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Cassie: Well, I want to know which dress she likes the most, and so do the girls. They told me.
These messages were sent yesterday, so I think I’ve kept them waiting long enough. I begin to type my reply, knowing that Harrison will also see the message.
Me: They’re all good choices, but Ellie’s would be the winner.
A minute later, a reply comes in.
Cassie: It’s because it’s pink, right?
Me: Sure is.
Cassie: Fine, but I get to pick the flowers.
I smile because I don’t know how I’ve got here, with people who care about me so much that they want to plan a wedding for a fake marriage that won’t ever last.
That familiar guilt I felt around them last week slams into my stomach again. My eyes burn with regret. Not for marrying Harrison but for not realising the effect it could have on these girls he adores so much. Had I known, I may not have gone through with it.
Maybe we’ll just have to stay together, you know, for the kids.
Marching to my father’s office isn’t as cathartic as I’d like it to be. I’d hoped the walk from the tube station would expel any nervous energy, but if anything, I’m more keyed up than ever as I step in through the familiar spinning doors to his empire.
Approaching the reception desk, I spot Frank, who’s been my father’s head of security for years. “Hey Frank,” I announce, startling him from his crossword book.
“Do my eyes deceive me? Little Zoey Bancroft?” His warm eyes smile at me as he stands to his full six foot height. I remember when I was little, I used to think Frank was a giant and then my brothers had to go and put all that into perspective by both growing to over six foot.
I flash him a genuine smile. “I’m a married woman now, Frank. Mrs Clarke, I’ll have you know.”
He pretends to stumble backwards, hand on his heart. “I think my heart just broke.”
“Oh, don’t be so silly.” I wave him off. “How is Betty?”
“She’s good. Annoying me as usual.” Betty and Frank have been married for thirty years and it astounds me that two people can still be so in love after all that time. He jokes about her being a pain, but I’ve seen them together at parties when I was younger and he worships her.
“Send her my love, won’t you?” I ask, and he nods. “Can I get a visitor pass? I’ve got a meeting with my father.”
He clicks away on the keyboard and passes me a credit card sized key to swipe. “Give him hell, Zoey, love.”
“I always do, don’t I?” I say with a wink.
Walking through the building, my boots stomping on the flooring brings back so many memories of being young and coming here. After school, I’d often have to come and wait with Frank until my dad was ready to leave, especially if my mother was socialising at home. I was not allowed to interrupt that.
When I get to my father’s floor, the lift doors open, and I straighten my shoulders and strut to his PA’s desk. I don’t know this one. I swear he scares them off.
Approaching the petite blonde at her desk, she eyes me as I stop in front of her. “Here to see my father.”
She doesn’t talk, just picks up the phone and tells him I’ve arrived.
“You can go right in,” she informs me before going back to whatever she was doing.
I approach his door, my hands slightly shaking.God, why am I nervous about seeing my own dad?I take a deep breath and clench my unsteady hands.
Pushing the door open, his huge office is sprawled out in front of me. It’s mostly an empty room with his desk facing the door, a private bathroom, and a black leather sofa with a drinks table next to it. I memorised this place because I was so rarely allowed in here. I used to marvel every time I got past the door.
“Zoey.” My father stands to greet me, buttoning his suit jacket as he rounds his desk to perch on the edge.
His face remains expressionless. A smile would be considered affection from this man, and I’m not entirely sure he’s even capable of doing that.
I sit in the chair he gestures to, even though every inch of that bratty little girl inside me wants to pick the other chair. I’ll let him have that one.
