Finding Her Strength (Sonoma #3)

18. “Rosemary”

18

“ROSEMARY”

FIVE YEARS AGO

T he sound of boisterous laughter follows the scent of cigar smoke all the way upstairs. My anxiety runs through me with such strength, I can’t focus on the words of my book. I stand, pacing around my small bedroom to try to dispel some of the tension. My bed sits directly in the middle of the room, leaving enough space for a chair and dresser on opposite sides.

I hate when he has his friends over. They drink entirely too much, and Antony is always unpredictable when he’s drunk. I’ve grown accustomed to his mood swings, predicting when I need to make myself scarce, but when he drinks, his behavior is never the same. I end up saying the wrong thing or not saying anything at all, which also pisses him off. Luckily, he doesn’t host gatherings here very often. Otherwise, my life would be much worse.

I got lucky tonight when he requested I stay upstairs instead of joining them. Normally, I have to wear uncomfortable clothes and stand silently next to Antony the entire evening. He enjoys showing me off to his friends like I’m the winning trophy. What’s worse is it usually ends in some form of punishment for me. I was either too silent, my facial expression too severe, or some other completely made-up reason for Antony to hit me.

I pick up my phone to open one of the three apps I’m allowed, a silly game based on the Harry Potter series, where you get to pretend to be a wizard. It helps take my mind off what will happen when the men leave. Before too long, I hear the sounds of goodbyes, indicating they’re finally finished with their get-together.

My hands start to shake while my heart races with the sounds of footsteps on the stairs. I stand stock-still in the middle of my room as the door to my bedroom opens. Antony steps inside, his blue eyes glassy from the alcohol.

“Rosemary. You’ve been quiet as a mouse tonight,” he slurs, scanning my entire body as he moves further into the room. He’s been more and more affectionate towards me these last few months, caressing my body and giving me lascivious looks that make my skin crawl. I wish I had the freedom to tell him to stop. Instead, I’m trapped in this prison of pain, where my needs don’t matter.

All I can do is stand there and attempt to read his next move. He seems to be in a good mood, albeit under the influence. Unfortunately, with the alcohol in his system, his good mood can change on a dime. Even without alcohol, his brutality is a hair-trigger away.

He steps closer to me, towering above my small frame. When he raises his hand, I flinch unconsciously, hating myself for the reaction.

His smile grows vicious, knowing he got to me, as he runs the back of a finger down my cheek. “I knew I wanted you the minute I met you. I let your father rack up his debt, knowing full well he’d never be able to pay it off, which would lead to my very generous request of taking you off his hands. He was only too happy to oblige.”

Stay quiet. Don’t give him anything. But, God, do I hate my father even more now .

“I’ve given you time to settle in; now, it’s time for you to show your gratitude.” His gaze turns salacious as he stares down at the small amount of cleavage showing from my V-neck T-shirt.

The blood drains from my face. I should’ve known this would happen. It was only a matter of time before he was going to want me for more than my house-running abilities. With the way he’s been acting these last few months, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.

His hand runs from my neck into my hair, gripping it so tightly I wince. He shoves me toward the bed, and I stupidly try to fight against his demands.

“Please, Antony. Don’t.” Fear makes my voice break at the end. It doesn’t seem to matter how strong I’ve built up my walls. Deep down, I’m still the weak fifteen-year-old girl, hoping someone will keep me safe while my life implodes.

His answering chuckle tells me my pleas will only fall on deaf ears.

I don’t want to do this. I don’t want any of this. Why did my life have to turn out so horribly?

A quick fist to my side forces out a gasp, the pain making me wilt. Antony’s hand in my hair is the only thing holding me up.

“I would suggest you get with the program, Rosemary, or this will be worse,” Antony growls.

He shoves me onto the bed, and all I can do is lay there, tears streaming down my face, resignation setting in that this will be my life forever.