5. Vivianna
VIVIANNA
The weather report lied. Why did I think I could trust it anyways?
I rode my bike home in a steady drizzle, soaking me down to the bone.
When I finally made it home, I was so focused on getting inside that I didn’t immediately notice the sleek black sedan with British flags fluttering near the headlights.
Once I saw it, I froze and thought about turning around and going anywhere but into my house.
That car meant one thing: my father had come for a visit. I wasn’t shocked that he knew where I lived or that he was able to let himself in to wait for me. This was just a typical stunt my father pulled to prove to me that I would always be trapped by him.
Before I could make my retreat, the front door opened and a young woman with bright red hair was smiling at me.
I would venture to guess this was Annette, who I’d talked to the night before.
My father had a thing for redheads—even my mother once had beautiful red hair before it’d started turning white.
“Miss Beck, I presume,” Annette said.
It struck me funny that she was checking when she was the stranger who’d let herself into my home.
I took a deep breath and brushed past her, not feeling sorry when my bike tire smeared against her skirt, leaving a muddy path behind.
She should have known better than to be in my way. It’s my goddamn house!
“I’m guessing my father is here,” I said, grabbing a ratty towel out of the coat closet to place under my bike.
“He is waiting for you in the living room and will see you once you’re cleaned up,” Annette informed me.
Well, fancy that, I was being allowed to shower and change in my own home before greeting an uninvited guest. Fuck that shit. I would see him now so he could get the hell out.
I walked into the kitchen and plopped my bag on the counter, pulling out my cell and connecting it to the charger.
Deciding that a caffeine boost was in order—especially for this conversation—I filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove to heat up.
I then went to the cabinet and grabbed my favorite mug that said “Coffee saves lives… mostly yours.”
I know I was British, and I was supposed to be tea-obsessed, but I was a doctor, and there was something about coffee that gave me life. Even so, right now I needed the joy and comfort that a cup of tea brought. I was definitely going to need some comforting during whatever my father had planned.
“How long do you intend to ignore my presence, Vivianna?” My father’s voice carried down the short hall between the kitchen and the living room.
I sighed heavily. “Was forever an option?” I mumbled to myself as I poured the hot water into the cup and plopped a tea bag in.
Squaring my shoulders, I tried to rally myself up for this meeting.
It had been fifteen years since we had laid eyes on each other.
Whatever he had to talk to me about must be quite important to him.
My guess was that when my boss turned down his offer to fire me, he knew he needed to come and deal with me in person.
I entered the living room to see him sitting on my large leather wingback chair. It happened to be my favorite chair to read in since I could curl up in it perfectly. Now I was going to have to drag it out back and burn the traitorous bitch.
“Lovely to see that you made yourself at home,” I said, plastering a smile on my face.
The only thing my father did in response to my passive-aggressive comment was cross his legs and settle his hands in his lap. My father was a master at keeping a poker face. His trick was always to look disinterested in everything and everyone.
Even though it’d been fifteen years, little about him had changed.
His face was weathered with age and his hair a dark steel-grey peppered with white, but you could still see the handsome man that he’d been in his younger years.
His herringbone suit was cut to fit him perfectly—he always had them custom-made for him from the finest tailors—and his pocket square was a deep wine-red that perfectly matched his tie.
Everything about my father demanded perfection, and if you were less than, you felt uncomfortable in his presence.
Unsure of how to handle this situation, I stood there, holding my mug and sipping my tea, slurping loudly. My comment may not have gotten a reaction out of him, but I knew what buttons to push.
“Vivianna,” my father snapped, his eyebrows snapping together in a scowl.
Ha! Score one for Viv.
“Sit. Down,” my father directed while pointing a finger at the couch.
Ah, we are going to play this game, the battle of wills. I make a move, he makes a move, I try to win, he lets me, only to crush me in the next round. I had just gotten my one win in this interaction.
I turned and walked over to the couch, sitting as far away from him as possible. I may not be able to win another round, but that didn’t mean I had to play fair. I was an adult now; he couldn’t bend me over his knee and spank me for my disobedience.
Or so I thought.
“You look well,” my father said, deciding to start the conversation now that I’d followed orders.
“As do you. Fifteen years and you haven’t aged a day,” I said, unable to keep from adding in a jab.
“You know as well as I do that my life is not my own. I am here to serve this great country and its people. Its demands are great, and sacrificing time with my family has been one of the costs,” my father said, giving me his diplomatic bullshit.
Good to know nothing’s changed.
“What matter of great importance has forced you to bribe my boss into firing me and bringing you here to talk to me in person?” I said, praying this conversation would be brief.
Even though today hadn’t been crazy at work, I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, and I was missing another night of boxing. I needed that outlet to keep from going crazy. Add this onto my emotional plate, and I was going to need a valium.
“You misunderstand my intention; I only want what’s best for you. St Thomas Hospital is well known, but it is not the best. I have managed to secure a job for you in St. Petersburg, Russia, at the prestigious International Clinic where the prominent leaders get medical attention,” he explained.
I bolted out of my seat, gaping at him. “What the fuck?!”
“Vivianna, language!” my father said, slamming his fist on the arm of the chair like a gavel.
“What gives you the right to do such a thing? Why, after fifteen years, have you come to destroy my life? I’m happy here, in my home, doing my job at the hospital of my choice,” I snarled, feeling my blood pressure rising.
“You will not talk to me in such a manner. I am your father, and I have every right to make sure that you are making the best choices for your life. I have let you have time to venture out into the world and have your freedom, but now is the time for you to step in line,” my father asserted, pinning me with his gaze.
“Oh god, there’s more, isn’t there?” I groaned, sinking back to the couch.
My father brushed imaginary dirt off his pant leg, then folded his hands back in his lap and looked up to meet my eyes. “I have also arranged for your marriage.”
I sat there, stunned by the bomb that he just dropped on me.
As soon as my brain registered all the words he said, I was back out of my seat and stalking over to him.
If smoke could have come out of my ears like the cartoons, I’m sure it would have been pouring out.
I felt a rage deep inside that I never knew that I had, but I guess it would take a blow this big to bring it out in me.
“Get. The. Fuck. Out,” I demanded, shaking from the effort of holding back my fury.
“Watch yourself, Vivianna. Just because you are my daughter does not mean that I won’t have you arrested if you harm me,” he said, lifting his chin and sitting back in the chair.
I started to laugh; I couldn’t hold it back. This asshole thought I was worried about getting arrested? Bring it on! Maybe it would keep me from having to get married to some stranger my psycho of a father had picked out for me.
At that thought, I snapped. I hurled my mug at his feet, smashing it to bits, tea splashing up onto his pants.
“I will not ask again. Get the hell out of my house and never come back,” I said, my chest heaving. “Better yet, stay away from me. Forget that I’m your daughter, or I promise you, I’ll do something that I’ll deserve to get arrested for.”
My father stood slowly, shaking each foot to dislodge the ceramic bits from his shoes.
He looked down his nose and swiftly backhanded me.
All my years of boxing, and I didn’t even see it coming.
My father had never once raised a hand to my mother or me.
He had always believed there was a diplomatic way to get what he wanted.
Obviously, when diplomacy failed, even he would resort to violence.
“Don’t ever presume to threaten me again. You have no idea what I’m capable of.” With that parting remark, he made his way to the front door, shrugged into his coat with Annette’s assistance, and walked out.
I raised a shaking hand to my cheek, feeling the heat from where he hit me.
I knew my father was a cold man, but I never once thought he would stoop so low as to marry me off or hit me.
I needed to get away. I needed to run. Most of all, I needed to make sure my father could never find me.
And for that, I was going to need a plan.