Chapter 2
Zara
“How did last night go?” Laura, my cousin, asks as she sits down on my bed.
Laura is the only person outside of the house I have regular contact with. She’s taller than me by a good six inches, and she has the most amazing blonde hair and blue eyes that could rival any sapphire. She is so beautiful and has had her fair share of male friends. My mother and father don’t like her. They think she’s a bad influence and a trouble causer. Oh, and that she plays fast and loose with too many boys.
“It was okay. I managed to switch seats with a totally hot guy. You’ve heard of Drew Blackmoore?”
“Yeah, he’s like sex on legs. Did you get to speak to him?” she asks excitedly.
“One better than that . . . I got his number, and . . . Father has a meeting with him this morning. He’s still hell-bent on buying me a horse to make me stay at home more.”
“Where are you going to stable it?”
“That big building that he’s just had built at the entrance to the field, the one we thought was an annex for me . . . It’s stables. It even has central heating, a kitchen, and a bathroom.”
“At least you’ll have somewhere to escape to when he starts with the whole ‘You’re such a disappointment’ crap.”
“Yeah, but he’ll also know where to find me. I don’t want a horse. I love horses. I love your horses, especially Jasper, but I don’t want one of my own.”
“You know he’s doing this so you can’t move out like you threatened.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of his tactics, but I’m twenty-four, Laura, I don’t want to live with Mother and Father for the rest of my life. I want to experience things, have fun, be bad.”
“You wouldn’t even know where to start with the being bad, Zara.” She laughs at me.
“I would give it a bloody good go. I watch the TV programmes like Love Island and Big Brother , and I wonder how the hell those women have the confidence to walk around in a bikini in front of strangers on national TV and sleep in the same bed as a stranger.”
“That’s right . . . you’ve never had the totally dirty one-night stand thing, have you?”
“This isn’t about sex, Laura, it’s about experiencing life. I’ve been all over the world but with my parents. I’ve sat on the bow of the yacht and watched the paragliders overhead, wishing I could do that.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I wasn’t allowed. It wasn’t a good look for me to be photographed with my hair blowing and legs akimbo . . . Yada, yada, yada.”
“I’m sorry, Zara, I really am.” She rubs my back in sympathy.
“It might look like I’m a privileged, spoilt brat, but I’m nothing more than a prisoner.”
“Do you think you’ll ever find a man that can stand up to your father?” she asks, and I shake my head.
“No, my father has a knack of scaring everyone off, except you, of course. I do think that if our mothers weren’t sisters, he wouldn’t let you near the house.”
“Maybe you should run away—not forever, but for a few days. Make them realise what they are doing?”
“Laura, I don’t even have my own money. If I bought anything on my card, it would be traceable within minutes. Remember when I bought those Louboutin's? He went crazy until I told him that they were to go with a dress for a charity event.”
“Oh yeah, god forbid you would look out of place at one of those events. I don’t understand why you still go. I gave up years back.”
“I go because I have to. If I don’t go, I don’t have anywhere to live, and the gala season is just starting.”
I open the door to my walk-in wardrobe and look at all the expensive clothes. Every garment is designer, and I hate ninety percent of them. “Come on, take your pick. It’s time for a clear out. Just don’t take back the jeans and T-shirts that you gave me. Everything else, especially the dresses, you can have.”
My bedroom is huge. I have my own private full bathroom and walk-in wardrobes, and when I say wardrobes, I mean seven rows of outfits, each row stretching at least fifteen feet long. It’s bigger than some of the houses I see when being driven around.
“Have I ever told you that you’re my favourite cousin?”
“Mother would go mad if I was seen in the same outfit twice, so you might as well have them. You know the deal though . . .”
“When I’m finished with them, I donate them to charity.”
“Yeah, it makes me feel like I’m doing my bit. I don’t even want all these clothes, and more will be arriving soon. It’s gala season after all.”
“Just tell them no! Tell them you don’t want to do it anymore.”
“I wish it was as easy as you make it sound.”
“You won’t know until you try,” she says, and I give her a slight smile.
“I have tried. It caused World War III. Mother didn’t speak to me for a whole month, and my father didn’t do much better. He only spoke when it was really necessary to keep up appearances.”
“I really don’t know how you’ve coped all these years, and the fact you were home-schooled and didn’t even get the chance to go to prom, never mind college.”
“I feel like it’s all been wasted, too. I don’t even use my education.”
“I really do think you should just pack a bag and run away. Go and see the world on your terms.”
“Haven’t I already explained why I can’t?”
“Yeah, sorry. I just wish I could help you a bit more. If your father does buy you a horse, I’ll help you. Maybe he’ll let me rent a stall off him. We could do it together.”
“That would be great, but I don’t see it happening. This is all about keeping me away from the rest of the world, and that sadly includes you.”
“Are you going with him to look at this horse? You’ll need to have some sort of connection with it if it’s going to be yours.”
“He didn’t say I could but . . . Yes, I’m going to go. Hurry up and grab what you want. I need to get ready.”
Half an hour later, I race through the huge country manor house and wait by the front door, and when I see my father approaching, I can see I’ve already got a fight on my hands.
“What are you hanging around here for?” he snaps.
“I’m coming with you. I want to make sure that the horse and I will get along. It’s a lot of money to spend if it doesn’t like me and I end up not able to ride it.”
I can nearly see the cogs working as he thinks about it for a second, and a glimmer of hope appears in his eyes. “I suppose you should be present. After all, it is going to be yours and yours alone.”
“Thank you,” I reply and follow him out to the waiting car.
“Don’t be getting too friendly with this Blackmoore fella. He’s not our type,” he grumbles as I sit beside him in the car.
“He seemed perfectly respectable last night,” I say, smiling, remembering how hot he looked and how his eyes sparkled when he talked to me.
“He’s an American. Americans are good for nothing. They come over here and flash their money around and expect us all to bow down and kiss their feet. I don’t want you getting anywhere near friendly with him. He’s also a player, and you know what that means.”
“I do. I wasn’t thinking of asking him out on a date. I was only remarking on his behaviour last night.”
“Hmmm, well, we never see him with his wife, do we? . . . He’s either on his own or with some high-end hooker. I’m not asking . . . I’m telling you. Stay away. You see the horse, you pet the horse, and then you get back in the car. Do you understand?” he says, and his voice becomes deeper and more frustrated.
“Yes, Father. I understand.”
What the hell has Mr. Blackmoore done to piss off my father? I’ve heard about him before and even seen pictures of him in magazines, but I’ve never heard of any business dealings between him and Father. I’d ask, but I know he won’t tell me.
This isn’t unusual though. Every guy who crosses my path is a good for nothing creep, according to my parents. No one is good enough for their little girl, and it makes me so freaking angry. I once had a crush on one of the gardener’s apprentices. My father realised and had him fired. We had never even spoken two words to each other. I used to sit looking out of the window, wishing I had the courage to take him a cup of tea or a glass of water. My teacher must have told my father and poof he disappeared quicker than Houdini, never to be seen again.
As the car twists and turns down the country roads, I glance over at my father, who is concentrating on his phone as usual, his eyes glued to the screen. All I can see is green and red vertical lines on a white background. Obviously, the stock market is far more important than making conversation with his daughter.
We are only in the car for thirty minutes when we turn in to “Blackmoore Equestrian Centre”. The expanse of fields goes for miles. I can see the white railing of a training track, and there is even a grandstand that would put some small racecourses to shame.
I wonder if he holds his own private races here . . .
The car pulls up in front of a huge building that looks more like a hotel than a stable, and when I turn my head, I see the house. It’s modern and sleek. Black lines and glass. Nothing like my father’s house at all. There is not a single element of it that says history or heritage, but, strangely, it doesn’t look out of place. It suits Mr. Blackmoore. It matches his style perfectly.
“Don’t forget, you will not be making friends with this man. Am I clear?” my father asks, his eyes burning into mine.
“Yes, Father. I remember.”