looking her up and down. Everything suddenly felt even more awkward.

Warner and her mother shook hands.

Irma escorted them into the front living room.

She wasn’t surprised to see the home was decorated much like a showroom. It was cold and sterile and didn’t reflect any warmth. Everything was just to impress those looking in from the outside. There were no pictures from her childhood. Nothing in the home spoke of family, not the kind she once knew. She wondered if they’d been happy before Irma’s affair began.

“Where’s Dad?”

“Germany. Joseph’s speaking at a conference for work in Heidelberg.”

“Did you tell him you invited me here?”

“No.”

They sat in silence. Irma pushed a teapot forward, a china pattern that reflected a delicate gold tree branch. Taddy couldn’t take her eyes off it. She remembered the service set from her childhood. The bone china had yellowed in places it shouldn’t. Taddy hugged her Birkin bag, putting distance between them.

“You okay?” Warner whispered in her ear, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders. She nodded.

Irma poured them each a cup. “I caught you on the news. You’ve grown into such a beauty, Tabitha Adelaide.”

“I’ll be thirty before I know it.”

“Where does Taddy’s middle name come from?” Warner asked.

“Her middle name came from a friend in the building. A Texas natural gas heiress named Adelaide de Menil.”

“How is Miss de Menil?” Taddy asked. That woman had been a force in the photography world and had showed her and Lex how to take pictures.

“We stopped speaking years ago, when the Easton's left the building.”

Birdie and Eddie moved downtown. Claiming they wanted to relive their youth, they’d bought a loft in Soho. With Eddie always on tour and Lex in boarding school, Birdie despised living in such a massive penthouse. She’d also stated, on numerous occasions, that she hated the Upper West Side snootiness.

“Makes sense.” Taddy shrugged. Her mother didn’t have many, if any, friends left to keep her company, except Muffie.

“Muffs always talks about your PR firm. Your aunt is so proud of you.”

Taddy figured her mother would start with small talk.

“I didn’t realize just how successful you’d become.”

“I enjoy it.”

“What types of clients do you represent?”

“Lipstick, footwear, handbags—fun stuff,” Taddy answered. She wondered how long they’d dance until the real questions and answers began.

Irma’s eyebrow rose as she studied her. “Makes sense. You were the only ten-year-old in town who wore haute couture.” For years, Donna Karan, who also resided in the building, had taken a special interest in her and Lex. Donna invited the girls to her showroom to share her fashion designer passion. That was where Lex’s prowess came from, and her desire to have her own brand.

“You and Lex sure did enjoy dressing up when you were little, always getting into something or another. I couldn’t keep you girls out of my wardrobe closet.”

“She says hello. Easton Essentials is doing great.”

“Yes, that’s what Birdie said when we spoke the other day.” Her beady eyes shifted to Warner.

Nervous, Taddy glanced down at the coffee table between them. Her eye caught the Wall Street Journal piece featuring her and Warner. Sticking out from the newspaper was Today’s Business magazine. She knew the issue well, as her image was emblazoned across the cover.

The featured piece had given readers an inside glimpse of Taddy’s career as a single woman taking on the media world. Kiki had released her financial statements to the journalist in hopes that being a Fortune 500 company would make it possible to expand overseas.

Her mother reached across the table for her hand, but Taddy pulled away.

Uncomfortable with the snub, Warner brushed his left leg against hers. “Taddy—”

“It’s okay, Mr. Truman.” Her mother kept her focus on Taddy. “I also read about you in that magazine, too. It’s a nice change from the last time you were in print, Tabitha Adelaide.”

“Mom—”

“It’s true.” Irma’s eyes widened.

“What do you mean, Countess?” Warner asked.

“Please, call me Irma.” She gave him a thin lipped, smile. “The last time I read about Tabitha Adelaide in print, she forgot to put any clothes on. She also ranted about what horrible parents we’d been and how the courts thought it best to have her taken away from us.”

Taddy chewed on her tongue for a second, remembering the pictorial. The photos may have been taken in poor taste, but she’d only been eighteen. She’d worn a heraldic crown while spreading her legs and managing a generous smile. Did her resentment for Neve Adele stem from her own visceral feeling about her choices? Were she and Neve one and the same?

She didn’t enjoy the exposure the way Neve did. “I needed money. With no skills, how else could I pay for college and live in Manhattan?” She’d been offered a quarter of a million dollars to pose nude, give the dirt on her former royal socialite Brillford life, and announce the new Taddy Brill. The spread had launched her independence and landed her a contract for a lingerie line, which had doubled her pay. With a million in the bank before year’s end, she’d been able to bring her media firm alive.

Taddy and Lex had graduated from Avon Porter Academy, where they’d met Vive and Blake, made a friends-for-life pact, and enrolled in Columbia University. At first, Taddy wanted to go college in Los Angles, as far from the East Coast as possible. However, her friends persuaded her to return to Manhattan. Penniless, Taddy had stayed with Vive. The Farnworth’s kept an apartment at the Sherry-Netherland.

Vive promised her that living east of 5th Avenue while Taddy’s parents remained west would keep her mind Brillford-free. It hadn’t worked. In the years since they’d separated, she’d thought about her parents at least once every hour. In New York City, with its limited square footage, Taddy had found it odd that she’d never bumped into her parents at any social events. It’d seemed as if they’d fled the country.

Her mother offered no answer, instead redirecting her attention to Warner. “Are you planning to marry Tabitha Adelaide?”

“Our relationship is brand new,” Taddy interjected before Warner could respond.

He locked his arm in her's to display their new commitment. “Marriage is a great plan for our future. She and I will talk about it when the right time comes along.”

Irma gave an approving nod, as if she was in the position to do so.

She wasn’t.

Warner continued, “Irma, if you don’t mind, I’ll speak on my girlfriend’s behalf for a minute. Why did you request to see Taddy today?”

Here we go.

Irma sat back in her chair, her fingertips pressed together into a point as if about to confess her sins. Her gaze was intent on Taddy’s face when she replied, “I want you in my life. I also want to offer an apology. I am sorry, Tabitha Adelaide.” Her mother’s face softened, confident her words were enough.

They weren’t.

“Why today?”

“I’ve missed you.”

“Missed me?”

“I want us to be friends.” Irma could barely say the ‘friend’ word, let alone offer any sincerity.

“After all these years, you want us to be close.” Curses ripped from her lips.

“Taddy, don’t.”

She ignored Warner and kept going. “Why do you want me back?”

Irma shifted in her chair. “I want to get a divorce and start over.”

“Okay, move out,” Taddy mocked, gazing around the apartment. Her mother could walk out the front door if she wanted.

“It’s not easy. If I leave Joseph, he’ll cut me off. I’ll walk away with nothing.”

“So…”

“How will I live?”

“Dad will give you something—”

“No. Joseph will make certain I’m penniless.”

“Ah-hmm.” Her mother’s reasoning suddenly came into focus. Taddy felt lost in her thoughts, drowning in the muck and mire that was Irma. Irma kept pushing at her. Floating alone on the verge of exhaustion, Taddy had nothing to hold on to.

Disappointed, she finally understood the reason Irma had reached out to her. According to the magazine article, Taddy was wealthy. Irma’s recent words played in her head. “I didn’t realize just how successful you’d become.” Taddy was supposed to be her financial security. Her motives were fueled by money. What else? Irma knew the cash rules. She’d married for it, birthed a child for it, and lived by it. “You’re saying you want to leave Dad and have me take care of you?” She had to laugh, because otherwise she’d cry.

“No, honey. That’s not it at all. I—I love you.”

Her mom had never said that to her before.

“What?” Taddy inhaled sharply through her nose.

“I said that isn’t it at all.”

“No, Mom. After that.” She closed her eyes and tried to think of nothing at all. That seemed logical. Taddy wanted to hear her mother say it again, just one more time. Please, Mom. Just say it like you mean it, please.

Silence. Nothing but Warner’s heavy breathing was heard among them. He squeezed her hand tight for her to open her eyes and so she did.

“Sorry, Tabitha Adelaide. I don’t know what else I can say or do to make it up to you.” Her mother glared at her. Irma’s loss for words and frozen face confirmed Taddy’s suspicion. The thing that ticked Taddy off the most was that Irma didn’t have a clue as to how ruthless she sounded.

The chill between them grew.

Taddy let go of Warner, slipped her hands under her legs, and sat on them, thanking her lucky stars Lex and Vive hadn’t come with her. If her best friends had heard Irma, Lex would’ve grabbed the woman’s freshwater pearl-adorned neck and snapped her in half. Lex had one thing in common with Birdie: the girl loved to throw a good punch. And vile, terse words would’ve spewed from Vive.

Speechless, Warner sat in silence. Taddy doubted he’d be familiar with parental extortion. But from what he’d told her about his ex-fiancée, maybe he understood that some people put money first.

She wanted to maintain composure, but she needed to ask. She had to find out why. “Were you there when I needed you?”

“When you were a child, yes, I was.”

“I was a child when you dropped me off.” Her words nearly choked her.

“Avon Porter kept you fed and educated,” her mother defended. “You were in the top private boarding school in the country! I wouldn’t call that neglected.”

A heaviness centered in her chest. Her mother would never see it Taddy’s way. Irma mothered in a different style, one where nannies breastfed someone else’s children. “You left me, Mother. You never came back.” Taddy promised herself she wouldn’t cry, but it was too late. The tears fell down her cheeks as she relived the pain.

For a moment, she was back in the study on the blue chair, being told she’d be sent away. A pulsing knot in her stomach made it impossible to hold the hurt inside. She had to let it go. Her lips had waited too long to relieve her of their rejection. “Do you have any clue how much you and Dad fucked with my head?” Anger spurted through her. Lifting her fingers, she wiped back her tears and choked on a sob. “I’ve never been the same since.”

Warner held her tight, letting Taddy know he was there. He didn’t stop her from speaking her mind, though.

For years, Taddy had imagined what it would be like to have parents who loved her. The only example she had of that was Blake’s family, who’d accepted him and his homosexuality as a teen. They were the closest thing to normal she’d known.

The Morgan’s did simple things, which Blake would share with her. Sending him homemade sugar cookies with notes telling him how much they missed him, for instance. Taddy hated the pastries’ cardboard taste, but she ate the dessert knowing Mrs. Morgan had stood in her kitchen, decorating those treats for her son. Mrs. Morgan was often seen crying when she’d drop Blake back off at his dorm room after a holiday away. And when Blake was sick, Mr. Morgan came and picked him up.

“In the tenth grade, a bunch of us in class got mononucleosis. I was ill for two months. I felt like I was going to die. The nurse called you.” She swallowed and continued, “You never rang her back to see how I was doing.”

“We were in Sylt that summer.” Irma didn’t even blink. “I couldn’t get back to the States in time. We saw to it that you had great medical care. You didn’t die. It was just the flu.”

“Bullshit, mother.” I did, too, die. I died inside. That was the catalyst that propelled Taddy into emancipation. Alone night after night for eight weeks, she was the only child left in the infirmary. “Everyone else’s parents had come to get their sick child.” She grabbed at her neck, remembering. “I had lymph glands the size of grapefruits…and my enlarged spleen caused a constant abdominal pain. My skin had become jaundiced.” So yellow she could’ve passed for Laa-Laa the yellow Teletubby. That was what the nurse had nicknamed her that semester: Laa-Laa, the unwanted teenager.

Irma leaned forward. “The first year you boarded at school, I tried to visit you. I did. Mr. Constance was going to drive me out there to see you, but your father—”

“Did he prevent you from coming?”

“He broke my arm.”

Taddy gasped.

“Then my leg,” Irma added. “I had to keep you away from him. He was a dangerous man back then.”

She heard Warner’s breath quicken.

“After a while, I quit trying to see you. The school sent me updates with photos. I picked your father over you.”

“Why?”

“He threatened to leave me with nothing. I’d be divorced and gone from New York.”

“I remember you and Dad fought a lot back then.” Taddy didn’t buy the busted leg story. With all those years past, she still had failed to come and see her. Irma’s legs seemed to be working fine enough for her to greet them at the door moments before. They’d walked her highfalutin’ ass around town to shop the previous day when she’d called. If anything, she’d broken Joseph with her actions.

“When Joseph ordered your paternity test and the results came back negative, he was devastated. He loved you more than—”

“More than you did, Mother.” Taddy finished the sentence for her. Had her mother ever felt anything for her?

Did Irma’s own mother treat her the same way when she was growing up? Taddy had never met her grandmother. She’d died a year before Taddy was born. Taddy couldn’t help but imagine Irma had learned her behavior from someone else. It didn’t seem natural.

“I’m not going to lie to you. You’re too smart for that. You always were. Years ago, Joseph’s physician diagnosed him as sterile. When your father and I married, we agreed no children. I didn’t want a baby. When I became pregnant and gave birth to you, your father took to you. He loved you. More than he loved me, at times. He believed you came as God’s miracle.” Irma paused and continued, “I understand this information isn’t what you wanted to hear.”

“It’s nothing new,” she admitted, wiping her tears. “I’ve raised myself since I was a kid.”

“You pushed for the emancipation.”

“What choice did I have?”

Warner listened. Taddy could see the interest on his face, but he didn’t say anything.

“That legal stunt pissed Joseph off further.”

During Taddy’s junior year, she and Vive had signed up for an elective class in legal studies with Mr. Kettle. She’d enrolled in the class because, at twenty-three, Mr. Kettle was Avon Porter’s youngest male teacher and also the hottest. Once in the class, she’d become fascinated with a subject they spent two weeks studying called Family Law. Taddy had yearned to discover how a teenager could divorce his or her parents. Vive, already a journalist for the school paper, wrote revealing celebrity stories on Drew Barrymore, who’d left her parents at thirteen, along with Juliette Lewis and Jaime Pressly, who’d both separated from their parents at fifteen.

“If these child stars can pull this shit off, honey bunny, then so can you,” Vive had encouraged. She even had a potty mouth back then.

Taddy had wanted to try.

In hopes her folks would react and fully come for her, take her home and parent and love her, she’d tested the legal system with Mr. Kettle and filed a petition citing reasons for separation from her parents. Taddy had assumed that would be the end of it. They’d call and flip out then pick her up.

But the Brillfords didn’t.

A children’s Connecticut law center gave her free legal aid to secure the case. The paperwork was processed and Judge Roderick had approved a hearing. The media had tagged the Brillfords as “Too Rich to Parent,” pushing Taddy sympathetically into the spotlight. It drove a sky-high wedge between them, more than she’d anticipated. “Joseph stopped paying for your tuition and boarding costs, saying he’d kill me if I ever spoke to you again.”

“Dad would never kill you. I don’t believe you.” Nothing added up. Shocked, she assumed her parents had done one thing right and made good on her high school education. “Who paid my tuition after I emancipated?”

“You became an independent then, an adult according to the law,” Irma defended, ignoring her question.

“I didn’t understand all the ramifications. I went to the lawyers for help, to get your love. The case spun out of control and became more than I imagined.”

“We didn’t have any responsibility to you after the verdict.”

The lawyers she’d worked with, who’d won the case, wrote a book on teens emancipating from their parents and never even followed up with Taddy to see how she made out. As an independent, Taddy felt used and ashamed after the case ended. She sure as hell didn’t get any money from the lawyers who profited with the publicity. “Tell me who covered my junior and senior year expenses.”

“Birdie.”

“What?”

“Mrs. Easton sent the checks.”

Taddy stared, tongue-tied. “I didn’t know.”

Irma nodded. “Birdie and I argued over it. She stopped talking to us and vowed to look in on you going forward.”

All the horrible resentment toward Lex’s mother over the years had been misdirected.

“Why would Birdie do such a thing?”

“We both became pregnant at the same time. Birdie always treated you as if you were her own baby girl. I admired many things about Mrs. Easton.” Irma turned to Warner. “We were best friends throughout our twenties and thirties. Birdie and I did everything together. She was the best friend I always wanted.”

“I see.” Warner gripped Taddy’s hand.

Irma shrugged. “Eddie refused to have more babies. He wanted to tour and sing for the world. He never wanted a family. Contrary to his desires, Birdie felt it selfish to have only one child. She wanted more and took to you just as Joseph did.” Irma sipped from her teacup, hands shaking. Was she nervous? “People say the meanest things about that woman. Her demons and drug addictions were horrible. But when Birdie sobered, she became a great mom to Lex—and you.”

“Yes, when we were younger. I have some fond memories of Birdie’s sobriety. She just relapsed so often it was hard to trust her.”

“Birdie tried to show me how to parent you, but I couldn’t get my head around mothering,” Irma confessed dryly.

“Obviously.” Taddy couldn’t help but raise her voice.

Warner released Taddy’s hand and patted her right knee, probably to calm her down. “She needs time to think about your request. We’re not going to get anything resolved here today.”

“That’s understandable.”

“I’m open to talking again.” Taddy sat on the edge of the chair. Their time together was coming to an end. She took a deep breath.

“Good.” Her mother leaned forward with anticipation. “I need to figure this out,” Irma muttered in a low voice, almost as if she’d slipped.

“Figure what?”

“Us,” Irma replied. “You and me. Our future together.”

“No, that’s not what you meant.” Taddy had heard enough. “You need to settle up with Dad, but you can’t do that until I agree to support you. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Don’t put it that way, please…honey.” Irma’s voice cracked.

“I’ll never give you any money.”

Irma’s body stiffened and her right brow shot up. “I feared you’d respond as such. I will make the support worth your investment.”

“How?”

“I will answer your most essential question. The one you asked in each and every letter you wrote me.”

Revulsion struck Taddy with a massive blow. “I won’t dignify your offer with a response.”

“I don’t understand,” Warner questioned, focusing on Irma.

Before clarifying, Irma adjusted the pin on her brooch, fixing the needle straight through the jeweled royal ornament. She relished the attention they were giving her. It wasn’t going to last long. “If you help me divorce Joseph, I’ll tell you who your real birthfather is. Who I carried on an affair with for many years. Who I should’ve married.”

Blood pumping, rage boiling, Taddy Brill, Manhattan’s number-one public relations professional—who’d penned over a thousand client speeches, trademarked the world’s best taglines, owned a repertoire for every conundrum—didn’t know what the fuck to say. But she figured calling the woman who sat across from her a selfish, coldhearted, narcissistic bitch would be a really good start!