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“If that’s your decision, then tell your father I’ll be in touch.” I shout after her, my eyes glued to her ass and her soft, long hair swaying above it.
She flips me off over her shoulder in response, and I let out a dark laugh.She’s calling my bluff…
Well, this is about to get much more fun.
Chapter 5
Run Your Mouth
Effie
“Areyousureyouwant to wear your hair down?” My mother passive aggressively twirls a lock of my hair, and I grip the leather seat of the limousine.
“Yes, I’m sure.” I try to hide the irritation in my voice, but apparently not well enough.
“Okay, no need for the attitude.” She scoffs and tips back her champagne flute, finishing it off. “I was just saying, because I know how your hair tends to get limp after a few hours.”
Maybe I’ll shave my head like Marguerite.“Thanks, Mom. I’ll keep that in mind for the next charity event for blind wombats. Or is it endangered giant snails?”
“Don’t be smart, this gala is a fundraiser for the Harbor Island Resort and Golf club’s new equestrian center.” Incapable of ending a sentence without some backhanded compliment she adds, “You have such a lovely tan, but that shade of brown makes you look jaundiced.”
I actually quite like my dress and look damn good too. The corset-style bodice hugs my waist and lifts my tits without restricting my breathing, while the soft, draping sleeves hang off my shoulders. The skirt hangs perfectly around my hips and ass and opens in a dramatic slit, revealing just enough of my thigh to tease but not enough that my mom starts calling me a slut in three different languages.
And the light-mocha satin doesnotmake me look jaundiced.
“Hudson will be there tonight,” my father chimes in. I know he’s speaking to me even though he sips his scotch while looking out the window.
“Who is Hudson?” I ask, and his head swivels to level me with a look like he’s trying to tell if I’m joking. I’m not, but apparently my mother thinks something’s funny as she titters into her glass.
“Hudson Campbell. Governor Campbell’s son and—”
“And your future fiancé,” my mother spills, and my father cuts her a glare. I, on the other hand, feel like a bucket of ice water was just dumped on my head.
My father straightens his bow tie and turns to me. “For the family.” That’s all the explanation I get. I guess I always knew this day was coming sooner or later.
I feel my mask slipping into place, my dutiful daughter mask, my easy pawn mask, my “it’s easier to comply” mask. Like Tetris, I compartmentalize away my identity, personality and only leave what’s acceptable for this world.
“Is he proposing tonight?” I didn’t plan on getting engaged today, but I can’t help the petty voice in my mind that whispers how much my mother would hate photos of me in my jaundice-inducing dress and limp hair splashed all over the society pages.
“No, but this will be a good time to start teasing your relationship to the public.”
“What relationship,” I scoff under my breath. Turning back to my father, I ask, “Does he know about this, or will he be just as blindsided as me?”
“He’s been involved in the negotiations.”Of course, because who I marry is a business deal.Always has been, just never knew who would be the one to close it.
“Did you even consider having me join thesenegotiations?It’s not like it’s my life being bartered off.”
“Euphemia, calm down. It’s not like you didn’t know this was coming. You’re almostthirtyfor heaven’s sake.”
The rest of the ride is quiet, the air in the limo is thin, like the life is being sucked out of it the closer we get to the museum hosting the event. Our driver pulls into the queue of cars and my hand starts sweating around my clutch watching the flash of cameras a few cars ahead.
We crawl to the front of the line and my mother pokes a finger at the window. “Oh look, there he is. Isn’t he handsome?”
I recognize the governor immediately. Governor Campbell is a prototype for rich, white politicians. Average height, decently fit for someone in their sixties and graying sophisticatedly. Looks like the kind of person who spends three hundred dollars on lunch and then tips the server with a twenty-dollar bill.
It’s easy to tell who his sons are. They look like younger, stronger, versions of him. My eyes bounce between the two of them and wonder with surprising detachment which one is going to be my future husband and the father of my kids.
The car door opens. My father steps out first, then helps me and my mother out. I smile sweetly, keeping my focus blurry so I’m not blinded by the flashing lights and end up squinting in every photo. I know the drill.Smile, stand tall and—
