Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 166(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 166(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Chapter Thirteen
My father insisted we leave a few minutes early so he could inform the doorman that we’d be receiving guests. I knew he wanted to be alone with me, somewhere he could confront me about the events I’d set into motion. Fortunately, I was saved from this interrogation for the time being by Maddox’s insistence that we share a cab with him and Kristin. She slid onto the leather seat after me and crossed her legs, graceful, birdlike. A seagull who would not stop squawking.
Maddox watched me in the rearview mirror from the passenger’s seat, his gaze bold and unwavering. He wanted me to know I was of interest to him.
We made small talk in the elevator, my father thumbing at his phone while Kristin rambled, and I made encouraging non-word noises with my throat. He hadn’t said a word to me since we’d left the restaurant, hadn’t so much as glanced in my direction. Still, I could sense his anger acutely in the muscles of my shoulders and neck, like gravity dragging me to the ground as we climbed skyward.
The metal doors parted. My father let us into the apartment, leaving the front door ajar for the remaining guests. He poured glasses of wine for Maddox and Kristin, and a tumbler of scotch for himself. I was about to pour myself a drink when my father put his hand over my glass.
“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice rumbled at a simmer, quiet and controlled. Maddox and Kristin had drifted into the living area, far enough to escape our conversation, but not so far that even a quiet standoff would go unnoticed for long.
“Getting a drink,” I said.
His stiff posture made him seem more formidable than usual. He took my glass and filled it with water from the tap, then plunked it on the countertop in front of me. Water sloshed over the sides and onto the stone.
“Sometimes I forget that you’re still a teenager,” he said. “Then you pull this shit and I’m reminded of just how immature you can be.”
“You don’t seem to mind my immaturity when I’m sucking your cock.”
“Watch your fucking mouth,” he growled. The disapproval in his stare was sharp enough to pierce muscle and bone. I grasped my elbows, wishing I could collapse in on myself like a star, brilliant and destructive. How cute, I thought, the man who’d been missing-in-action for most of my adolescence was disappointed.
Until recently, his last memory of me had consisted of a gangly kid in braces shouting, “See you next weekend, Daddy,” from the front stoop. He had no idea how much or how little I had matured since he left, and no clue how his disappearance had stunted me. Time had stopped the day I realized he was never coming back.
My heart cracked like an egg, oozing blood-red yolk into the pit of my stomach.
“I’m just giving you a taste of what you missed,” I said. “Parenting is hard, but you wouldn’t know anything about that.”
He balled his hands on the countertop like he was struggling not to use them.
“Have you forgotten that I raised you for twelve years?” he rumbled. “I know damn well how hard it is to stay calm when your kid throws a tantrum because they want something, and you won’t give it to them. I just didn’t think I’d still be dealing with that kind of behavior at your age.”
He was only half-right. I wasn’t courting chaos because he wouldn’t fuck me, though I still wanted him to. I was shaking the tree and assessing the dropped fruit, looking for clues I’d been too distracted to notice while I was busy falling in love. Once again, I’d found myself in the position of being coddled like a child who couldn’t handle the truth. After trusting him with so much of myself, it felt like the ultimate betrayal.
I hissed, “And you think you can keep your conscience clean by fucking my mouth instead of my pussy.”
Kristin’s laughter pierced the air. My father glanced over my shoulder, no doubt to make sure she and Maddox were still out of earshot.
“Trust me, sweetheart, my conscience is anything but clean.”
“You’re a liar. Just like Mom.”
“I never lied to you, Paige.”
“A lie of omission is still a lie,” I said a little too forcefully.
The elevator dinged in the hallway, spilling the gaggle of drunken painters, art dealers, and stupidly wealthy collectors from its maw. They filed into the apartment, remarking on the incredible views and my father’s impressive collection of Baroque paintings. He shot me a stern glance before going to greet them.
I dumped the water down the sink and refilled the glass with three fingers of scotch. The caramel-colored liquor burned my throat and raised the temperature of my blood. My head felt swimmy after just a few sips.