37. Briar
Briar
S tanding in front of my bedroom mirror, I look again. My hand lifts up to press against the glass.
The woman staring back at me feels like another Briar. Another life.
A lie.
The knock on my open door has me turning. “Papa.”
Even my father looks nothing like the man I remember from my childhood. Older. More stooped. And there’s an uncomfortable distance between us now that has never existed before.
Even when I was alone, I always had him.
But I don’t feel so alone anymore.
I don’t feel any warmth from him. It feels like an assessment as he glances at my outfit. “You look lovely, sweetheart.”
“Thank you.” As if we’re both playing a role neither of us has interest in any longer. “Is there any news on the company?”
“You don’t need to worry about that.”
He’s always dismissed my questions. I see it now, so clearly that I wonder how I ever missed it. Maybe I thought it was protectiveness. A consequence of my childhood. I was a weak child. I had no energy, no vibrancy. And I sense that my father still sees that child when he looks at me.
I am not as weak as he thinks I am.
And my patience is running thin. I slip a bracelet over my wrist and settle on the bed to slip my shoes on.
“Philip is waiting downstairs.” My father glances around. “You remember your role?”
As if I would forget. Useless. Stupid. Empty-headed. “Yes. But I won’t lie.”
His hand waves irritably. “Just behave. It’s one evening.”
It’s my entire life. But I say nothing as I follow him downstairs to where Philip stands in the hallway. He smiles, bland and polite. “Briar. You’re a vision.”
All of the same words. The same steps. Day after day.
I don’t fit here anymore. If I ever did.
Philip is silent on the way over. He taps on his phone, apologizing as we pull up outside the museum. “Work, I’m afraid. Very boring.”
My smile doesn’t reach my eyes. We follow others inside, my hand curled around his arm. My smile turns genuine as I take in the artwork around me. “I’ve never been here before. I always wanted to go.”
“You like art?” There’s something almost amused in his voice as he deftly sweeps two glasses of champagne from a tray, handing me the smaller. “Here you go.”
“I do.” Studying him, I take a sip of my drink. “Anything creative appeals to me in some way. It’s why I do what I do.”
“Of course.” His eyes aren’t on me. They’re scanning the room around us, searching for something. Networking opportunities, probably. “Your little store.”
Frowning, I take another sip, catching his eyes glance down at my glass. He’s not wrong, and that annoys me. It could be so much better. I’ve been holding myself back for too long, trying to balance bending myself into a shape that pleases my father while doing enough to make myself happy.
And as a result, neither of us are truly happy. “I think I’ll get another glass of champagne.”
I wander away before he can stop me, weaving through the crowd and pausing to take in some of the art on display. One of them has my head tilting in confusion. A small guffaw next to me has me turning. The woman beside me snorts. “They shove anything on a canvas and call it art now.”
I mean, I don’t disagree with her. Grinning, I turn back to the plain white canvas. The piece of orange peel looks like it’s on the verge of crumbling into dust. “It gets people talking, though.”
“True,” the woman muses. She looks to be in her forties, her chin-length bob cut as sharp as the tone of her voice. “That’s a beautiful dress, by the way.”
“Oh! Thank you. I actually made this one. I’m a designer.”
“Really?” She turns to me, casting a critical look over my silver dress. The beading on the side swirls across my waist and down, creating the illusion of waves. “Do you have a card?”
“No,” I say weakly. She’s already digging around in her bag, and she hands over a small piece of card.
“Lauren Abrahams. I’d like to see what else you have. Send them to me here, and we’ll talk.”
I stare down at the card, wide-eyed. A lead.
“Yes.” I snap myself upright, grinning. “I will. Thank you.”
“Darling.” Philip sounds cold as he appears next to me. “It’s time for dinner.”
Lauren glances between her, her eyebrows raising as if in surprise. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
“Sorry.” I pull my manners together as he escorts me. “It was a work thing.”
He ignores my words completely. As we sit at a table with several other couples, he turns to the man beside him, drawing him into conversation.
He also ignores me through the starter. And the main course.
When dessert is served, he sits back, sliding his arm around my chair. “I have something for you.”
“Oh?” I’m watching the plates being carried out by the smartly dressed waiting staff. The dessert looks incredible.
A hand squeezes my knee, and I tug it away as I turn to him. Philip looks annoyed. “Pay attention.”
My eyes slip down to the table, and my body goes cold at the small, red velvet box set against the crisp white tablecloth. “Philip.”
He waves his hand. “I know. Too much. But we’ve danced around this for long enough, Briar. Neither of us are getting any younger.”
I have no feelings for this man. But if I did, his words would have doused them completely. Numb, I watch as he pulls the box toward him and tugs out the ring. Seizing my hand, he slides it onto my finger. “There. Perfect fit.”
The stone is heavy. Obscenely so, the diamond bigger than my nail. It’s not a ring I would ever have chosen for myself. The exuberant woman opposite me gasps, drawing our attention. “An engagement? Congratulations!”
Words ring out from around us, some people clapping as Philip grins and holds up his hand in acknowledgement. His smirk tightens as he glances at me. “Smile, Briar.”
I will not lie.
But the words catch in my throat. Carefully, I slide the ring free. The applause continues as Philip’s smile fades completely. “Put it on. Now.”
“It’s lovely,” I force out. “But a little loose. I’m just going to visit the bathroom. I don’t want to lose it.”
Shoving the ring into the box, I stand abruptly, not looking around as I grab my bag and shift out of my seat. Behind me, Philip murmurs something that has the silent, watching table laughing as I push through the doors to the hall, my heart thumping.
The sign for the bathroom points to my right.
The exit to my left.
This life is not mine.
It’s as if I’ve been asleep for years, and I’m just waking up. Taking off, I make for the exit, shoving past a surprised-looking security guard before the cold air hits me.
Looking around, I start walking. Then moving faster, until I’m almost running. I wouldn’t put it past Philip to come after me.
I wince, imagining his reaction when I don’t return to the table. I’m sure he’ll smooth my absence over. A sudden illness, perhaps, or a family emergency.
Anything but the truth.