Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Father says a few more words, then hangs up, but he doesn’t bother to stand. “What is this, Lottie?” His voice is stern and straight to the point. He uses that tone when he’s not impressed with something I’m about to do or have already done.
“Mr. Snow…” Whiskey greets, and Father nods his head.
“Lottie?” Father questions with a harshness just like my mother’s. They are obviously both suspicious, and the anger seething from both of them is becoming awkward.
Taking a deep breath, Whiskey squeezes my side letting me know he’s there, which is a small comfort, I suppose. “I have an announcement…” My voice shakes, dammit! I try to remind myself that I need to begin this as someone who’s not scared, but a woman in love.
What a laugh that is.
“I’m engaged,” I spit it out like it’s a bad taste in my mouth, and then I pull my hand free from behind my purse. I had it hiding the ring. “Surprise!”
My mother grabs my hand and looks at the ring to make sure it’s real. “This is a joke, right?” she asks, her hand squeezing mine a little harder than I’m sure she intended, so I pull my hand free.
“No.”
“You didn’t seem that interested in him at the gala.” My father poses the question more like a statement. I didn’t even realize he saw us together.
This is go time. I need to make this lie believable. Make it sound legitimate. “I wasn’t ready to tell you then.”
“And you are now?” he asks. “You know who he is, right? What’s changed?”
“This,” I say, holding out my ring hand again, avoiding his other question.
“Is this what you really want?” my mother asks, almost in a whisper. “We can make this go away.”
“I’m right here, Mrs. Snow,” Whiskey finally speaks up.
“No, I don’t want you to make it go away. This is what I want.”
“We’re planning the wedding already. The date’s set, and it’ll be in a few weeks. We hope to see you both attend.”
I try not to roll my eyes at him interjecting and telling them that.
“No way! You can’t marry someone that’s associated with your father; he’s a criminal!” my mother’s voice screeches.
“I’ve been seeing him for a year now,” I reply. Defending what? I don’t even know.
“You were with Clinton.” Oh yes, Clinton. The one they approved of.
“No. We met after Clinton.”
“You think we should just buy into this? That for some reason you want to get married. You’ve clammed up every time I brought up marriage to you. And what? Now you want it? And this soon? You expect your mother and me to just accept this?”
He’s blackmailing me! I want to scream it as loudly as I can, but I know it’s useless. If I want my father’s reputation saved, I have to suck this up.
“This is what I want. I simply wanted the power to choose the man of my dreams.”
My father nods his head. “Well, at least you picked someone with a good head.”
Ah-huh, now come the compliments.
My father’s face changes, and I know instantly he’s seeing the business side of this, instead of what it should be, a marriage of his daughter to a man who’s not that good.
Father’s cruel in that regard. I see it the minute Father realizes what it will do for his standing and career. Let’s face it, there’s never any regard for what might be best for me.
“What do you need from me?” my father asks, then eyes Whiskey. “We will talk more about this wedding at a later date, congrats are in order.” My father turns to my mother, and she hands him a glass of champagne. We all take one, but I make no move to drink mine.
Whiskey’s hand drops from my side, his comfort, or what I thought was comfort, vanishes, and I almost feel the loss.
Almost.
Whiskey’s quiet as he drives me back to my place. We left my parents’ home after the celebratory drink and lunch. They all drank and ate while I sat there trying to work out if I’m having a nightmare or if this really is real.
It can’t be real.
But for some reason, I can’t seem to wake up.
“You aren’t close with your parents, are you? I presumed you were.”
“Well, you presumed wrong,” I say, not even bothering to turn and look at him.
“So why do you care so much about their reputation?”
“Because he is my father, and reputation to him is everything, it means more than his own blood.”
“Do you want to go to your apartment or see your new home?” he asks, changing the subject.
I have no idea if he lives still in the same place, nor do I care. I guess it would be smart to see, but right now I’m not in the mood. At all.
“Home,” I say.