He gives a lazy shrug. “Just a whore, then.”
My hand tingles, ready to lash out and slap him, and my chest swells with a scream. My body is alive with the need to lose my ever-loving shit and direct it straight at my father, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. He’d only call me menstrual or hysterical or crazy. The black sheep of the family. The one who never does what she’s told.
“Dad,” squeaks Sylvie. “Be nice. Diana came all this way—”
“Antonio, really,” Mum says to Dad, but the reprimand is shamefully quiet.
I am determined to get out of here in one piece, so I keep moving towards the door.
“Running away again, Diana?”
For some reason, this is what unleashes the tightly held ball of anger inside me. It’s been building for years, and now, finally, it explodes, tendrils of heat spilling through me uncontrolled.
“What’s wrong with you?” My voice is a near screech. “Why can’t you let me go? Why can’t you let either of us go?” I gesture to include Sylvie. “You think she’s going to be happy inthis marriage? With some man you chose? Fuck that, Dad. Why would you want your kids to be miserable? Why wouldn’t you want us to have our own lives? Why would you want to control every fucking aspect of our future?”
Sylvie covers her mouth with both hands, muffling whatever frightened sound she’s making. Mum puts her arm around her, hugging her tight. They’re looking at me like I’m a crazed animal.
I’ve taken it too far; I know it, but I can’t back down now.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Sylvie, but my voice is still vibrating with anger, and I don’t sound sorry at all. “But it’s true. He’ll never let go if you don’t cut him loose.” I face Dad. “I don’t need you. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you. I never want to see you again.”
Fury propels my steps as I hurtle towards the door, rushing out into the hallway beyond, down the stairs and out onto the street. It’s bleak out here; cold and dark. I’m not dressed properly, and the short leather jacket does little to keep out the chill. For a few seconds, the heat of my ungrounded anger, still swirling red about me, does the job, but the bitter wind strips it away bit by bit, leaving me exposed.
I pull on gloves and tighten my scarf around my neck, but my stupidErica Lefroyshoes have no insulation. They’re party shoes, not winter boots. I wanted to look good for my sister; to put on a show.Look at me, I don’t need this flat in St James’, because I have a career and sparklyErica Lefroyshoes.
It all seems so vacuous. So pitiful. So pointless.
I don’t know what I was thinking.
I’m an idiot.
A lump rises in my throat, and tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Hurrying my pace, I step out onto St James’, where golden light spills from old fashioned shop windows and well dressed men in long overcoats and black leather shoes make their way into the gentlemen’s clubs that pepper the street.
Even through my distress, I register how impressive this area of London is. It makes me think of Rafe, and I really don’t want to think about him now.
The loneliness that’s been clawing at me since my final day in the Emblem, when I climbed out of his bed and left him for good, hits me in the face just as it starts to snow.
I have a business that’s earning money. I have invitations to every event I’d want to go to. I have special edition books and PR parcels piling up in my flat again. I’ve worked so hard for all of it, but what else do I have?
Lizzie’s on the other side of the world, my sister’s a downtrodden soon-to-be-housewife, and my parents are horrible.
I stare at the dark sky overhead, the cushion of thick cloud catching the glow of night-time London in its net, snowflakes falling around me, when the truth hits.
No one cares about me. I might look popular online; I might look happy, I might even look attractive. But it means nothing when I have no one.
I am so alone.
All the pain I’ve hidden splinters through me. I duck my head, allowing the tears I’ve been holding back to fall. For a few seconds, I stand, unmoving in the middle of the pavement, letting them come, not caring that passersby have to swerve to avoid me.
A strange awareness slinks around me, sliding up the back of my neck, and I raise my head. Idling at the side of the road, hazard lights flashing, is a sleek black car.
Rafe Bastion’s Bentley.
The driver gets out to open the door, and Rafe steps out. He’s breathtaking in a black tie suit.
An impulse to rush over there and throw my arms around him runs through me. To ask him to take me away from all this shit, because if anyone could do it, it’s him.
But he’s not alone. A woman in a full-length sequinned dress exits the car behind him, and he pauses to offer his hand to help her out.
