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Aloud blaring noise echoes through my room, ripping a groan from me. I roll over and scream into my pillow. I was just in the middle of a sweet dream where I was the saucy middle of a sexy Hemsworth brother sandwich. But whoever’s calling me at the buttcrack of dawn this morning had to go and ruin that dream completely.
I reach for my phone on the bedside table, ready to yell at whoever thought it would be a good idea to bother me. Anyone who knows me understands I am not one to deal with in the mornings. I’m a grumpy asshole at best when I haven’t had time to wake up.
The name on the caller ID has me wanting to ignore the call, pretending I didn’t see it. My father’s smiling face flashes across the screen. Each second I stare at the picture, the more guilt creeps into my chest. I’ve been avoiding my parents since Marnix and I entered into our arrangement. I can’t stand lying to them, so it’s been easier to ignore them altogether.
Clearly, I can’t tell them the specific details of why I ended up married, i.e. trying to save the restaurant and avoid Zayan at the same time. I already know they wouldn’t approve of such a quick engagement, or the fact they weren’t even invited to the wedding. They honestly wouldn’t approve of me marrying anyone other than Zayan.
I genuinely have no idea how I’m going to break the news to them.
I can already hear the disappointment lacing their voices. My mom will think I’ve lost my mind. My dad is going to be hurt, feeling like I’ve betrayed him. Together they’ll almost certainly gang up on me, trying to figure out how to get me out of this marriage. They’ll assume I’ve just acted irrationally again. Not that I didn’t, but they’ll think it’s just like the last major incident.
I love my parents, but when I woke up in the hospital after Zayan nearly drugged me to death, I knew they would never understand. They’d always adored Zayan—sometimes it even felt like they loved him more than me. Telling them I overdosed since I couldn’t handle the breakup was easier than admitting the truth, but since then, they’ve been overbearing, watching my every move. They still let me have the restaurant, but they’re constantly checking in. They always want to know what I’m doing and who I’m with. It’s nice they don’t come see me daily to suffocate me, but it still feels that way with the constant worry and calls.
Sucking it up, I answer the call. “Morning, Papa.”
“I was starting to think you forgot who I was.” And my parents wonder where I got my attitude from. It’s like they don’t hear the words coming out of their mouths sometimes.
“Careful, you’re starting to sound like me. A little dramatic for your style.” My dad at least knows how to take a joke. My mom, on the other hand, would chastise me for being sarcastic. She’s tried getting me to drop that habit my entire life, but her efforts never worked.
Obviously.
“Well, you don’t sound sick,” my father says thoughtfully.
“Why would you think I was sick?”
“That could be the only plausible reason for my only daughter ignoring me for so long.” Someone needs to give this man an Oscar for his theatrics. He could’ve been an actor in another life, with how well he’s bringing the drama.
“I’ve just been busy.” It’s not technically a lie. I’ve been busy working at the restaurant, juggling feelings for three men, and trying to get dicked down when possible. It’s a full schedule around here.
“Too busy for your own family? We miss you, Tara.” I hate the guilt that creeps into me hearing his words. There are times he guilt-trips me on purpose, to make me rethink my actions, but right now he sounds sincere.
“No. Things have been… crazy lately. I miss you too, Papa.” Again, it’s not a lie. I might also be avoiding them because I got married in secret, going against their wishes to marry me off to the devil himself.
“Well, hopefully you’re not too busy to have dinner with us.”
I knew this was coming. I’ve kept my distance for too long. This is abnormal, even for me.
“When?”
“Tonight at seven.” Fuck, that barely gives me any time to get my shit together and come up with a story to spin that doesn’t seem too bad. Obviously, I can’t tell them my entire marriage is fake and based on an ironclad contract, but the thought of lying also doesn’t sit well. Maybe I can weave close to the truth, with a little bit of fabrication sprinkled around it.
“That’s kind of short notice.”
He sighs deeply at my excuse. “Tara.” His voice is full of warning, telling me he will be seeing me tonight, whether I like it or not.
‘“Fine. I’ll be there.” It’s better not to fight it. It’s been long enough—I need to stop being a little baby and explain to them I’m married, I’m sorry they weren’t there, and that I’m happy.
“Good.”
“Any other requests?” Shit. I should bite my tongue while I’m ahead, but who would I be if I didn’t have some sass left to give?
“Don’t act like it’s such a punishment to see your family. Your mom and I just want to discuss some things with you.”
He’s right. I’m acting like it’s the end of the world to go over there, when I should just be grateful I get to see them. For a little while, they wanted to move back to India, but thankfully they decided to stay. Even if I don’t see them as much as I should, the idea of not being able to see them at a moment's notice breaks my heart.
“I’m sorry, Papa. I didn’t mean anything by it; I’ve just been stressed with the restaurant. I’ll be there.”
“We are excited to see you, my favorite daughter.” I can hear the joy in his voice, and it spreads a smile across my face.
