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I've never even held a boy's hand, so I know admittedly very little about men. What I do know is that the way Simon’s chocolate brown eyes smolder at me makes me weak in the knees.
He waits at my beck and call, but I'm not sure the man realizes I would do anything he asked me to do. Maybe I just have a schoolgirl crush on him, but I don't think so. I feel somehow connected to Simon. I know it doesn't make sense since we've scarcely known each other a week, but I feel like I can tell him anything. I can really be myself around him.
I love the way he makes me laugh, and I find myself smiling more and more when I'm around him—a fact that apparently doesn't go unnoticed by my father.
My heart falls at my feet when I come in from Simon dropping me off at the house after rehearsal one day.
“Bella!” my father's voice booms from where he's standing in the doorway of his study. He’s assessing me with a shrewd, knowing look in his eyes.
I jump at the tone of his voice. “Yes?” I squeak.
“Come in here a minute.” He nods his head toward his study, and I don't dare disobey.
I already realize I've messed up before my father ever begins talking. He pins that harsh gaze on me and quirks up an eyebrow. “How do like your new chauffeur?”
My heart does a summersault as my suspicions are confirmed. He knows. Somehow, he knows how I feel about Simon.
I shrug, going for nonchalance. “I suppose he's nice enough.”
My father's lips press into a thin line as if he knows I’m lying.
“No special attachment to him then?” His voice mimics my tone, and warning bells start to sound off in my head.
“No,” I shake my head.
My father's lips twist into his sinister grin. “Good, then you shouldn't mind hearing that I found a replacement for him.”
I try to muffle my pained gasp but don't succeed.
My father narrows his eyes at me knowingly but doesn't comment on my blunder.
“Why are you replacing him?” I can't help myself from asking.
“I’ve found someone more suitable,” my father responds dryly. “Jeffrey will be driving you from now on.”
A lump forms in my throat. I don't know who this Jeffrey is, and he might be a nice, competent driver, but he won't be my Simon.
I look down to hide the tears pricking the backs of my eyes. I cannot let my father see my distress.
Will I ever see Simon again if he’s not driving me? I fight the urge to beg my father to let me keep Simon. I already know it won't do any good. All it would do is reveal my weakness for him.
I blink back the tears. The thought of telling Simon goodbye is ripping my heart in two.
“Good.” My father claps his hands together. “Now that that’s settled, go get ready. Your new driver will be taking you to meet with one of my associates.”
My eyes widen, and the tears I've been desperately holding back threaten to spill over. “Wh-what?” I stammer.
“William is a respectable young man,” my father tells me as he gives me a pointed look, “and he would greatly benefit this family.”
I get his meaning, and the lump in my throat swells bigger. So, this is it. He's finally found the man he plans on marrying me off to, and he's sending me over there like a bribe to be inspected for my future husband's approval.
Having Simon—even as only a friend—made everything better for a short while, but now it's going to make everything impossibly worse because I know deep in my heart that I'll never be happy with another man. Not now that I've experienced the soul-deep connection I have with Simon.
I open my mouth. I want to confess to my father how I feel. He's my father. He should care about my happiness, shouldn't he? One look into his cold eyes, and I snap my mouth shut again. No, this man doesn't care about my happiness. He never has, and he never will.
Instead, I nod my head at him in resignation and turn to go upstairs and get ready.
What's the use in fighting it? This has always been my lot in life. I knew this day was coming.
