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I couldn’t tell.
All I knew was my blood bubbled, threatening to spill out of me.
I curled my fingers into fists, struggling to breathe. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Everything, I suspect.”
“You’re being extra insufferable today.”
He turned his attention back to his screens, typing away on his keyboard, the cigar holder nestled between his straight white teeth. “Nonetheless, you have work to do. Chop, chop, Little Octopus.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded.
Whiplash struck me every time I spoke to him. Hot one second. Cold the next.
This wasn’t the same man who’d spent hours in a meeting with me and a team of lawyers, working relentlessly to drag me out of the mess Vera had pulled me into.
Not the same man I had lunch with every day, whose throat bobbed whenever our eyes met.
Not the same man who craved my touch so bad, sometimes I felt his eyes alone lick at my skin.
With a shake of my head, I turned away and stomped downstairs to start my workday.
Tears burned the backs of my eyes as I scrubbed already clean windows.
Dad did not answer my prayers this birthday, that much was certain.
I shut my eyes, delivering one more message into the universe.
An apology.
I’m sorry, Dad.
I didn’t mean it.
It’s not your fault you broke your promise.
But itismy fault that I did something I know you’d be ashamed about.
The mansion had transformed into a Disney castle.
White and creamy string lights draped the army of red maple trees leading up to the manor. Columns of red and gold flowers bracketed the double entry doors.
In the foyer, white roses stretched across an entire wall for guests to take photos in front of. Swag bags lined up at the entrance like toy soldiers, secured by crisp velvet bows.
In the ballroom, round tables framed the dance floor while LED balloons covered the tall ceiling in its entirety, lighting the room up from within.
I’d stepped into a fairytale.
A fairytale I, as usual, wasn’t invited to.
I wondered what the occasion was. Hopefully Zach’s belated emancipation from his overbearing mother. Though I didn’t count on it.
Guilt was the only emotion he was capable of feeling. Cutting the cord would be admitting to himself that he was dead inside.
The good news—and there wasn’t much of it—was that I was off-duty.
I’d managed to steal a box of white-and-red macarons before making my way upstairs to the guest room. My own private birthday gift for myself.
