(Complete) Monty Whitby grew up knowing exactly what was expected of him. As the sole heir of Whitby Enterprises, he will one day take over, but his father never misses the opportunity to tell him he will never meet his expectations. Once Monty's re...
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Nineteen years ago...
Monty Whitby ran through the woods. There wasn't a path or clearing, as he followed the trees with the old discolored yarn attached marking the trail.
"Ouch!"
Prickles on the low barren shrubs caught his jeans. The scratches stung his legs under his denim. Ripped pants were the least of his concerns. Disappointment lurked around the corner.
He was supposed to stay on the Whitby property, but there was absolutely nothing to do. In the summer, he could swim, but it was April. He couldn't play tennis by himself, and he hated tennis. All his friends had lessons with the pros at the Weston Golf Club, but not Monty. He had lessons from a pro who came to Whitby Estate. He wasn't nice either, yelling at him like a drill sergeant.
As he ran faster, his heart pounded in his ears, and his lungs burned. Disappointment was looming in his father's eyes, behind a glass of scotch, in the parlor. He never should have stayed so late, but they couldn't find Tori. The small girl was the best hider, when they played hide and seek in Bea's garden.
"Omph!"
He tripped over a root. Luckily, his hands stopped his face from hitting the dirt. He wiped a stray tear with the back of his hand. The palm stung and had caked on dirt.
At ten, he couldn't think up a lie to explain his appearance. Had it been worth it to spend the afternoon playing with his friends? Monty's schedule allowed no time for play, except on Mondays, his nanny's day off.
He remembered the day last fall when Teddy and Trey appeared at the edge of the woods while he had been kicking the soccer ball alone. They always rode in a car to visit the Calhouns, Hayes, or Petersens. The two boys were barely teens, but all the kids looked up to them, especially Monty, an only child. If money could buy anything, he'd ask for an older brother.
He snuck over on Mondays to play and feel free from the burden of being Montgomery Whitby. Even in the winter he walked through the snow in boots and ski clothes to build forts and have snowball fights.
Running out of the woods, he sprinted across his own property toward the service entrance. Maybe he could sneak up the back stairs without being seen.
A hand grabbed hold of his arm, causing him to stop and swing around. He faced a chest covered with the dark blue uniform of his father's chauffeur. His heart sped even faster, he had hoped his father wouldn't be home. He was a coward, not because he feared Kelly.
"Been looking for you, Master Whitby."
"Please let go."
The man did. As a Whitby, the help obeyed him, even though he was only a boy, and they were adults.
"Your parents asked me to look for you. You're expected in the dining room. They are waiting."
Inside the service entrance, he kicked off his Reebok Pumps. They were covered with mud, but next time he wore them the shoes would be clean. He had no choice but to enter the parlor where his parents sat.
Celia gasped as she jumped out of her seat. "What happened to you?"
"I was playing in the woods."
"The woods. Why on earth?"
He shrugged and instantly regretted it. Montgomery spoke in a voice meant to command a boardroom. "Speak words and answer your mother."
He stood taller. "Sorry, sir. I was playing with my friends."
"Nonsense. You are too old for imaginary friends."
"Father, not imaginary. My real friends. Hide and seek in Bea's garden."
Celia looked at her husband. "How far is Bea's garden?"
Montgomery cleared his throat. He did that when he was searching for words. "I've never given it much thought. How did you know how to go through the woods?"
"Trey and Teddy taught me."
The two adults looked at each other. "Tell me, have you done this before?"
"Yes, sir. I like to play."
"Play is another word for wasting time. Celia, your friends allow their children to run wild."
His mother's tone was soft. "I don't like you without adult supervision. Who was minding you?"
He almost shrugged, but caught himself. "Trey and Ted."
Montgomery said, "They're boys."
Celia said, "They're fourteen. You may only go visit your friends if you receive an invitation and are driven."
"A Whitby does not visit uninvited. You arrive properly at the front door and use your manners. Do you understand?"
"Yes, father."
He fought tears. His predicament hurt worse than his palms and the scratches on his legs.
"You're lucky I want another scotch before dinner." He held up his glass and the maid quickly took it to refill. "Go clean up and make yourself presentable for the dining room. Next time you aren't ready by seven sharp, you will eat soup in the kitchen."
He pursed his lips as he walked out of the room. He couldn't cry. He couldn't eat soup. Alice had made lemon chicken with risotto. It was one of his favorite meals. Resisting the urge to run, he plodded up the stairs to his bedroom. Once in his en suite, he glimpsed at himself in the mirror. He needed a bath but had no time. Instead, he striped out of his dirty clothes and scrubbed his hands and face. His clothes were laid out on his bed. Thankful for his maid Emilia, she didn't untie his ties. He slipped it on over his head and tightened it.
After dragging a comb through his straight dark brown hair, he looked at his face. People said he looked like his father, but he only saw an old man when he looked at him. His friends' fathers didn't have gray hair and looked younger. In the mirror he saw a boy with a side part he hated. He wanted a haircut, so he could use gel like Ted. Putting the comb down, he was ready for dinner.
One summer day after swimming, he had been invited to stay for dinner at the Calhouns. He wanted to bow his head with disappointment, but looked Grace in the eye.
"Thank you for the invitation, but I don't have dinner clothes."
She smiled. "Darling, we don't change for family dinners."
He stopped himself from asking what a family dinner was. He would never forget the evening he discovered the answer. They allowed children to talk, and no one wore a tie. After the meal, he stood and Sloane told him he had to take his plate to the kitchen. In his house, the maid cleared the plates.
Grace said, "He's our guest."
Victoria said, "Monty needs to learn how. When he grows up, he might not have a maid." He held onto his words, because Whitbys always had maids.
Standing tall with his shoulders back. He entered the dining room. Unlike at his friends' house, he would eat quietly. How he wished for a family dinner.
"That's the way a Whitby should look."
"You look very handsome," his mother said, as she reached out to fix his combed hair. Her fingers brushed his shoulders when she was done.
"Celia, he's not a baby. Sit. I was hungry an hour ago."
Monty sat and placed his napkin on his lap.
If you were waiting for Designs on You to be complete, it is. Although it is not part of The Wish Series, it is a cross-over.
