Margo's POV

I glance out the window, watching the rainfall as it pours on the bustling streets of Manhattan. I never lived under a horizon that wasn't hanging over vibrant roses rather than glistening skyscrapers. I've always watched water brew at the top of a cliff, and gush down jagged edged stones other than man made fountains. Even the uproar of the city was hushed compared to the clamor of the birds as they sung soulfully every morning, but in New York City nature is quiet. I have lived in Vermont as long as I can remember at least until my father declared I was too much of a liability.

The limousine halts in front of a golden gate pieced together from titanium and the shards of diamonds. Frank rolls down the window, signaling to a man behind the entrance dressed in a white suit as he nods in confirmation. I watch the gate unfold, revealing the entirety of the terrine as Frank peers over his shoulder with a smile. "Margo, I want to be the first to welcome you to Goulding Manor." He says, stretching his hand over the landscape before us.

The driveway sweeps on for miles as beautiful emerald green blades of grass become uniform. I snort loudly, ogling an array of carnations as they bloom through hedges. It isn't the flowers stabbing a dagger through my heart, but rather the sculpted fountain with the curves of a woman yet the beauty of an angel. I fawn madly over its resemblance to a woman's figure and the familiar detail of its design almost like I've seen her before. The estate expands before me as fiery lights ignite inside the pearly white mansion decked with gray shingles.

I step outside the charcoal black limousine, stretching my legs for the first time in over two hundred miles as Frank carries a garbage bag with my clothes inside the house. The sun bathes in my irises as I gander around the area. I take in the scenery as the forest encloses all around me. When I'm lost in the picturesque beauty, my attention wanders until it lands on the sculpted woman's rendering as she gazes out the window with bottomless eyes. I rush inside the house, taking several deep breaths as I cross the threshold of her home.

I walk into encrusted, eggshell-colored walls with gold trimming etched inside the paint. A crystal chandler suspends from the ceiling, draping down in midair as an imperial staircase adorned in Azaleas descends next to the entrance. My boots click on the floor as I stroll to the painting at the end of the living room. Swatches of royal blue and a quiff of platinum awaken tailored to a man immersed in ivory with the epitome of forlorn. His chiseled cheekbones abduct his smile as his piercing eyes contemplate morality through his raised brow.

He's everything I've ever fantasized in a man before, and I can't help but feel entangled in his many delicacies. Although, my heart skips a beat as I realize the enchantress reigning next to him. It's the same woman whose carved beauty graces every aspect of Goulding Manor. I analyze golden blonde ringlets, encompassing her waistline as her dandelion yellow dress drapes in his right hand. She's more gentle in his arms like the stillness of a sunrise, and it's a paradox to me because she's not wearing anyone's skin whenever she's in his mercy.

"Juliet always had that effect on people," a voice mourns in a whisper. "She never sought after attention; it only found her when she didn't want it."

I study the woman next to me as she stands tall in candy red stilettos in a black pantsuit. The way she alludes with candor antagonizes me but leisure masquerades in her poise, beckoning undivided attention whenever she speaks to someone. No doubt she's the infamous, Gwendolyn Goulding. The woman from the phone, who had lectured my father on his way to prison about apathy even when he wholeheartedly beseeched her about my mother's costly medical bills and our famine. I can't help but roll my eyes at her sudden empathy.

"Can you just show me where I can find my room?" I ask, turning my back to all my fantasies.

Gwendolyn cautiously smiles as she faces me, "Margo, I know everything is a little overwhelming." she says, pacing her words. "The crystal chandeliers, the lucid paintings, and even the seclusion of the world. But this place is only captivating if you allow it to be."

My gaze falters, still finding no comfort in her words as my mother's soft cries pierce my heart. I just don't understand how I'm supposed to watch a sunrise melt into oblivion, fading over the Upper East Side of New York City when my mother could die during the sunset. How do I feel at peace when my father ripped me from my mother's arms? Even now, I still reminisce of us and how she could soothe anyone with the gentleness God gave a Dove, but still manage to be ferocious as a lion. How do I forget the woman that taught me how to be strong?

"H-how am I supposed to do that?" I exhale, holding back the tears." How am I supposed to be captivated by your family portrait when my mother is dying!"

Gwendolyn clicks closer to me in her high heels as she studies my attire with stoic dark green eyes. I can tell she sympathizes with me as pain flashes in her smile for a brief moment. Her family portrait is more abstract than I once thought, almost as if a mystery lurks in the depths of the painting. Her daughter's eyes camouflages behind a placid smile as her lack of emotion embodies aspects of the Mona Lisa.

"I advise you to have some humility whenever you approach me," Gwendolyn projects as her nostrils flare. "because either you can save your mother's life by not being a constant burden or you can burn in hell right next to her, sweetheart. Your choice."

"I didn't realize Linda's cancer had anything to do with Margo's existence, Mrs. Goulding. Wait tell the medical field hears of this." Frank interrupts with a cheeky grin as he stands in Gwendolyn's face.

When Frank Russo picked me up at 7 am I was tossed on the back of his limousine with a tattered trash bag full of worn-out sweaters and baggy jeans. There was also a handwritten note my father told me to pass on to Gwendolyn whenever we were alone. It outlined my father's setbacks in life, which included how he lost a lot of money to the farm, but it mostly asked her if she could buy me a few pairs of underwear. I read the note over and over again as we rode into the August sun. Silence became my comforter as I held the letter in my trembling hands while Frank started analyzing all the bad jokes he's ever heard in 40 years.

"Frank Bernard Russo, don't ever disregard me in front of this child," Gwendolyn scolds with a quick grin.

"Okay," Frank casually shrugs. "But remember I'm your driver. So today you're in New York, but tomorrow you could very well be in hell."

I laugh softly, quietly ascending the staircase as her words hold me captive. If I was more obedient, would she really save my mother, or was that another lie? I'd doubt she would want to sacrifice her time to help me after I opened my mouth even when my father warned me to never speak out of turn. I survey the note before me with Gwendolyn's hostility replaying in my mind as warm tears run down my face. I ball up the letter and toss it on the floor as I walk further inside a partially open door, immediately dismissing the pearly walls of Goulding Manor.

The bedroom embraces me with Persian blue walls as a curtain drapes over the canopy bed in a cloud of silk. Scarlet roses wither in a marbled vase as the room drowns in a deep shade of royal blue and porcelain white. I trace my fingertips against the encrusted edges of the vanity mirror as a splash of magenta envelopes the border, resembling the color of the crystal knobs on the dresser. I sit at the edge of the bed, looking around me as my clothes lay on the top shelf of the closet.

Honestly, Frank may have picked the most beautiful room in the entire house, but the garments scattered throughout the walk-in closet trouble me. A few tubes of Matte lipstick stand in line next to a perfume bottle crafted like a rose with the words, La Beauté De l'Existence transcribed on one of the outer petals. Even the vanity mirror is littered with alabaster foundation and shades of gaudy blush. What bothers me isn't the closet that extends into another room, but it's almost like someone was here before me. Could this be Juliet's bedroom, but why would her mother just give me her daughter's room?

I crawl further on to the bed until my entire body is floating on the plush surface as I drift off to sleep with tears settling in the crevices of my eyes. Then somber waves permeate my slumber. I'm in the middle of the ocean as I row frantically with glassy eyes. The boat stops propelling in the water as it rocks while I search the sea. I hold my breath, standing over the edge as I jump into the untamed water without a single thought.

The water sends chills down my spine as goosebumps arouse my flesh while I swim to the depths of the ocean. I recognize him sinking to the bottom as my heart pounds against my chest. I can't imagine the sun without his celestial smile. The moon darkens, and the sun is absent in a world where we never see each other again, even if he always chooses her. I swim for miles as a trail of blood leads me to a lifeless body submerged below the sea.

An abrasive knock expels from the door as I slowly awaken, and Gwendolyn appears over me with a placid look. "I brought a peace offering." She whispers, holding a large embroidered bag with piles of lacy underwear and matching bra sets inside it.

"What's all this?" I say, yawning.

"It's um," Gwendolyn stammers, fighting her tears as she unfolds the same crumbled up note. "It's everything you were afraid to ask me for."

My gaze plunges to the floor as Gwendolyn places the bag next to me. I can't say a single coherent sentence without it triggering a waterfall, or put on a facade that won't be corrupted with abstract lies. Then suddenly, her hand couples in mine as her persona falters and the girl behind the woman appears clothed in modesty. My mother seeps into my mind as my fingers trace the curves of the fabric. Sometimes my thoughts linger on a parallel universe where my mother's pain becomes peace.

"Margo, I've never been a perfect woman, or a perfect wife, and definitely not a perfect mother." Gwendolyn sighs. "I grew up most of my life homeless, sleeping in an abandoned dance studio where my pain was a girl standing on her tiptoes as she twirled into a woman."

"How did you become so successful?" I mutter as she holds my hand.

Gwendolyn flashes a genuine smile. "Well, I've always been the stubborn type. I just envision things a certain way, so a lot of times, it's either adapt with me or get left behind. There wasn't any room for error or a single chance in hell that a person like me could ever be so lucky. But would you believe that's what happened? I got lucky; then I persevered even harder because I never felt like I deserved it."

I position myself towards Gwendolyn as I ask her a daunting question. "Why did you even want me in the first place if you already have a daughter?"

"Well, a few months ago," Gwendolyn trails off. "you were in a traumatic event, your father told me he kept taking your mother to this doctor for a second opinion in NYC for weeks. When the doctor came in one morning, he told you and John how Linda's condition was inevitable, so you got emotional and ran away. Later that night, you came back on a boat with Asher and Juliet's blood all over his shirt. According to the doctor that checked you out that morning you have Dissociative Amnesia, so thats why you don't remember coming here."

My chest tightens as I gnaw on my tongue while fragments from frequent dreams come to my remembrance. I race inside the bathroom, locking the door as my nightmares follow me. I can almost feel the same ache beating in my throat from constantly crying. My heart quickens as Gwendolyn pounds on the door with a wavering voice. I comb my fingers through my chocolate hair as I recall these golden highlights were all Juliet's idea.

I've taken strides in this bathroom before as my mind wonders to a simpler time. I drop to my knees as I open the cabinet sink, glancing over rows of golden blonde hair dye. I clench a single bottle in my fingertips, imagining my motive as I tear open a pack of powder, Wella bleach. "You should go blonde. You have the perfect cheekbones for it." I stare into the mirror; Juliet's reflection hovers over me as Asher breaks away from our kiss.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," Gwendolyn mutters, her voice fading each second she continues to speak." I shouldn't have told you. You weren't ready."

A tear falls from my eye as Gwendolyn's voice flees from my mind and I'm lost in a vivid daydream. Before I know it Asher shoves me against the pavement. I watch drops of my blood fuse with tears as I struggle to push myself off the ground. Juliet turns away from him as he chases after her, apologizing for everything he said he desired.

I pour the developer into the bowl and mix it. I pace my fingers through dark chocolate strands of hair, the concoction coated on my fingertips as I remember how I saw a beautiful girl leaning on the windowsill earlier. "Could it have been Juliet, the bane of my existence, or was it a mirage?" I question as my intentions become more clear the more I remember her.

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How did you like the chapter?

Tell me what you first thought about Margo's character? What do you make of her humble beginnings? Did you grow up surrounded by nature? Could you have handed Juliet's mother the letter? Why do you think Margo hesitated at first?

What did you think about Goulding Manor? I'm still amazed how their driveway goes on for miles! What did you think about the inside of the mansion so far? Margo still has tons of rooms to explore even the forest. How did you feel about Margo sleeping in Juliet's old room? Is that creepy to you?

Alas, the painting of Juliet and Asher. What did you think of the painting? Could you imagine their relationship? What do you think it was like for them surrounded by such dangerous lives? Does Margo have an attraction to Asher for his good-looks, or has she always loved him for his personality?

What did you think about Gwendolyn's character in Underwater Calypso? Did she meet your expectations in Blonde Gentrification? What do you think about Gwendolyn's upbringing? Did you like Frank's character at all? He's more of a small role, but would you like to read more about him?

Finally, what do you think about Margo's revelation? Why wouldn't her father, John Kennedy, withhold such information from her? Also, if her mother, Linda Kennedy's, condition is inevitable then why did John need the money so bad? Can you believe that Asher and Margo were actually close enough to kiss? But why do you think Asher pulled away?

Lol, are we ever going to get Ashgo?! Masher? Asargo? Hell, I don't know, ya'll tag some good ship names, and I'll dedicate a chapter to the best one! Please stay safe you guys and remember to social distance yourselves! I love you guys be safe! P.S Don't forget the trailer to #ACK is in the section titled, Amidst Crimson Kisses. P.P.S The picture shown in the media box is Margo Kennedy played by Sabrina Carpenter. P.P.P.S The next chapter will be written in Margo's point of view.

Thank you so much for reading
GOD bless you all ❤️