Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
He remains seated across the table from me, and asks, “Would you like to talk outside?”
No, but I can’t seem to voice the response. I know that look in his eyes, the unforgiving tone, the control he has not only over me but also anything and anyone I care about. Or did. Keats couldn’t save me, even if he wanted to back then, but he saved himself. I’ve always found peace in that knowledge. He looked good last time I saw him, healthy, and I can only hope he’s living the life he always dreamed. I never want to be responsible for ruining his life or my father taking that away from him.
It’s only me left. I must save myself, and leaving is my only way out. I’ll go silently in the night, sneaking out like I used to in high school, but this time, come dawn, I’ll be long gone. He’ll never have another say in my life if I can get the resources together to get out first.
I breathe easier with a plan. It’s something I should have done years ago, but fear has kept me paralyzed. No longer. I’ll play along tonight and escape by morning. “No,” I reply, finding my voice again, and I sit down, which is expected of me.
CHAPTER 15
SOSIE
“Wow,” I say, glancing up at Gregory, “this is quite the turnout for a company party on Christmas Eve.” The pub is packed, but I guess when the boss of the shipping division is picking up the tab, a party with your coworkers is enticing for some.
Am I being too harsh? For all I know, Lafoon Industries could be an amazing place to work. That would say something about the family itself. Mentally, though, I’m already miles away from this place and them. It doesn’t matter if he’s nice or they treat everyone like gold. I was born into the wrong family, so there’s no way in hell I’m marrying into the copy-paste version.
Two suitcases.
One for clothes.
One for shoes and bags.
“We’re announcing bonuses tonight,” he says, leaning toward my ear while rubbing between my shoulder blades.
Dinner was exactly what they preferred. Polite small talk among the women while the men talked business. Nothing controversial was introduced, especially not me being unhappy or wishing I were anywhere other than there with them. They didn’t even notice I stopped participating, choosing to spend my time mentally packing my bags. “That’s exciting,” I reply half-heartedly.
Grab my jewelry from the safe behind the dresser.
“I have a few other announcements I think you’ll enjoy as well.” He winks at me with a tilt of his head. He’s an attractive man, and sometimes when he looks at me, like he is now, I can see him planning our future together. A white picket fence . . . if that was a thing in Manhattan, two to four kids, and me waiting for him at home when he returns in the evenings. The whole picture is laid out so clearly that I could almost mistake it for a photograph.
Would it be that horrible to be caged by a man who loves me?
I blink, the image clearing, and the loneliness of that life setting in. I’d have the wife title, but never truly his heart after giving him what he wants. I’ve seen how that kind of life plays out, with my mom and Mrs. Lafoon as prime examples.
I can’t forget Winifred the wallaby at the top of my closet.
Gregory stops in front of me and takes my coat from my hands. “The ride over and then dinner got off to a rough start, but I’m glad you seem happier now.” I don’t bother telling him I’m an Oscar-worthy actress at this stage in my life. He asks, “What would you like to drink?”
Happiness by the gallon, a pool full of the freedom to live life on my terms, and to love by the oceans full. Instead, I reply, “Espresso martini, please.”
Sometimes I’m not sure if it’s fair to take my predicament out on him. He’s stuck in this like I am. The difference is that he’s made his intentions for me clear and been more than patient with my swinging-from-the-chandelier emotions. He’s not forcing me to do anything. My parents are. Extortion via my own family wasn’t something I expected, but I’m not willing to risk further damage to a life I deserve to live. A shiver runs down my spine from the darker feeling that’s been troubling me for some time. My father’s threats have started to sound like they’re more than verbal in the tone he uses with me. Leaving is the only choice I have left. They’ll never see me again if I have my wish.
The stack of cards I’ve collected over the years are tucked into the top drawer of my dresser. I can’t forget those.