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Eight
Amethyst
“You’re goingto spoil her if you keep holding her like that,” my father—Raphael James—said.
I didn’t respond.
To think he would try to give me parenting tips after what he had done.
I practically seethed with rage but held it all in check as I stared down into Crystal’s face.
I hadn’t let her go since he had handed her to me. I didn’t plan on changing that.
He shrugged. “Fine. Turn her into a brat. That will be your problem, not mine,” he said.
“Your saying that makes me think you’re going to let us go,” I said.
My father, who, for some reason, hadn’t left yet, shrugged.
Other than the brief minutes when he had left, he had stayed with us the entire time, a length of time that I couldn’t quite estimate.
I had fed Crystal twice, so probably eight hours or so, but I couldn’t be sure.
His presence was irritating, nerve-racking, but I had her, so nothing else mattered.
“Whether or not I let you go is up to your husband, or, more likely, his brother,” he said. “Do you trust him?”
“He’s never given me a reason not to,” I responded.
Not entirely the truth, but in this situation, accurate.
He laughed. “You would say that. He walked all over you. Lied to you for years. What do you do? Instead of standing up for yourself, you fuck him, let him knock you up, and still adore him.”
He looked at me, scorn on his face, and shook his head. “You’re so much like your mother.”
That got my attention, though I tried not to give it away. He never talked about my mother. I couldn’t even remember the last time he had. And I was suddenly overcome with grief that took my breath away. Now wasn’t the time for it, but I was hit with that familiar longing for her. Wished that I’d had a chance to know her.
I hadn’t, and wishing wouldn’t change that, so I needed to keep my mind in the here and now.
So instead asking questions about my mother, I changed the subject.
“What do you want, Daddy?” I asked.
“What do I want?” he responded.
I could see that he was a little bit agitated, something that surprised me. My father was nothing if not smooth, and he made it a point to always keep his cool.
“What do I want?” he repeated, his voice practically daring me to ask the question again.
I looked down at Crystal, then took the dare. “Yes. What do you want?”
“I want my life back, my time. But since I can’t get that, I’ll settle for a hundred million dollars. Do you think Davit believes you are worth it?”
“I hope so,” I whispered.
My father may have heard doubt in my voice, but I believed in Davit with everything in my heart.
I also knew that this situation was one that could easily spiral out of control.
