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“What?”
“There are four sons, not three.”
My brows draw together in confusion. “You said three men are coming, and they each have a son. How are you getting four?”
Heaving out a sigh as if this conversation is tedious, Father folds his hands, resting them on the top of the desk.
“There are four boys. One of their business partners is unable to make the trip tomorrow. He also has a son.”
Waving a hand to dismiss me, Father talks to his desk while addressing me.
“Find something appropriate to wear for tomorrow morning. Go shopping if you need to—just get it done.”
Slowly rising to my feet, I trudge out of my father’s office and back to my room. Looking around at the mess scattered everywhere, I mutter. “Fuck this.”
I spin on my heel with my phone, purse, and keys in hand—time for a little retail therapy.
CHAPTERTWO
Sleep was an elusive thing last night. After setting my bedroom right and organizing my purchases, nerves took hold of me.
Lying in bed, the conversation with Father played on repeat in my head. My minimal sleep was plagued with faceless men, each radiating anger and hatred.
The sun taking over the sky forces me out of bed. Coffee is my first priority. Caffeine is needed to get me through the day. As I wait for the nectar of life to brew, memories of my mother drift in and out as I prepare to be used as a pawnagainby my father. Tears gather, but I refuse to let them fall.
My father’s heavy footfalls sound on the stairs. Quickly grabbing my cup, I move through the dining room and living room, peeking around each corner. Dealing with father this early with no coffee yet is a guaranteed disaster in the making.
The door to my room closes with a light thud, and I take a moment to slow my heart rate. Wrapping both hands around the cup, absorbing the warmth, I take a long drink. Giving myself a few moments to gather my thoughts.
Starting the hot water in the bathtub after pushing off the door and entering my ensuite bathroom, steam fills the room. Dumping some lavender oil into the water, I strip from my pajamas and lower myself in. My nerves start to calm, my eyes drifting closed as the lavender permeates the air as I sip my coffee.
As soon as my cup is empty, I begin the arduous task of getting myself ready. All while wishing my mother was here, wondering what life would have been like if she lived. A traitorous tear runs down my cheek. Letting it fall off of my chin and into the water, giving myself five more minutes to mourn what could have been.
* * *
The sound of the doorbell has me on alert. My hair is pulled up into a chignon. It wouldn’t cooperate in this humid weather, and after fighting with it, enough was enough.
Male voices carry up the stairs, and I know that it won’t be long before Father summons me. Putting on some fresh lipstick and quickly adding small hoop earrings, I stare at myself in the mirror.
Being a bit rebellious, my dress is black. Father hates it when I wear black. It seems appropriate, though, for mourning the loss of my freedom. The hemline falls just above the knee and is plain other than the vee neckline and cap sleeves. My six-inch heels complete the outfit.
Taking one last look in the mirror, my posture stiffens, and I reach for the doorknob.
No sooner than reaching the bottom of the stairs, my father steps from the living room, no doubt to summon me.
His eyes grow wide as he takes in my appearance. The corner of my mouth quirks up, knowing I got one over on him, and currently, it’s too late to do anything about it.
This is, after all, what we do. We take digs at each other, more him than me. I do whatever is possible to push for my independence, even if it is nothing more than buying a color he hates. The irony of this is that about fifty percent of his suits are black—talk about a double standard.
Having to walk past my father to greet our guests, he grips my upper arm tightly. I do my best to mask the pain as he whispers in my ear.
“Kennedy, this is not what I had in mind for you to wear. Wewilldiscuss this later.”
Tugging me further into the living room, I am faced with three men, all smartly dressed in high-quality suits. Not one of them appears to have spent the last several hours traveling.
“Gentlemen, this is my daughter Kennedy.”
I give a slight bow of my head as Father continues introductions. Indicating each man, starting on my left, father holds his arm extended in their direction.
