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Taylor
Breakups feel better in Balenciaga, but I’m not allowed to wear anything, save for a small silk dress to dinner tonight. I guess heartbreak doesn’t take precedence over impressing my father’s dinner guests.
Not that he ever pays attention to my relationships. The last time I had a guy over – Jared, my now ex – my father acted as though they were meeting for the first time, even though I brought Jared over the week prior.
My interests don’t matter at all to him. It’s like all he ever thinks about is money.
Maybe if he didn’t have so much of it, I wouldn’t still be living at home, dating guys for a few months before moving on to the next sharp jawline and dull, uninspired eyes. None of them arouse the desire to leave the comfort of my father’s estate and make a family of my own. Lord knows I’m not going to get a job. I’ve never worked a day in my life, and it would probably take my entire life to save for what my father could buy me in five minutes.
Entitled? Spoiled? I’ve heard it a thousand times before, and it’s all true, but that’s not going to convince me to wake up at six every morning and toil over a grill just to come home to a musty old apartment the size of my closet.
Maybe I’m born to die at my father’s estate.
Rain comes down in sheets outside, charcoal clouds rolling over and tricking the world into thinking it’s midnight at 6 PM. I squeeze into the silk dress my father bought, noticing how little of my thighs it covers.
Seriously? Does my father think I’m four feet tall?
Unless he’s planning to sell me off to one of his leering colleagues, I don’t see why I should be dressed like a hooker for dinner. I didn’t even wear dresses like this for Jared, and I almost let him fuck me.
Almost.
I’m twenty-three and still a virgin. I’d be embarrassed if I wasn’t perfectly satisfied with my vibrator. Besides, I know better than to let some fuck-boy screw me when I know we’re going to break up in a week.
Jared was the longest anyone lasted, which is why he got the closest to getting past my lace curtains, but evenhemanaged to fuck up at the last moment by taking Emily out to the beach today instead of me.
His reason? I have to stay home with my father for dinner and he wanted to go anyway.
Fucking idiot.
But both Jared and Emily are going to drown in this weather, so good riddance. I don’t need that kind of energy in my life. I’ve always been more comfortable burning bridges than trying to work things out.
My phone buzzes with a message from Jared but I ignore it, tossing it onto my bed and spinning around in the mirror. I look like an angel who recently discovered her carnal urges, teetering on the knife’s edge between saintliness and sin.
I guess this dress wasn’t that bad a choice after all. It would make Jared seethe with jealousy, knowing someone else is going to see me like this.
Maybe I should send him a picture.
I’m just about to reach for my phone when there’s a knock on my door, heavy and important. It’s unlike my father to be so firm, but he’s been weirdly aggressive all week. I’m starting to wonder if his doctor put him on testosterone to combat his aging physique.
Another knock comes before I’m able to reach the door and unlock it.
“I’m coming!” I shout, annoyed that he’s being so impatient. He wanted me to get ready, and now he’s interrupting me.
I throw the door open and glare at him. “What?”
He recoils a bit from my hostility, taking a step back.
But then he steps forward again with a confidence I rarely see from him. “I hope you’re getting ready. Dinner will be soon.”
“Obviously,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “Anything else?”
He looks me over, his eyes lingering so long on the hem of my dress that I move my hand over my thighs and step back. His eyes snap back to my face and he smiles. “Very good. You’re going to make the right man very happy one day.”
My stomach churns. Never in my life has he talked to me this way. I almost want to grab one of my purses and beat him over his bald little head with it. The one with the spikes would probably do the most damage.
I wrinkle my nose at him, expecting an apology or a quick, skittish departure, but he has the gall to step into my room, sniffing the air like a rat.
