Chapter Thirteen

Aurora's POV

I arrive a few minutes early, pulling into the driveway and stopping the car right outside the front door. The door is unlocked, so I let myself in and call out.

"Mum! Dad! I'm here."

I wait for a response as I take off my coat and hang it up in the cloakroom, before making my way into the hall. The biggest problem with growing up in such a big house is that it's very easy to lose people and it's easy to feel lonely. Just as I'm about to go look for them, the housekeeper, Ella, makes her way out of the kitchen.

"Miss Stone, your parents are outside by the pool. Can I get you a drink?"

"Yes please," I say as I follow her into the kitchen. "Cranberry juice would be lovely. Thank you."

The kitchen is a large open plan space that doubles up as a family room. I walk out onto the patio, through the sliding doors in the family room.

"Ah, darling!" My mother gets to her feet and gives me a quick hug. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"Hello mum," I smile at her and then at my dad before giving him a cuddle, "daddy."

"Join us," my father says as he pats the sofa beside him. "Ella tells us dinner will be ready in half an hour."

"How is school?" Mum asks me.

"Good," I reply. "Everything is going well. Thank you."

"And Cameron and Tallulah?" my dad asks.

"Cameron is focused on his studies, and Tallulah came back home yesterday."

"Oh?" My mother presses.

She has moments of generosity. This is one of them. She genuinely cares about my friends, and she's concerned about Tallulah.

"She hasn't told me why."

"She'll tell you when she is ready."

My father smiles sadly at me. He always has been more patient than me.

"Miss Stone," Ella says as she makes her way out of the house with my drink, "your drink."

"Thank you, Ella."

I smile at her as I take my drink from her outstretched hand.

"Aurora! Haven't you grown up enough to stop calling Eleanor a silly nickname?" my mother chastises me.

"Sorry mum," I apologise. "Thank you, Eleanor."

"You are welcome, Miss Stone." She smiles, before asking my mum, "where would you like to eat tonight, Mrs Stone?"

"At the dining table in the family room please, Eleanor."

Ella makes her way back into the house to set the table.

"Where's Grandma and Papa?"

My mother's parents have been living with us since I was about sixteen. My parents turned the attic into a little apartment for them. It has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room and a small kitchen that they never used as they tend to eat their meals downstairs in the main house.

That's what my family call little. It's anything but little, but I humour them. I often wonder if they would know how to cope if our family suddenly lost all its money.

Seriously; what would they do?

I think the only one who would be completely unaffected is Ali. I wish I could say the same for myself but unlike Aileen, I've allowed my parents to pay my way; apartment, university, car. You name it, they've paid for it. It's troubling. I like to believe I'm independent, but I'm really not.

"Inside," dad replies, looking up from the paper he is reading. "In fact, why don't you go tell them that dinner is ready."

"Okay, daddy."

I smiled as I stand to my feet. I walk through the kitchen where Ella is plating up our food and back into the hall. Stepping into the hall, I can hear the sound of my heels clicking on the stone floor. My parents' house is ridiculously excessive. It's all white stone floors, walls and ceilings. It makes Landon's apartment seem almost normal. I make my way across the hall to the staircase and travel up two flights.

"Grandma?" I call out.

"Aurora baby!" My grandma comes out of her living room with a massive smile on her face. "Gerald, look who has come to visit!"

My Grandma is severely deaf and as a result, tends to shout at everyone.

"Aurora." Papa smiles at me as he joins us on the landing.

"Papa," I grin back at him, "it's so good to see you. Dad asked me to tell you that dinner is ready."

"Oh, jolly good," Papa says. "You run down the stairs and tell them we are on our way. Our legs aren't quite as good as they used to be. I think we'll take the lift."

My parents had had the lift put in when my grandparents moved in, but they had refused to use it until the year before last when Papa had had an operation on his knee.

***

An hour later, we are all still sat around the dining table as my mum interrogates me about Aileen.

"Have you seen your sister lately?"

"No mum," I frown as I consider my reply, "I told you, I haven't seen her since the last time we were here."

"It's just," my Mother presses, "you girls used to be so close."

"Yes, but things change."

Aileen and I hadn't been close in years. She pushed me out when she started rebelling against our parents.

"She used to tell you everything," Grandma says, shaking her head sadly.

"When she was ten," I retort bitterly. I shouldn't. It's not her fault.

"Yes, we have to allow Aileen her secrets." Mum laughs.

It's not a pleasant laugh. It's not even a happy, genuine laugh. No, it's cruel and cold. My mother has a drink in her hand, and I wonder if she's had too much already. I hadn't noticed her hand straying for the bottle in the middle of the table. I frown. Normally, I notice.

"That's enough Michelle," my father says quietly.

"I'm sorry, Lewis," my mother is frowning too now, "but really our youngest daughter will have nothing to do with us."

Her blonde hair is tied in an elegant knot, and there are laughter lines around her eyes that almost seem not to belong there. My mother rarely laughs.

"Give her time, dear." Grandma pats her on the hand. "She'll get through it."

"We've been saying that for two years now," my mother continues. "She hates us."

It's as if they've forgotten I'm in the room. They are talking about things that I don't understand. I presume they are merely referring to Aileen's rebellion, but that doesn't make sense. Aileen started rebelling long before that.

"Michelle, stop."

My father is cross. His voice is still calm, but his eyes tell me that he's unhappy.

"Why don't we go and sit in the living room," he suggests. "I'm sure Eleanor will make us all a cup of tea."

"Yes," Papa smiles, "I think that is a fantastic idea."

Papa... Always the peacekeeper.

I want to ask what my mum meant about Aileen, but I know better than to push a subject that my father has closed. When we are all seated in the living room, my Grandma asks me about school.

"How are classes going?"

"Good, Grandma." I smile at her.

"We're all so proud of you." Papa nods his head. "Teaching is a very noble profession."

I smile, but I've heard it all before. My mother laughs with unconcealed bitterness.

"Well one of our daughters had to amount to something."

She's got a new glass in her hand now. Whiskey perhaps?

"Aileen is working hard," I retort protectively. "She's in the last year of her degree. She's worked harder than I ever have. She's done it on her own. She's her own person."

My father smiles sadly, but my mother actually laughs again. She makes her way over to the sideboard and pours herself another drink.

"She refuses our help. She wants nothing to do with her own parents; as if her choices are our fault."

"Michelle, darling," my grandmother says soothingly as she shakes her head.

"No mother; we should be realistic. She made it very clear last time we saw her. She blames us."

"Blames you for what, mum?" I can't help but ask.

"Your sister has always been rebellious." Papa grins with what can only be pride, as he continues, "It's part of who she is."

"When she was seventeen, she got into some trouble," Mother tells me.

"How come I didn't know about this?" I ask.

"You were at university," my dad tells me with a shake of his head; he doesn't want me to know all this. Either that or he just doesn't want to talk about it right now. "We didn't want to worry you. Do you remember when she went to stay with my parents in Bournemouth?"

"Yes," I frown, "you never told me why though."

Of course, I remember when my little sister went and spent several months living on the south coast when she was supposed to be at school. I'd been jealous.

"She was pregnant!" mum practically shouts.

I'm speechless. I actually don't know what to say.

"Your sister wasn't ready to be a mum and that boy, Devon, was a waste of space. We arranged for her to have the baby adopted. She regrets it now, but she would have made a terrible mother. She was too young."

"Mum, did you force her to have the baby adopted?" I can't believe what I'm hearing.

"No, of course not. We gave them options; get married or have the baby adopted. He wanted her to have an abortion, so that left her with no choice."

"She could have raised the baby alone." I stand up. "I can't believe you never told me."

"Yes, and then she wouldn't be a year away from finishing her degree," my mother retorts. "It was the right thing to do, and one day she will realise that."

"Was it a girl? A boy? Did she name it?"

There are so many questions running through my head.

"Where is the child now?"

"Her name is Amelia." Dad places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "She lives in the city. Her parents send photographs regularly."

He leaves the room hastily, coming back almost as quickly with a small box in hand.

"There's a copy of every photograph they've ever sent in this box. Aileen refuses to look at them. She doesn't want to remember."

I run my hand over the top of the box before opening it. This is all quite overwhelming. There must be dozens of photographs in the box, photos of a little blonde girl.

"She looks just like Ali." Except her hair is as bright as the sun, and Aileen's is as black as a starless night, my silly poetic brain adds.

There are photos of her playing in her paddling pool, playing with her dolls, walking, sleeping, playing in the garden, feeding the ducks in the park... and then at the bottom of the box, there is a photograph of my sister in a hospital gown with a tiny baby in her arms.

"Oh god."

I'm in shock. I put all the photographs back in the box and place it on the coffee table.

"I need to go."

"Aurora." My father starts towards me. He knows I'm hurt.

"I'm sorry." I try to smile at him. "I'm just tired. It's been a long day. It's a lot to take in."

"You could stay the night," my mum offers.

All her anger gone; her voice is hopeful, although a little muddled from the alcohol she's consumed.

She misses having us in the house because when we were living here, she could control us better, the thought is bitter, and I try to send it from my mind.

I don't want to think so negatively of her. I love her.

"No... I need to head home."

I give everyone a hug, acting like everything is fine like always, before making my way into the hall. They all follow me out.

"We'll see you at the fundraiser though?" mum presses once more. She never gives up; tenacious Mrs Stone. "Next weekend?"

"Yes, of course." I nod as I lean into the cloak room to get my jacket. "I'll be there."

"Good, it may well be our best one yet."

"What's it for?" I ask.

"Supporting children with disabled parents," my mother tells me as I open the front door.

I nod, my brain not really working at all.

"I really need to go. I need to get back into the city."

👔 One Night with A British Billionaire is part of the Hanleigh's London Saga. The Saga follows a group of friends and families in London. There's always a lot of drama, secrets and scandal.

👔  What do you think of the Stone Family's secrets?