Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Bryn
When I enter the driveway to get to my family home, dread pools in my belly. I hate living here. If there's anything at all I want to do this year, it's make enough money at my boutique to get a place of my own. I don’t want to be obligated to my father any more than is absolutely necessary.
Not that my father will let me go easily.
Our family home is a beautiful, elegant, ridiculously ostentatious place smack dab in the centre of Inverness. While other people maintain privacy and distance, my family prefers to be the center of attention apparently.
That isn’t the reason I hate going home, though.
Every inch of this place has an unpleasant memory of one sort or another.
The entryway where I once saw my father slap my mother’s face for talking back to him.
The bathroom down here, where I nursed a wound one night when my father threw a wine glass at me in a fit of rage and it shattered, a glass shard piercing my palm.
The kitchen, tended by an ill-tempered chef, who I swear would poison my father’s meals if he wasn’t under close supervision from the staff.
And on and on it goes. The living room, my least favorite room in the house because of the stifling heat and sickeningly sweet smell of melted candle wax because my mother burns candles to blot out Dad’s cigarette smoke.
Thick pillars in the front lobby like a museum, pristine carpets and wall hangings, plastic-covered furniture. I hate it. I despise it. Loathe every moment of living in this place.
I want out, but according to my father, no daughter of his moves out unless she’s married. And according to him, no daughter of his gets married without his consent.
I’ve considered leaving more times than I can count.
I've made my plans, even. I have money squirreled away in a small, secret savings account, and I've sold small pieces of jewelry that he's bought me over the years.
Nothing has sentimental value. Nothing has meaning.
I know that everything he's bought has been because of what he does and who he is.
But even in an unhappy, unpleasant home, it's scary to think of where I would go. He would always find me.
One time when I was twelve years old, I actually did it. I'm not even sure why, or what instigated it. I packed up my things and left in the middle of the night, and didn't even get as far as the train station. I was discovered by one of his men, brought home, and summarily punished.
He withdrew me from school. I was taught at home with a tutor and lost every privilege.
I haven’t tried since.
Now that I’m a legal adult, he’s given me leave to work in town with a bodyguard stationed nearby, but he thinks I work for a seamstress.
He doesn’t pay any attention to my “wee job” because it’s inconsequential to him.
He doesn’t need the money, so why should I?
Any career I’d pursue is a waste of time, for I’ll end up married in the end anyway.
According to him.
But what he doesn’t know is I’ll never marry. I’d rather be single for the rest of my life than end up wed or, worse, bearing the fucking children, of someone he forces me to be with.
So every time I go home, I’ve come to expect the feeling I get, the overwhelming blend of sadness, apprehension, and fear. I've tried all sorts of tricks to overcome this, but nothing works. Nothing but expecting it, and bracing for it.
The first thing I do when I pull in the driveway is to see if my dad's black SUV is there.
It doesn't really matter if it is, because he owns several cars, and he may have loaned the SUV to my brother or one of his men.
But still, I somehow convince myself that he is not going to be home if it isn't there.
The other reason it doesn't matter is because he isn't the only one I want to avoid.
My brother lurks where my father doesn’t. I dread him almost as much as my father. He's just as evil as he is.
Sometimes I wonder if I am, if it’s in my DNA.
But today, the black SUV is parked right where it always is. And I know he's inside, because he called for me. He's waiting for me. I have no idea what he wants this time, but it's never good.
I hold my head high and walk to the front door, my heels clicking on the pavement.
I like to imagine it empowers me. Sometimes I fear it just makes me more noticeable.
My bodyguard is close behind, but he takes a moment to speak with a guard at the door before he comes in behind me.
Excellent. This is one of my mini tricks, waiting until they're socializing with one of their friends and making a quick run for it.
I don't even really need to. There's nothing I'm hiding, and I'm not trying to escape. I just want to see if I can do it, in preparation for tonight. There's a certain adrenaline rush in leaving my bodyguard behind and knowing that nobody's with me. So I step in into the foyer, and as soon as his back is turned, I slip quickly into the tiny toilet on the main floor. I shut and lock the door, and listen to see if he’s coming in. I hear his heavy footsteps a few minutes later, and then his voice. He’s speaking in a hushed whisper, for if he lets anyone know he’s lost me, he’ll be punished. I won’t take it that far, though. I may have my methods, but I’m not mean.
So when I hear him start down the hall, I come out.
“Oh, hello,” I say with a smile. “Looking for me?”
His eyes narrow, and he folds his arms across his chest. “Where did you go so quickly, and why?”
“Just came in to powder my nose,” I say with a smile. He doesn’t buy it, but he can’t say anything against me either.
I brush past him, heading to my father’s office. “I have a meeting with my father, no need for you to eavesdrop. I’ll find you when we’re done.”
He shakes his head. “I won’t leave until I have your father’s permission.”
Excellent. Also part of my plan.
“Of course,” I say, nodding. “He doesn’t like to be interrupted, though…” I pull out my phone, pretending to dial my father. “I’ll just tell him you want a word…”
Panic flits across his features, and he blanches. “I’ll be in the kitchen. You do not leave here without coming to get me, understood?”
“Aye, of course.” I flash him a winsome grin. He rolls his eyes and walks away.
If I play this right, it’ll be a lot easier to ditch him tonight that I thought.
Once I know the coast is clear, I knock on my father’s door.
“Who is it?”
I jump at the sound of his angry voice. I should be used to it by now, but apparently not.
“It’s me, Bryn.”
“Ah, Bryn, my love. Come in.” I flinch at the use of endearments. That’s always a bad sign.
I open the door and enter his office, wrinkling my nose involuntarily at the smell of cigarette smoke and whisky.
My father must have something on his mind if he’s locked up in here.
He does this from time to time, subsisting on cigarettes and whisky, having his meals brought to his desk.
He sleeps on the couch and doesn’t leave this room for days on end.
The last time he did this he’d gotten into a fight with my mother.
I saw Mum this morning, though, and she seemed fine. She didn’t mention anything about my father’s binge-working, though.
“Everything alright?” I ask. Despite the fact that I loathe the man, a part of me can’t help but be concerned. I wish it wasn’t so. I wish I could detach myself mentally from him the way I can with so many other things, but it isn’t possible with him. Ever.
He leans back in his chair and lights a cigarette. I cringe. I hate the smell.
“Everything’s fine, love. And how about with you?”
I smile, pulling out the chair in front of the desk and sitting down as far away from him as I can.
It’s a shame how much I hate him now.
There was a brief time when I was younger that I almost liked him. I’d learned to follow the rules and his expectations, and rarely rocked the boat. I thought maybe I could learn to get along with him, that I’d finally be the daughter he deserved.
That seems so long ago now. I close my eyes, willing myself to forget how things changed, when his rage made me harden my heart against him.
“Oh, I’m good,” I say. I’m not one to beat around the bush. “Why did you call me?”
He shifts in his chair and gives me a long look before he speaks. The feeling of dread intensifies, and I’m suddenly afraid I’m going to be sick. He knows something.
“Tell me again how work was?”
Shit.
“Good. Very good—”
“Don’t lie to me!” He slams his palm on the desk in front of him so hard, I jump, and a little shower of paperclips falls to the floor.
Oh, God. Of all the things my father despises, lying and betrayal are two of the worst. There was no warning this time, though. No warning at all.
“What do you mean?” I say, trying to keep my dignity. “What is it?” I don’t know why I’m putting off the inevitable, though. If he knows about the shop, I may as well own it. “Is this because of my job?”
His lips pinch together, and his eyes narrow. “Job,” he snorts. “You mean the business you lied about. The useless failure of a shop.”
I ignore the wave of sadness he makes me feel and swallow the large lump in my throat. It’s quickly followed by a flash of anger. I’ll keep my temper.
“Is there something I can help you with, then?”
He glares, and I snap. I get to my feet. I’m ready to leave. I don’t care if someone follows me. I don’t care if he does himself. If he’s brought me here just to mock me—
“Sit down.” His voice is a deadly whisper. I’m smart enough to do what he says. I’m fuming inside, but I keep myself calm.
“I’m not as dumb as you think, Bryn,” he says, but his voice is sad, not as angry as he was before. I know him, though. This is how he plays things, how he manipulates people into thinking he’s forgiven them, he’s forgotten, that he doesn’t plan on seeking the revenge he’s absolutely going to get.
“I didn’t think you were—”
“Be quiet.” His words cut like a whip, and I flinch as if struck.