The deepest apologies for the incredibly long awaited chapter, I really have no excuse. I never finished my NaNoWriMo (imagine that) though school has been kicking my ass. This story is over a year old now, I've averaged less than a chapter a month, procrastination really is my strong suit. Again, I'm really, really sorry, though I hope you enjoy this. I've got big plans for this and the plot should pick up within the next two chapters. Thanks for reading, enjoy!

-Cat

It was summer of 1959, and Momma was getting married. The second anniversary of our father's death was just a week before the ceremony, though the actual marriage license was signed a bit before. It was just the glitz, glamour, attention, whatever you want to call it, that's what Momma and Bart wanted. I wasn't a bridesmaid at least, Momma had chosen some of her friends and I didn't mind a bit. I was elated when she revealed the list and I wasn't on it. I was seething on the inside and she knew it, so she knew not to press. I could just be a spectator. I wasn't involved. I only had a year until I could move away anyway.

The wedding was set in July, but it had to be postponed when Grandfather suddenly had a heart attack. A part of me wanted him to die, but he didn't. No, he had to still keep on living, no matter what. I remembered the first few weeks of staying in Foxworth Hall, thinking he'd be dead by Christmas and I could have a little taste of freedom. We were promised a few months, and it was two years now. We could be long gone, I could be going to a normal high school, even if I was under a different name, I could still go back to the suburban lifestyle, flirting with boys, going to prom, wearing a pair of pants every once and awhile! But no, Grandfather's weakening heart still had enough muscle to keep him alive and keep me in private school and itchy, ancient dresses. The ceremony was pushed to August.

Like I expected, the wedding was over the top, wild, and expensive. Nothing but the best for a lawyer and an heiress. Momma's dress looked like it could fill a room with how much material it had, and I hadn't an idea how she could get by wearing it in the heat. Ladies were fanning themselves, men pulled at their collars, and I was dying in my knee length dress. Grandmother refused to let me wear anything shorter, and the collar hugged my neck in a vice grip. I watched them go through the vows, barely listening, but I knew for a fact that they weren't original. They were dry, overly rehearsed, probably pulled from some cheesy romance novel that my mother had picked out. I was absolutely bored, and I only then noticed I was the youngest one there. Nicholas was supposed to come, but from snooping around I did, his family had a falling out with ours about issues with loans.

I shifted in the pew. For a family with money, I'd thought we'd have more comfortable seats than this. Grandmother sat with an arrow-straight back, Grandfather given the luxury of a wheelchair and footrest. My mind wandered to years before, remembering faintly of Carrie and Cory's baptisms. They were tiny little things, more amused at all the attention, not understanding what was happening. We didn't exactly go to church often, but we were all baptized. Momma packed our certificates away before we came, in crisp envelopes, now hidden away. Part of me thought she might have destroyed them. Our birth certificates were likely destroyed too. We didn't exist. This minor crisis hit at a strange time, as at that moment, Momma and Bart were told to kiss. I stood to applaud like everyone else. Best to blend in, even if I were pondering my own identity for the billionth time in the last few years.

We were led to the reception hall.

I was sat at the main table, right next to my grandparents. Every fiber of my being had to focus on the etiquette I'd learned. Work with cutlery from the outside, napkin on lap, never used to wipe, only dab. Soup is to be sipped with a spoon, never eaten. As a lady, eat tiny portions, no matter how hungry you are. Those were just the basics, and they made my head spin. Of course I'd been practicing them for years now, with occasional slip-ups, but this was the finest dining I'd ever had, even compared to Foxworth. Everyone here had been taught this from birth. My mother had the utmost grace, the rest were the same brand of polite. I couldn't make a fool of myself. I had to blend in. I was one of them. I was one of them.

I was one of them.

The party went late into the night. I was absolutely exhausted; I'd been awake since five or so in the morning. My feet ached just watching everyone drunkenly dancing, although I'd also been coerced into a dozen or so by various relatives and family friends. I yawned a little and looked up at the clock. Three in the morning. I'd been up for twenty two hours. The taste of champagne was still on my lips, my first ever, and I could tell I was what people called a lightweight. Tipsily, I strolled to the bathroom to wash up.

In the mirror, I reflected, both literally and metaphorically. As the years had passed, I had matured quite a bit. While I'd stopped growing heightwise, puberty was only just winding down in relation to my body shape. Momma, behind closed doors, often wistfully mused about her teenage years, always saying I'd be a heartbreaker. That was the last thing on my mind, though I wondered about the boys back home. A few definitely were attracted to me at one point. I supposed they forgot about me by now. I patted my cheeks with cool water to wake up, avoiding smudging my makeup.

When I came out, the bride and groom of the night were finally saying their goodbyes. This meant I'd be leaving with my grandparents soon, and I was more than eager to crawl into bed. Her and Bart were making their way around the hall, her much tipsier than him, definitely tipsier than me. Her cheeks were flushed red and not from blush, her bell-like laugh filling the room as she made small talk. Was her and my father's wedding like this? I doubted it. Disowned, disinherited, and pregnant with me, they wouldn't have had the means to have anything large. It dawned that I'd never asked about their wedding. I'd always assumed throughout my childhood that it was a fairytale style, on a beautiful spring day, an impossible amount of people filling the rows as they said their vows. It was more likely that it was just a quick courthouse affair.

Momma finally made her way to me, her grin especially wide. "Lucy darling! How've you been? I haven't seen you all night!"

Her hands snaked their way around my waist, hugging me close. I smelled wine on her.

"I've been well, you?" I asked politely, pretending she was a stranger. "Ready for the honeymoon?"

"Am I ever! A whole two months in Europe, all thanks to Barty here." She answered, looking up with soft eyes at the man next to her, a serene smile on her face. He kissed her forehead and I tried to push down any disgust.

"I'm glad." I licked my lips. "Anywhere in particular?"

"France, it's our first stop. I'm surprised she hasn't talked your ear off about it." Bart answered for her. "The city of love… and lovemaking."

The mere suggestion had me nauseous. Too much information. I faked a laugh, and changed the subject. "Oh. Boy. Well, I hope the crepes are as good as I've heard."

Momma beamed. "Oh, I bet they will! I wish I could bring some home but they'd spoil. Oh well. Anything you'd like me to bring back? I always love bringing back gifts for the children in my life."

The children in her life? She hadn't noticed I'd grown up right under her nose. I was a few months away from being an adult, and in her eyes I was stagnated at fifteen. She likely hadn't noticed Cathy, or Chris, or Carrie, or Cory growing older. Then again, I hadn't seen nor heard from them in a long time.

I offered a thin smile. "Anything that catches your eye, Corinne. You know what I like."

She laughed again, her voice high and breathy. "I will, Lucy. See you in October!"

Like that, they melted back into the crowd. Grandmother made her way to me, wheeling Grandfather in his chair. Usually they had a servant help him around, but this was a formal occasion - none of them would be allowed anywhere near here unless they were waitstaff. She looked me over.

"We're leaving in fifteen minutes." She informed. "Make sure you have all your things, we're not going to wait if you forget anything."

I nodded and curtsied. "Yes ma'am."

She sighed, looking at Momma waltz through the group. Her expression was unreadable. "She should've married a man like him the first go. Save all the hassle."

The hassle was me. I was the mistake that led to all this, but I couldn't be bothered to worry about it anymore. I'd spent the last two years worrying about it. I was glad to be alive, even if the situation I was living in was dire. In just six months I could be free and clear, allowed to legally be, well, Camilla. Part of me didn't know which surname to go with, however. Dollanganger was a made up one, Foxworth carried too many bad memories already, and Winfield was a symbol of my entrapment. I supposed it would be chosen when the time came.

We drove home in a limousine. Nothing but the best, of course.

I could tell Grandfather was still in a questionable state of health. Ever since the heart attack, his speech had been slow and slurred, and he was essentially bedridden. When I'd first come he could walk short periods, but in the last year he had to be helped just to use the toilet. Now he had to be hand fed. I doubted he could live until Christmas, but I didn't bet anything. He'd evaded death already, he could very well live another decade with my luck.

As we pulled in the drive, I saw Grandmother was exhausted. I couldn't blame her, I was too. She dropped her keys in the bowl near the door. I was confused, she never did. Perhaps it was her mind slipping. She was rather old. She didn't even remind me to pray tonight, simply went off to her bedroom.

And then I saw it. The familiar bronze key, literally in front of me on a platter. Once she was out of earshot I snatched it up, knowing I could press it in soap or clay and create a copy somehow.

It was the key to my siblings.

The key to my family.

The key to home.