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A laugh escapes me. “That is exactly what it’s about, Conrad. Youbroke up with mebecause of some fucked-up family obligations to marry for status, and I am clearly not near the same ranking as the Dugrays.” His shoulders slump. “But hey, the girl from the wrong side of the tracks is perfect for keeping behind closed doors for a good fuck here and there.”
Conrad’s brows pinch together. “Stop fucking saying that,” he seethes. “You know I care about you, Em. I can’t change who I am, though. Just because I have to follow the path my parents created for me doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”
My heart clenches at his admission. “What does that mean then? You’re going to marry Liliana and what? I’ll be your mistress? A secret where I can only have you if it’s behind a bedroom door?”
He stares at me with a complex look. Like he is absorbing the questions I asked him because they are not easy for him to answer. This should be a yes or no question, but I know Conrad is fighting with the choices he must make. My biggest issue is that his struggles with the choices he has made are affecting my heart, and I’m not sure how much more it can handle this back and forth.
“It means I care about you, and I don’t know what else,” he whispers.
My heart clenches at his words. I love this man, even when I shouldn’t. He owns my heart, and I wish more than anything for him to give it back. “If you care about me, Conrad, you need to let me go. It hurts too much to hang on to a fantasy that will never be.”
Without another word, I open my car door and start the engine. Conrad remains in the same spot as I switch the gearshift to reverse and back away from him. Away from the man I wish I could move on from. The man who made me fall in love with him under false pretenses.
24
CONRAD
For the last four days, I have barely slept. My brain has been running through how this scenario is going to play out, and all conclusions end badly. Each night, when my body is too exhausted from practice to do anything besides lie in bed, I think of ways to alter the current path of my life. Emree is right when she says that I need to live my life for myself.
It took me almost a week to build up the courage to book a flight and head back to my hometown to have a conversation with the most nonunderstanding man I have ever met. Almost a week of my roommates telling me I am the biggest dumbass they have ever met. Day after day of having to see Emree and that dickhead she is now seeing, having lunch and smiling at each other. Luckily, I haven’t had to see them kiss again because that one time was enough to set me off.
Not sure if it was Emree telling me I was hurting her and that I needed to let her go last Sunday or realizing how much I love the fuck out of this woman when I saw her each day with another man, but whatever the reason, it has helped me muster up enough balls to confront my father about what I want in life, and that is not marrying Liliana.
The Uber ride from Boston Logan Airport seems longer than ever before as I make my way to my hometown, Blackburn. The driver is playing a current hits station and, luckily, has kept conversation to a minimum since we drove away from the airport. The lack of talking is helping me play out everything I plan to say to my father the moment I confront him in his office. I’ve come to terms with the fact that marrying Liliana, or anyone my parents choose for me, is out of the question. Just because they made these plans for me before I was born doesn’t mean I should have to give my life up and do as they say. My parents have never been warm or loving, but some parts of them must care about their kids’ happiness. While I don’t fully believe that, I need to keep a positive thought that they can’t be that heartless.
Too lost in thought, I don’t notice that we have made our way through Boston and into Blackburn. The neighborhood I grew up in passes by as I stare out the window. The houses are larger than anyone would ever need. At the end of the gated neighborhood is my family’s home, secured by its own private gates. The house looks as if you took two typical New England homes and put them together to create a mansion. The house is colonial style, with its stark white coating and off-gray shutters on each of the windows in the front, which is a shit ton of windows now that I’m taking it all in. The long driveway is made of perfectly paved brick and leads straight up to the front of the house.
Nothing has changed since I visited home over the winter break other than the lack of professionally installed Christmas decorations. It is still cold and unwelcoming, much like it was during my childhood.
The driver rolls to a stop in front of the porch that leads to large double-entry doors. After telling me the amount owed, I pay through the app on my phone and exit his sedan with only my backpack with an extra change of clothes in case this conversation leads to an overnight stay.
Looking up at the front door, I take a deep breath before climbing the four steps onto the porch and heading inside the house. The moment I’m in the entryway, the familiar scent of fresh lilies and jasmine invades my senses. My mother has always made sure our home was overflowing with flowers and sent whichever maid she had at the time out to buy them at least once a week from a local florist. The small touch of color in an otherwise hospital-like house is welcoming.
Deciding to bypass seeing my mother and having her question why I’m here, I head to my father’s office. It’s after seven at night, and I know by this time he is home from work but not done working. When I was in middle school, she made him promise to be home by dinnertime, but that never stopped him from retreating into his private cave until exhaustion took over and he eventually went to bed.
Approaching the thick, white door, I knock once and step back, waiting for a response from the man I know is on the other side.
“I’m busy, Annie. Just go watch your reality shows.” His tone is short, and I can’t imagine how any woman would want to be married to a man like him, not that my mom is much warmer.
Rather than walking in or yelling back at him, I knock again. Through the door, I hear a huff and the sound of a chair rolling against the hardwood floor. The door flies open, and my father’s face changes from annoyed to one of surprise.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he snaps.
Plastering on the fakest smile I can muster, I resist the urge to match his harsh words and decide to take the higher route. “Here to speak with you, if that’s okay?”
His eyebrow stretches up in curiosity. “Must be important if this needs to be in person.” Stepping back, he holds the door open for me to come in.
Walking in, I take in the smell of old cigars and wood. My father’s office is what I would think a mafia leader’s office would look like, a complete contrast to the rest of the house. It’s dark, with every inch being made of deep wood. His desk sits in the middle of the circular room, and by the size of it, you would think this man was the president. I’m sure he feels as important; his ego is that large. Behind his desk is a wall made of bookshelves filled with antique books, which I am sure he has never read, and decor that my mother picked out.
There are two oversized leather seats in front of his desk, angled toward the center of the desk. I take a seat in one of the chairs as my father rounds his desk and sits down. He’s still in his suit from work, but the tie is now lying on the chaise lounge in the corner and the top two buttons of his white shirt are undone.
Leaning back in his chair, my father locks his hands together over his chest. “Well? Out with it. I don’t have all night.” Ever the conversationalist Howard Dugray is.
Inhaling a much-needed breath for strength, I mentally run through what I plan on saying to him before letting it all out. “Father, I understand that there are certain…obligations I am to meet as the oldest of your sons. I fully intend to follow through with my duties like you expect of me, except for one.”
His eyebrow arches at my admission.
“While I am sure Liliana is a lovely woman, I cannot in good conscience marry her. It would be a loveless marriage, and neither of us would be happy.”
