Out on a Limb

Becoming Family

Despite growing up with excessive privilege and more money than she could comprehend, Constance Chatterton managed to remain a good girl who got good grades, said nice things and did good deeds. She went to an Ivy League school on her own merit and completed her education with honours, and then promptly broke her father's heart by doing the unthinkable. She fell in love with the likes of Donald Alexander Fancy, a man riding the wave of a full scholarship (no harm there), but he also had the audacity of having no generational wealth, no profitable connections, and absolutely no foreseeable way to increase the Chatterton family wealth beyond working forty hours a week like every other poverty-stricken dupe in the world.

Despite everything Donald lacked, their seven-figure wedding (footed by Ferguson of course) was a lavish affair filled with A-list guests. It was even featured online in Vogue, complete with a seventy-eight-photo spread and lengthy article about how they came together.

Their love story was touted as transcendent and crossed class and financial barriers proving love conquered all. The wedding was a resplendent four-day affair that included multiple locations and was filled with activities for guests to partake in at will. They had couple's croquet and a polo match at an exclusive resort they rented out in full, a team of private masseuses and pilates instructors, a wine-tasting event with a world-class sommelier, and of course an ocean-side clambake that turned into an evening bonfire and late-night stargazing with astronomer guides.

Private jets shuttled people around at a whim, and every locale was elegantly decorated with flowered walls and archways and reminders of how in love Constance and Donald were. Twinkling lights were strung by the thousands and chart-topping singers would randomly 'pop by' to serenade the couple and entertain guests. Food and drink were plentiful, and Michelin-starred chefs served organic, vegan, and gluten-free anything and everything. Constance had no less than three formal (and naturally handmade) wedding dresses, and there was at least half a dozen more costume changes for the couple. There was simply no limit to Ferguson's demonstration of both his love for his daughter or his wealth to others.

The only question was which did he love more.

Of the five hundred guests in attendance at the wedding were those who hated Ferguson and quite a few who envied him. There were those who loved Constance, those who wanted to do business with the family's company, those who wanted to be seen and photographed at the event of the season, and more than a few who simply wanted to get a look at the supposedly penniless, albeit relatively handsome man cashing in on a bloody fortune. Of all those guests though, there wasn't one who could say they truly knew anything about Donald Fancy other than what they speculated about him behind amuse bouches and flutes of the most expensive champagne money could buy.

Donald was clearly an opportunist. A lucky sonofabitch. A poor sap. A pawn. A man with a golden ticket. A guy who'd been in the right place at the right time. A knight in shining armor who'd found his true love. The son Ferguson never got to have.

Of the thousands of guesses made, the closest anyone ever came to putting their finger on the true nature of the groom was a drunken wedding guest who off-handedly commented to her lover that Donald reminded her of a man and his cousin in a true-crime documentary she'd recently watched. "Kenneth something or other?"

Conjectures circulated until the next on dit took its place, and the spotlight eventually faded away from the Chattertons and Donald Fancy. That suited Donald just fine, and he and Constance settled into their married routine as all couples do. She became a well-known socialite, philanthropist, wife and mother, and he became a successful businessman who seemingly doted on his wife and son and took endless amounts of shit from his cantankerous father-in-law who obviously hated him to no end.

From Donald's perspective, Constance was entirely deluded in the optimism she held that the two men would one day forge a deep bond and truly become family. Giving into her persistence was easier than fighting it though, so Donald simply acquiesced with a smile whenever she gave him that look or said his name that way.

Constance: to be constant, steadfast. Donald often thought of her as more of a constant, steadfast pain in the ass, but he had to admit she never actually interfered with his side projects over the years and admirably stood up to her father when the man chose to be a complete sonofabitch.

There was the time not so long ago that Ferguson named him Vice-President of his division (a position that was as much earned as given to please Constance) and then moved him into a box of an office for three months instead of his executive suite while he insisted renovations took place in the already pristine, turn-key space. Don said nothing of the offence and worked in his windowless cell while his own office sat empty two floors above him. It wasn't until Constance surprised him at work one day that she brought her father's perverse game to an abrupt end. That bit of fun turned into the row heard round the world and cost Ferguson a six-figure salary bump to appease his daughter.

And then there was the year he awarded Don a spectacular year-end bonus and had the funds placed in a trust only Constance could access. That little stunt cost him a face-to-face apology on Christmas morning (which some would debate was more painful than any amount of money he had to part with). According to Ferguson, the bonus itself was recalculated following 'an accounting error' and was doubled and moved over to a tax-sheltered account in Donald's name along with the keys to a new Ferrari for the inconvenience of it all.

As always, Donald accepted the explanation and token gift with a light smile, and to the world he appeared as gracious and forgiving as any wife with a difficult parent could as for. Little did either of them know his smile was rooted in thoughts of stuffing a woman in the trunk of the car and then debasing Constance up against it, paint job be damned.

Ah, Yuki.

Constance always found ways to make excuses for her father and Don always smiled and took the treatment in stride, honestly not giving a shit how Ferguson treated him as long as he financed his lifestyle and stayed out of his way. Larger, more public cruelties were uncomfortably passed off as familial jokes by staff (mostly so Ferguson wouldn't turn his sights on them), and Don himself led the charge in declaring the dark humour all in good fun. People admired his ability to shrug off the old man's viciousness, and the move came with a reward that was two-fold; it endeared his wife to him all the more and enraged Ferguson doubly so.

Yes, he supposed, all in all Constance entertained him as much more than she annoyed him, and in the end, he decided to keep her around so as not to jeopardize the creature comforts he had become so accustomed to.

Even now, as he slid the windowpane open and quietly slipped out onto the ledge of the twenty-seventh floor Donald didn't begrudge Ferguson or his treatment of him. To do so would have meant he cared what the man thought, or even that he made him feel emotions that would trigger a negative response. The truth was he hardly felt anything for anyone other than his victims.