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I shift in my seat and lean my head against the glass of the door window. Her words swirl in my head. She’s right. We both know it. I’ve never stood up to my parents and I don’t think I have the courage to do it. And that alone is why I can’t drag Lorenzo into my world. Even if it was for a night. I’d be kidding myself if I believed a night would be enough for me. There’s no way I want my parents’ poison to taint Lorenzo in any way. So that’s where he must stay. A memory. One I can look back on, remember fondly and smile. Far away and hidden from anywhere they would be able to reach him.
“We’re here,” Ally says, as she wakes me from my nap on the car ride home. I must not have gotten enough sleep or else the excess alcohol I drank is making me sleepy. I rub my eyes to wake me up and look out the window. A sigh escapes as I take in the house the driver pulled up in front of. My prison AKA my parents’ house where I currently reside.
“Thanks Ally, I’ll message you later,” I say, pushing my buckle to release it and leaning over to give her a quick hug. Once I close the door, the driver wastes no time and pulls away from the curb. I wish it was taking me away with it.
I’m too hungover to care what my parents will say if they see me with my cowboy boots dangling from my hand or the fact my unbrushed hair is out in public where someone important could see me. I know I will regret it if they catch me, but something about having to walk away from Lorenzo has me wanting to lash out. I have the start of something burning in me, ready to be defiant for the first time in my life. Let's hope it lasts.
So, I casually walk through the front door like I don’t have a care in the world. I make no attempt to be quiet as I waltz through the house and make my way to my living quarters. Yes, I have quarters because our house is outlandish and it's just the three of us. I can’t believe my luck when I reach my doorunscathed but then dread fills me and sweat drips down my back as I hear my mother’s voice behind me.
“Sophia? Are you just getting in now, young lady?”
I turn to face her before nodding.
“What will Mitch have to say about this?” she asks, but before I can answer she continues with, “Never mind, hurry up, shower and get presentable as he and your father are waiting for us.”
That stops me in my tracks, and I shout at her, “What do you mean he and father?”
“Mitch rang this morning, and I invited him to lunch,” she casually tells me. The look on my face has her adding, “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Well, I do mind,” I state, turning my handle, walking in my room and closing the door. I lock it for good measure because my mother will not tolerate that behaviour from me. As predicted, she knocks on the door, but I pay no mind to her words, dropping my boots on the floor. I head towards the ensuite, relieve myself, then start to undress for my shower.
Before I unclip my bra, I notice a scratching in one cup. I run my fingers inside my bra finding a folded-up piece of paper. I start to unfold it before my mothers knocking draws my attention back to her. My eyes roll in annoyance, though she can’t see me, and I place the paper on the vanity telling myself I’ll come back to it later.
Jumping in the shower, I soak my hair. I take my time washing it, wanting to prolong the time before I must meet my parents. And Mitch. Bloody Mitch.
What the hell is he thinking? He can’t seriously think he can act all chummy to my parents and I’ll take him back. Who does he think he is? I don’t care what my parents have to say about this either. They can’t force me to be in a relationship with someone who has no respect for me and who cheated on me ofall things. That’s a deal breaker for me and I’m about to let it be known. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
As I dress in my immaculately pressed dress, I can’t help but feel restricted. As soon as the material is against my skin, I itch and want to rip it from my body. I’ve never felt like this. I’ve always been numb, going along with the motions, never fighting the control my parents have over me. Last night was the start of something changing in regard to the relationship I have with my parents.
Once my hair is perfected into a chignon at the nape of my neck, I smooth my hands over my dress, take a deep breath then exit my room. My small black heels click clack against the wooden floor as I make my way to the dining room where my parents and that cow turd of a man are waiting for me.
Before reaching the room, I hear their laughter on the other side of the door. I can’t help the eye roll it causes. I stop, take a deep breath and plaster on a fake smile for my parents because anything less and I would be reprimanded. It’s right about now I’m regretting not popping painkillers for my worsening tequila headache. Or the intensifying pain is from the sight of Mitch sitting there calmly and casually as if he didn’t cheat on me. I don’t know what I ever saw in him to begin with. He did me a huge favour by cheating on me. I should send him a thank you basket.
“Mother, Father,” I greet them, as I slide into the seat opposite Mitch at our ridiculously sized oak dining table. The table can seat twenty people, which I find utterly absurd since only three people reside in this house. We hardly ever have ten people seated at this monstrosity, let alone twenty. Another example of appearances taking over my life. I would take a smaller rickety kitchen table with a home cooked meal on it than this lavish pristine table with food made by our chef any day. Don’t get me wrong, our chef is an amazing cook and person butwhat I wouldn’t give to feel some love in my food. If only I knew what that tasted like.
“Aren’t you going to acknowledge Mitch?” my father asks, drawing me out of my thoughts.
Mitch’s smug smile shines my way and I wish I could wipe that look off his face. I reach out for the glass of sparkling water, taking a sip. Yes, sparkling water. This house can’t be seen drinking normal tap water like everyone else. I lower the glass before setting my eyes on Mitch when I would like nothing more than to throw the glass of water on him and ruin his Italian loafers that cost more than Lorenzo’s motorcycle.
“No, I don't want to acknowledge the man who I broke up with a few days ago because he’s been cheating on me for a year,” I calmly say. My response makes the smile on Mitch’s face grow bigger which has the hairs on the back of my neck rising. Where does this jerk wad get off?
“I’m sure it’s all a big misunderstanding,” my mother tries to interject, and my hard gaze turns to her.
“I think I understood perfectly fine. I walked into his office on Monday to surprise him for lunch and I ended up the one surprised. He looked like he rather enjoyed having his pants down around his ankles and his receptionist bent over the desk. Or maybe it was her moaning I misunderstood Mother.”
“Enough,” my father yells from the head of the table, as he slams his now empty glass down. It’s a bit early for alcohol but that’s never stopped Holden Philips. His love of whiskey is the one thing that managed to rub off on me. I rarely drink but when I do it’s my drink of choice. “Sophia, you need to learn that a husband has needs and sometimes his wife can not fulfill them. It is your job as a wife not to question his actions.”
My head whips towards my mother in response to my father’s words. Is he talking about their relationship? I receivemy answer from the slight nod of acknowledgement from my mother. My hackles rise further as his words cut deeper.
“It’s a good thing I’m not his wife then, isn’t it?” I argue, moving my focus back to my father.
“Well, we were discussing that matter before you arrived. Mitch here has asked for my blessing to marry you and I have given it,” he states blandly, as if he’s ordering steak for lunch.
“Sophia,” Mitch tries to talk, but I cut him off.
“I will not marry him, and you can not make me.”
“As my daughter, you will do what I say,” he states.
