by Emma Doherty
I eventually summon up the courage to ask, “Why’d you come back then?”
He sighs and looks over at me. “Because I remembered something when I was driving away.” He pauses. “Last year when the team won state, they put the victory parade on hold because Ethan had to leave town.” He clears his throat. “His mom died.”
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. I refuse to cry.
His voice softens. “Your mom died last year?”
I nod my head quickly.
“And Greyson Carlington is your dad?”
I nod again.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know the guy personally, but I do know the fact that he has more money than the rest of the town combined doesn’t mean he actually shows up for his son or is ever in town to see him.” I swallow hard. “I’m guessing he’s been just as much of a shitty father to you.”
I don’t bother nodding this time. He already knows that’s true.
“And that’s why you’ve ended up over here? Your mom died and you had to come live with your dad for senior year, even though he’s never in town, away from all your friends and in a new country where everything must seem so different?”
Yup. That pretty much sums up the shitshow that is my life.
“What’s the deal with you and Ethan?”
I shrug. “We fight a lot. He hates me right now.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
He reaches out and grips my shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I’m sorry, Izzy. This sucks.”
I nod, because it does. It sucks so, so much.
“And I’m guessing that’s why you let yourself get so messed up with booze and whatever else you can get your hands on? So you can forget about the last year?”
I shift uncomfortably. It doesn’t take a genius to see why I’m so obsessed with chasing oblivion, but I don’t want to get into that with him. “Are you really mad at me?”
He offers me a smile. It’s a small one, but still a smile. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry I lied.”
He shrugs. “It’s okay.”
“So where does that leave us?”
He looks at me. “I’m gonna be your friend, Izzy, because something tells me that’s what you need above anything else right now.”
A few hours later, Marcus drops me off at my house, not on some random street where I can pretend I don’t live where I do, but outside the gates of my house where he can get a proper look at the enormity of the place. He whistles as he takes it in but declines the offer to come inside.
We’ve been hanging out together all afternoon, just listening to music in his truck, driving around whilst he shows me some of the local sights and eating the burgers that had turned cold in their wrappers but still tasted pretty good. I have to admit, it’s been nice. All attraction seemed to diminish completely between us, and we’ve just been friendly, friendly and chilled and relaxed with each other. It’s definitely the most at ease I’ve been since I moved here, because whilst I’ve always been relaxed around him, I can now also be honest. Even if it is annoying that he’s made it perfectly clear I can’t drink in his bar anymore, he has offered to teach me to drive, so at least there’s that.
I wave goodbye as he drives off then I input the code for the gate and make my way up to the house. I’m so lost in my own thoughts and distracted by the day’s events whirling around in my head that I don’t even notice the extra car in the drive. It’s not until I walk through the front door, close it behind me, and head towards the stairs that I skid to a stop at the booming voice calling my name from the kitchen.
I’d forgotten what Ethan told me last week.
My dad’s home.
He’s exactly the same as I remember him, maybe a couple more grey hairs at his temples, but other than that, he’s still the same tall handsome man with dark blue eyes and light brown hair. He’s dressed casually in chinos and a crisp white shirt with boat shoes on his feet, and even if you’d only just met him, you’d still know he’s rich just by looking at him. His whole persona screams it, and it’s exactly what he wants people to think when they see him.
“Isabella.” He greets me, glancing up from his seat at the kitchen table where he’s reading a paper. He nods in my direction, making no move to stand so he can hug me or even shake my hand—not that I care. It would be fake if he did that. That’s not who we are. “You’re back. I was expecting you to be here some time ago.”
“I forgot you were coming.”
“Hmmmm.” He looks displeased at this and glances over at Ethan, who’s leaning against the counter. “Did you not remind your sister?”
No. He was too busy exposing me to Marcus.
Ethan opens his mouth to say something and then snaps it shut. After a moment, he says, “I guess I forgot.”
My father frowns. “Typical.”
Ethan blushes a bright red but doesn’t say anything else.
My dad turns back to me. “Have you been attending your classes this week?”
That’s how it is with my father. No Hi, how are you doing? or How have you settled in? or How’re you coping without your mum? Nope. It’s just straight back to questioning if I’ve followed his instructions.
“You know I have,” I mutter. “You’ve got people reporting back to you about me.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, well, as you’ve proven several times over the last year, Isabella, you can’t be trusted.”
My jaw locks and I shift on my feet. I cannot stand this man.
“I also see you’ve been withdrawing your entire allowance out of your account. You did it the first week you were here, and then as soon as I unfroze your accounts, you took the full amount again.”
It doesn’t surprise me in the slightest that he knows that, but I have no idea what his point is. If he’s bothered about me having access to such a large amount of cash then he shouldn’t give us such a ridiculous allowance.
“It occurred to me that you might be pulling the money out for a reason, to save it up for a rainy day.”
I sigh. I wish he’d just get to the point. “What’s the problem?”
“The problem is that while I’m happy for you to have money for your lifestyle”—he disdainfully surveys the jeans and white shirt I’m wearing—“and I’m happy to provide you with some suitable clothes that are fitting of my position”—God he’s an arsehole—“I think we’d both agree that I know you better than that and you have another plan up your sleeve.”
I just stare at him blankly. I have no idea what he’s talking about, and if he actually thinks he knows me at all, he’s completely deluded.
“What do you want?” I ask, fully expecting him to tell me he’s going to cut my allowance or stop it altogether.
“Your passports.”
I blink. “Sorry, what?”
“Your passports, Isabella, both British and American.”
“I…I mean… What do you… You can’t be serious.”
He levels me with his gaze. “Oh, I’m deadly serious. Now let’s spare the dramatics. I don’t want a call in a couple of weeks telling me you’ve jumped on a flight back to the UK. You disrupted enough of my time trying to get you over here in the first place.”
My jaw falls open.
“Dad, you can’t take her passports,” Ethan interrupts, apparently prepared to defend me despite our fight because my dad is being that ridiculous. “That’s like against her human rights or something.”
“I’ll thank you to stay out of this, Ethan. I half thought I could have contacted you and asked you to collect it for me, but we both know you wouldn’t be strong enough to go against your sister.”
“You’re not taking my passports,” I tell him. “I won’t give them to you.”
He sighs. “Yes, you will. You’re a flight risk and I don’t have time to deal with it. I have a very busy couple of months coming up, and the next time you disappear for days on end, I don’t want to find o
ut you were in another country.”
He cannot be serious. “I didn’t even leave town. I was staying with a friend.”
“Dad,” Ethan chimes in, “come on, be reasonable.”
He should defend me. He's the reason dad knows I disappeared for a couple of days in the first place.
“Ethan.” My dad’s voice is cold as he faces him, and even though I’m horrified at what my dad is telling me, I can’t help but be fascinated by their interaction. He’s talking to Ethan like he’s nothing, like he’s not even worth communicating with, which just completely baffles me. I thought the reason Ethan chose to live over here was for Dad and his money, but no amount of money would make up for the way our dad is treating him right now. “I won’t tell you again.”
“You’re not having my passports,” I repeat firmly. There’s not a chance in hell I’m handing either over. “I won’t give them to you.”
“Yes you will, Isabella. I can’t afford any more distractions this year, and you are to stay here until you graduate and turn 18. After that, you’ll have your trust fund and will be free to do as you please.”
“But I’m already here. I came—I did what you wanted. You don’t need to take them.”
“Just think of this as eliminating the risk.” He turns his nose back to his paper. “And if you won’t then I’ll have no choice but to extend the age on the legal documents that state when you’ll get your trust fund. If that’s not enough of an incentive for you, if you continue to refuse to hand them over, I’ll have to insist you travel with me for the rest of your senior year. You’ll be assisted by a tutor and will have to accompany me to every city I visit.”
My breath catches in my throat. He wouldn’t. There’s no way he’d do that. He’d hate to have me with him for any longer than is necessary.
He cocks an eyebrow in my direction. “Now I think we can both agree that neither of us want that, can’t we?”
“Fine,” I bite out. Fine, fine, fine. We both know I’ll do anything to avoid spending any more time with him than I have to.
I turn in a daze, exit the kitchen, climb the steps to my room, grab my passports from my bedside table, and throw them down in front of my father in less than two minutes. He doesn’t even glance at me, merely reaches for them and then tucks them into the chest pocket of his suit jacket.
I hate him. I really, really hate him.
There isn’t a sound in the kitchen as I stand there trembling with rage and defeat. I really don’t have any control over anything. All I have is this man, the furthest thing possible from a father figure, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
Ethan clears his throat. “How long are you here for, Dad?” There’s a definite edge in his voice.
My father glances over at him. “Two nights. I have business meetings in New York on Monday.”
Two nights. I can handle that. Ethan nods, cutting a look at me. I look away from him quickly, still processing what’s just gone down. Right now, I don’t even have the energy to be pissed at him about that scene with Marcus earlier. I can’t believe how unreasonable my dad is.
“We have dinner plans with the Montgomerys tonight,” my father announces, like he hasn’t just taken away the last ounce of freedom I had.
We? I’m stopped from asking who we is by the sound of heels on the marble floor behind me.
“Oh you’re here. Yay!” I turn around and come face to face with a girl—well, woman, I guess—who’s a couple of inches shorter than me with bright blonde hair, big brown eyes, and a very short, very tight dress on. She immediately flashes me a smile and pulls me into a hug, a very awkward embrace that immediately makes me want to pull away. “We’ve been waiting for you to get back.”
I take a step away, putting some distance between us, and glance over at my dad. “This is CeeCee,” he tells me before turning back to his paper.
“I’m his girlfriend,” she says proudly. “It’s so good to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
I seriously doubt that is true. If it is, none of it will have been positive.
“Hi,” I manage to mutter.
“I brought you a present,” she tells me, rushing over to the counter and coming back with a Fendi paper bag.
I accept it and reach inside to pull out a dress. It’s short, skin-tight, bright yellow, and has Fendi printed all over it. I wouldn’t be caught dead in it.
“It’s very expensive,” she tells me, which is my first clue that she wasn’t brought up with money and is probably working really hard at keeping my dad because of his bank account. “And super short, but I think you can definitely pull it off. Last time I was here Ethan showed me a picture of you so I knew you’d look amazing in it. You’ve got the build of a model.”
My eyes dart over to Ethan, who is staring down at the floor. I can’t imagine how he’s gotten a picture of me. It must be an old one off social media, and it definitely will be old because I haven’t posted a picture of myself online in a very long time.
“Thanks,” I manage to mutter.
She stands there staring at me like she’s expecting me to say something else to her, but I can’t imagine what. I don’t have anything to say to my own dad—especially not right now—let alone his girlfriend, and it’s not like I need to bother to get to know her. None of his girlfriends ever last long.
“Let’s go for a chat,” she says brightly. “Get to know each other better.”
“Actually, I’m going to go to bed,” I tell her. “I’m tired.”
She looks surprised at that, like I’m being rude. “Really? You’re sure? You don’t have any questions you want to ask me?”
That’s the wrong thing to say to me, especially after what’s just gone down with my father. “Okay. How old are you?”
Her jaw drops open. Clearly she wasn’t expecting that. She straightens up. “Twenty-six.”
I’m not surprised in the slightest. My dad has always gone for younger women. My mum was five years younger than him, and after they got divorced, I’m pretty certain all his other girlfriends have been at least ten years younger than him. Twenty-six is a bit much, though. He’s forty-two this year and seriously in denial about how old he is.
“That’s enough, Isabella,” my father snaps without even looking up. “CeeCee, we’re leaving here in an hour to meet the Montgomerys.” She nods, sends me a glare, and then turns and walks away. I make to follow her, but my father stops me. “Both of you are coming with us.”
“No.” I have no idea who the Montgomerys are, and I have no interest in finding out.
“I can’t,” Ethan immediately chimes in.
“No arguments,” my dad responds, closing his paper and standing. “We’re going to dinner at Smithson’s and then on to the country club. It’s time people around here saw me with both my children.”
My jaw clenches in irritation. He doesn’t give a crap about spending time with us. He just wants to look good to other people. He’s so pathetic. He probably has more money than the whole of this town and the surrounding towns combined yet he still has to try to prove something to them.
“I had my stylist pick out some new clothes for you, Isabella. They’re in your room.”
I want to scream. “You can’t tell me what to wear,” I insist. “I’m seventeen years old.”
“Yes, well, you’re currently dressing somewhere between a homeless person and a rocker chick, and it doesn’t reflect well on the family name.”
“Dad, come on,” Ethan pipes up. “She dresses fine.”
He doesn’t even glance at my brother. It’s like he hasn’t even spoken. “There’s a long white dress in there, from Gucci I believe. I’m told it will work well with your height and build.”
I’m so ready to scream. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
He actually smirks in my direction. “Haven’t the last couple of months proven to you that I can tell you exactly what to do?” When I don’t respond, he just shrugs his should
ers. “Or even the last ten minutes?”
He turns and walks away, and I rethink my earlier thought. I don’t think I’ll be able to cope with him for two nights. I don’t think I’ll even be able to survive the next few hours.
“Isabella, your grandmother is expecting you to attend the Rosemary Gala with her later this month. Her assistant will send you the details, and I’ve provided her with your email address.”
I grit my teeth as my father swings his car through the gates of my grandparents’ house. It’s only been a twenty-minute car journey, but it’s felt like an eternity.
Last night was bad enough, but having to see my grandparents today really is pushing me to my limit. Having to sit through dinner with my dad’s friends last night whilst their son, some idiot who already hit on me at school, pretends he’s not examining my neckline and Ethan alternates between glaring at Benson Montgomery and playing the perfect son, carrying the conversation and talking about his football ambitions was simply terrible.
Then I had to deal with CeeCee being so sickly overly affectionate with my dad that it was uncomfortable for everyone whilst simultaneously proving she doesn’t have a thought of her own inside her head. It was honestly painful to hear her wittering on, regurgitating my dad’s opinions on everything from climate change to fashion as if she actually came up with them herself. I swear when she didn’t think anyone was looking, I saw her checking out Ethan, not that I blame her—he’s closer to her age than my dad is. My bet is CeeCee thinks if she plays her cards right then Dad will marry her, but she’s wrong. I doubt my dad will ever marry again. He has no need to, and if he does? Well, that will only happen if it will benefit him and improve his business or status in some way, and a marriage to CeeCee won’t do that. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’ll have a lucky escape when he drops her like a potato. If his next marriage is anything like the one he had with my mum, he’ll only cheat on her, manipulate her, and leave her with as little self-worth as possible. He may even openly flaunt his affairs with other women in front of her because that’s just the kind of man he is. The day he dumps her will actually be the best day of her life.
