Sweet Prison (Perfectly Imperfect #10)

One year later

(Zahara, age 16)

Soft notes of a classical melody carry across the garden, blending with the chatter and laughter of dozens of guests mingling around the tables. The cherry tree that overhangs the small platform where the string quartet is playing is in full bloom, but there isn’t even a hint of its sweet scent in the air. Instead, perfume and cigar smoke suffuse the area, drowning everything else out and making my nostrils itch and burn. Like he always does, Dad insisted that I attend his annual spring cocktail party. As if there won’t be another occasion next month.

And the next.