Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
“Sometimes our greatest pain comes from our biggest disappointments.
And what are our disappointments if not lost hopes and dreams that were crushed over the harsh surface that’s reality?”
Lavender
Lavender
“So what do you have to offer?”
Grabbing a hundred-dollar bill from my purse, I put it on the table along with the empty water glass and get up, forcing a smile on my face as the man blinks in confusion. “Nothing.”
He leans back in his chair, his white shirt stretching over his wide shoulders, while his dark hair falls over his brown eyes, which narrow on me as anger flashes in them. I imagine he rarely has women talking back to him, although why is beyond me.
Even good looks can’t hide a rotten nature.
“Oh, so that’s how it is?” he muses, sipping his coffee and running his gaze over me, zeroing in on my cheek, and internally, I prepare myself for the blow.
I’ve been hit in that particular vulnerable spot so many times, it doesn’t hurt or surprise me anymore.
“News flash, darling. Women have the privilege of acting out only when they are beautiful and young.” I fist my hand.
“If I were you, I’d be happy I was interested at all, considering how my choices are endless.
Yours? Extremely limited. You must know it too since you cover that particular side of your face with your hair. ”
A familiar aching pain flares inside my chest, the festering wound still pouring poison on the remaining pieces of my soul and reminding me that I might have escaped a horrible fire all these years ago…
but I can never truly forget it or run away from it, for I see the reminders every single day in my life.
The weight of the hurt rushes through me, making me straighten up and shake my head at this man. I should have known better the minute he bumped into me during my usual lonely tea break that it would end like this. Rejecting or ignoring him earlier would have spared me this humiliating encounter.
I don’t go advertising my scars to everyone. I never hide them from people, either, to avoid this exact situation, although, ironically, men still end up saying some bullshit once they see them.
And it’s not like I actively seek them out. They all come to me themselves before taking a good look at me and running for the hills!
Maybe that’s why I’m still a virgin at thirty years old. Considering my circumstances, though, it wasn’t like I could have done anything in that regard up until last year, when I finally freed myself from my eleven-year-long lie.
“Is everything all right?” One of the servers comes to our table, concern written all over her face as she assesses the situation. “I was about to bring you our muffins. They are today’s special.”
By the slight nervousness ringing in her tone, I step back to study the environment around me and spot several people shooting curious looks our way who quickly go back to their phones and conversations when they meet my gaze.
Just great.
Located right in the center of New York, the coffee shop beams with life and joy as thousands of people rush past it on their way to work or to whatever adventure they have planned next.
The twenty tables are spread all over their territory with pink tablecloths and white porcelain from France. The owner is a French chef with a successful chain of restaurants worldwide.
Servers wearing pink pants and white shirts effortlessly navigate around the tables, periodically disappearing inside to pick up orders, only to return to the terrace holding heavy trays of food and drink for their excited customers.
Despite having some seating inside the coffee shop, no one ever sits there, since the weather and location are always perfect for outdoor dining.
There’s a reason it’s one of the most popular places in town.
And unfortunately, it’s my sister-in-law Emmaline’s favorite place to visit, so all the staff are familiar with me and hover over me like helicopters, ready to step in should anyone insult me.
Unfortunately, my scars almost scream vulnerability, and it makes the good people want to protect me from the cruelty of this world, which is ironic, considering it’s impossible.
Our world has no mercy for imperfections.
“Yes. I just remembered I have an appointment, so I’ll take the muffins to go.”
“Sure. I’ll be right out.” She sends the guy a side-eye before dashing off inside.
Once she’s away, I focus my attention on the man who lifts his brow at me, only to choke on his drink when I hook the strands of my hair behind my ear and show him my right side in all its scarred glory.
“My scars may limit my choices, but they don’t make me desperate or stupid.
” He opens his mouth to argue, only to grit his teeth when the server comes back, holding two bags.
The delicious smells waft through the air, making my stomach rumble.
Missing out on tasting pastries fresh from the oven is a far greater crime than the asshole dissing my looks. “Thank you, Emma.”
“My pleasure.”
The guy gets up, drops his own money, and smirks. I must have really hurt his ego for him to keep arguing. “You'd better be careful with this attitude and lower your standards.” He salutes me with his drink and finishes it. “Can’t be too greedy or you’ll be left with nothing.”
“Oh, you speak from experience?”
“You fu—”
I walk away from the guy, having no interest in hearing another insult thrown my way.
The black sedan is already waiting for me, and the driver jumps out, running around and opening the door wide for me.
“Miss Wright.” He greets me, and I smile, hopping inside and welcoming the warmth that instantly surrounds me, creating a protective cocoon that shields me from people’s cruelty.
No matter how much I try, I still can’t get used to their intrusive stares. Once it got so bad, I came home and researched the best plastic surgeons who could fix me.
However, the thought of anyone putting any kind of sedatives in me ever again turned me off from the idea.
I don’t take any painkillers, even at the dentist’s office, preferring to suffer from the pain rather than lose my consciousness.
No needles. That’s my new motto in life.
Once my driver is seated and has his hands on the steering wheel, I order, “Let’s go home, and please don’t mention this to my brothers.”
“Of course, miss,” he quickly says, catching my reflection in the review mirror and grinning at me, the wrinkles on his face deepening.
Uneasiness rushes through me at the kindness shining in his eyes.
The man has this whole good-grandpa vibe around him despite never having any grandkids, and maybe that’s why my brothers hired him to take me everywhere.
I can’t drive. In fact, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to do it. Sometimes the honking noises can freeze me to the spot or bring back unwanted memories. So one driving lesson was enough for me to ditch the idea.
Another thing forever stolen from me.
Biting my lip, I force myself to stop this trail of thoughts and focus only on the present, for the present might be cold and vicious, but it’s not painful.
It’s not unbearable either, and sometimes that’s enough.
It has to be enough because I won’t have anything more anytime soon.
Resting my head against the seat, I roll down the window as Gordon starts the car and drives into the narrow road leading to my brother’s penthouse located in the center of the city.
After all, I don’t owe a dime to my name, and my lack of education makes me a less-than-ideal candidate for any work.
So I have to rely on the generosity of my two billionaire brothers, who are so eager to share their wealth with me.
“How was your lunch, Miss Lavender?” Gordon asks, and turns to the right as several cars honk around us, and my fingers curl on my lap while I swallow hard. “You had a busy week at school. Midterms are coming up soon, right? It seems like you’ve just started the semester.”
“Yes, I have to study a lot.” Concentration is still a hard skill for me to master, but I’m getting there. “It’s my first semester, so I have almost four years to go.”
Then I can get a job and hopefully buy myself a house in the middle of nowhere, and run away from everyone’s pity, which currently feels like a golden chain wrapped around my throat, forcing me to act a certain way.
My prison no longer consists of white walls and constant sedatives, but it’s a prison nevertheless.
“Bachelor of Arts, right?” He catches my eye in the rearview mirror once again, and I nod. “What made you choose that?”
I sigh inwardly because pointless chitchat is Gordon’s way of bonding, and since he’s always so nice, I have to engage in them. “I loved reading about various cultures and their myths in school, so it seemed appropriate.”
“Was it your dream to specialize in mythological studies?” He honks at the driver who almost crashes into him from the left and smoothly maneuvers the car in a different direction, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. “Fucker.”
His barely audible mutter makes my lips twitch. “No. I wanted to be a doctor.”
His brow furrows. “Why not pursue a medical career then?”
“Because it’s impossible.” He opens his mouth to argue, so I beat him to it. “Even studying mythology is hard for me. So it is what it is.”
Besides, after all these doctors exhausted me with needles and tests over the years, the profession lost its appeal.
“It’s never too late for anything, Miss Lavender,” he says softly as he stops at the red traffic light. “Life is full of surprises.”
“And that’s a myth.” Some things in life have expiration dates, and no matter how much everyone claims you can do whatever at any age…it’s not true.
At thirty, you are supposed to be a grown adult with several relationships, friends, and work experience that allow you to be independent.
Not a lonely, lost girl who doesn’t fit anywhere, especially with men my age who look for experience where there is innocence.