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But I no longer have a say in the matter, not that I ever did. My thoughts bring me back to the present where sleep eludes me once more. It’s always like this. The night steals my exhaustion, and I lie awake, overthinking everything. My therapist used to tell me to stop worrying about things out of my control. But what she never understood was that my entire life is out of my control.
Pushing off the bed, I race for the window, shoving it open and leaning out, I inhale the fresh, biting air that’s taken hold of the night. The moon hangs above me, the silvery glow illuminating our garden, which is far too big for just my mother and me. But she won’t leave this house. It holds memories of our lives, of my father alive and well as he commanded the attention of guests at parties. The laugh, the smile, the happiness he exuded had always been infectious. That’s why he was loved by his employees and family alike.
I still don’t understand how he could do what he did. But it’s just more evidence that, at times, we don’t know what’s going on in someone’s mind. It’s a dark, twisted place, even at the best of times. A smile doesn’t always portray happiness; most times, it hides sadness.
I’ve learned that over the years. Hiding the pain, the heartbreak, with a smile, is the only way to keep enquiring minds at bay. People don’t ask if you’re okay when you offer them a grin. And even if they do, they don’t really want to know. Polite conversation is what we’re taught as we grow up. You may ask how someone is, but how many times do you actually care?
Once the panic attack subsides, and my knuckles are no longer stark white as I grip the windowsill, I step back from the cool breeze chilling my body and shut the window. The glass reflects the shimmering light, and for a moment, I wonder what the Thorne mansion is like.
My feet sink into the soft carpet as I head to the door of my bedroom and pull it open. Silently, I move to the staircase that leads down to the office my father would work from, and the rest of the living space. The kitchen is empty, dark, and cold when I walk into it. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge before heading back to bed. But as I pass the hallway leading to Dad’s old office, a soft whisper comes from somewhere inside the room, stalling my movements. My ears prick when it comes again, and I realize it’s my mother’s voice.
It doesn’t take me long to reach the cracked doorway, and I peek inside to see her sitting in his chair. Her back is to the fireplace as she stares out at the garden beyond the French doors. She’s dressed in a negligee, which I’ve never seen her wear, and she’s on the phone. I’m not sure who she’s talking to, but her whispers are urgent, as if she’s trying to get the other person to understand something important.
“It’s time,” is all I capture when she hisses louder than before. Then, silence from her end as she listens to whoever it is. “This is no longer a game.” Her tone harder now and more demanding as she speaks. I’ve seen my mother angry before, but this is new, this is… different. “Fine. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I make my getaway. If she caught me spying, there would be repercussions, and I’ve already got my future set out before me. I have no choice; I have to marry Finn Thorne, and my mother seems to have something more up her sleeve. If I can get a hold of her cell phone tomorrow, perhaps I can figure out who she was talking to.
Back in my bedroom, I settle in the chair at the window that overlooks the garden. Usually it’s a place I can think, but today, I’m tense.
The silence of the evening hangs heavily in the room. An ominous cloud covers the bright silver light of the moon. And I’m not sure if it’s a sign of doom, or one of promise.
Darkness has always been a comforting companion. It’s where the demons that plague your mind disappear into the shadows and you’re able to just be yourself. Nobody can see your pain, or the fake happiness you put on for show.
In two days, I’ll leave this house for a new home. And after meeting Finn at my father’s funeral, I’m not sure he’s at all happy about having a wife he doesn’t know. Granted, my concern has twisted in my gut making me anxious, and if I could, I’d refuse my mother’s wishes. But I can’t. My fate has been sealed.
