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Victoria
I step out into the warm summer night air. My father has the car running and is waiting for me on the driveway.
Of course, he does.
Major John Canmore is never late.
Ever.
I climb into the ancient Jeep, slinging my bag into the footwell. A muscle at the side of my father’s temple twitches as my floaty summer skirt settles just over my knees, but he says nothing. In Dad’s opinion, it isn’t a real party unless one is in formal wear. He doesn’t approve of informal gatherings where people overindulge in spirits that aren’t whisky or gin. You know, the kind of parties where people drink from bottles instead of glasses and pass STIs along with the snacks. Because in my father’s head, that is exactly what happens at informal gatherings.
Clearly, the best form of prophylaxis is evening wear. You can’t fuck up your future if you are safely ensconced in an evening gown.
I pat his hand where it rests on the gear stick.
“It is okay, Dad. It is just some friends from school. You’ve met them all before. I’ve hung out with them many times. You can relax.”
I’m tempted to point out that I’m twenty-one, but I don’t. I can’t face a full-on rant about my responsibilities and my future career. He’s teetering on the edge of it as it is.
I know he cares and just wants the best for me. Being an Army doctor has given him a good life. He wants the same for me. I can’t fault that, even if his methods of ensuring that it happens for me are a little draconian at times.
His frown softens. “Where to, darling?”
“Corran’s house please, Dad.”
The muscle in his forehead twitches again.
He grips the leather steering wheel a little tighter, the muscles of his forearm flexing.
“Dad…you know there’s nothing…”
“I know what these rugby boys are like, Victoria,” he growls.
“It isn’t like that with Corran, Dad. He’s my…friend. Well, he’s Ben’s friend too, which would make it complicated even if I…”
I’m rambling. Even I don’t know what’s coming out my mouth. I should stop talking. Dad stopped listening before I even started. His mind is made up. Corran, the kindest, gentlest guy you could even meet, has been dismissed as a jock with an agenda. A threat to my future career. Not like Ben, the accountant in training. He’s a dependable sort, has his head screwed on the right way. Solid. Reliable. A catch.
Shame he’s a douchebag.
The ten minute ride to Corran’s home feels like it lasts an eternity. My father, never one for small talk at the best of times and reduced to relentless taciturnity in the face of anything that displeases him in the slightest, keeps his eyes fixed on the road.
My fingertips release the door before the car has completely come to a halt on the driveway in front of Hillcrest Farm.
“Thanks, Dad,” I chirp, trying to keep my tone light as I sling my bag onto my shoulder.
My father’s poker straight spine stiffens. “You are welcome. I’ll be here to collect you at midnight. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t.”
As if I would even try such a thing.
“And don’t drink too much. We’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow.”
Ah, yes, packing for the move. As if I could forget.
Every ounce of party spirit has been well and truly drained from my body by the time my father drives off.
“Vic? You ok?”
