When We're Alone

“I had the top down,” I explain, not wanting him to think I’ve looked like this all day, because that’ll make him worse.

“I suggest you stop. I got you that thing because you begged for it. Don’t make me regret it.” God forbid I enjoy my own gift for fear of looking less than perfect, but I nod as my mum comes in to ask him something. She doesn’t even acknowledge me. Not out of rudeness, I’ve accepted, but because she doesn’t even register that I’m here. It’s not important to her. We can go weeks without saying a word to each other, even if we do have dinner as a family every Friday. I’m sure she only had a child to appease my father, and even then, it wasn’t quite right—I wasn’t the boy he’d hoped would take over his company—so now I have to be the perfect girl to attract the son he always wanted.

To be fair, Mum did okay in that respect. Even I can admit that most people would describe me as at least pretty. My dark hair and green eyes might not be typical “trophy wife,” but I take after my mum and inherited her big eyes, plump lips, and dainty nose. Shame that’s about all I’ll be inheriting. I use the distraction of my mum to head out to the kitchen, but I’m not as lucky as I’d hoped.

“Don’t eat a thing. Dinner’s in a few hours, and we’d hate for you to not fit into your dress.”

That fucking dress. We’ve got another ball tomorrow, and they’re the bane of my existence. Not only because the women in our circle are paraded around, shown off to all the eligible bachelors in town, but also because my father’s scrutiny multiplies tenfold in the lead-up to these events and I spend most of the time starving. It wouldn’t be as bad if there was actually something for him to complain about, but I’m in great shape, and I know for a fact that I have a fast metabolism. I sneak-eat crap with Millie all the time, and still, my body stays the same. Not that I’d ever admit that to Dad. If there’s one silver lining to these events, it’s that I avoid the worst of his anger in the lead-up to the big night. Can’t be going around with visible bruises. Small blessings, I guess.

I halt and change directions, getting a sympathetic smile from Carrie—our maid, and my favourite person in our household—before heading upstairs to my room to change into something more comfortable and crank out some assignment work. Maybe if my brain is aching, I won’t notice my stomach.

At dinner, all I hear about is the ball. My father’s been dropping the name of a new business associate into conversation for weeks, but now, seeing him tomorrow night is all he can talk about. Mum murmurs weak agreements next to him while I tune them out. Active participation has never been necessary in a conversation with my father, and I don’t ever remember Mum engaging past mumbles. He keeps on talking anyway.

I know a lot about my father’s business, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you one thing about my mum, not one. I don’t know her favourite food, what TV she likes, or her favourite pastime. She seems to exist only to agree with my father, and I don’t think it’s coercion from him. At least, not in an obvious way. I’ve never seen him yell at her or intimidate her, and he doesn’t get physical with her like he does me, unless she’s just better at hiding the bruises than I am. But I got my pale skin from her, so I doubt it. It’s like she’s an empty vessel who cares for nothing but placating him. I thought I did a pretty good job of mimicking her when I was at home, but clearly not good enough.

“Foster’s son will ask you to dance, and you will say yes.” My father’s words bring my full attention back, and I nod, because that’s all he’s expecting of me. “You’d better hope you can get into that dress.” I can, and we both know I can. I don’t know why he feels the need to mention it. There goes my chance of greeting everyone politely and hiding in a corner with Millie. Now I’ll have to be on form for this guy, whoever he is. Smile, laugh, compliment. All I know is that my father’s new friend is impressing the crap out of all the old money in this town, and that intrigues me, but not enough to want to play nice with his son. What my father doesn’t realise is if he gave me half a chance, I would show that I could run his company better than any of the men I was forcefully enrolled in my business degree to snare. But that’s okay, I’m going to graduate with honours and make my own name for myself anyway.

My father has been vocal about the type of husband he wants for me since I was young. It’s on brand for him, at least. He has spent my whole life preening me into the perfect Stepford wife, after all, but all the times I’ve been encouraged to spend time with men so far have gone nowhere. Now that I’ve got less than a year until I’m twenty-one and I’m so close to finishing my time at university, I can feel the shackles loosening in my mind. So close. As Carrie takes my plate away, giving me the only warm smile I get in this house, I wipe at my mouth with the linen napkin.

“May I be excused?”

“You may.” That was my father, obviously. As if Mum would speak when he could. “What are your plans for this evening?”

“I was hoping to go to Millie’s. My assignments are done.”

“I don’t see why you have to choose her to leech onto. Leila’s much better suited.” He means her parents are much better suited for him, but I cannot stand that girl. I do my part when I’m at the university and for big events, but there’s no way I’m willingly spending any extra time with her, or any of the others except Millie. She might not be as close to the top as Leila, but only my father would think being the fifth richest family to come out of Highland this year wasn’t good enough. His acceptance must mean Foster’s stratospheric rise to the top was even more impressive.

I don’t answer, again. I’ve gotten pretty good at knowing when he actually wants a response rather than just taking the opportunity to throw a barb at me. “I want you home by midday to get ready for the ball.” I nod again, feeling like one of those dogs takeaway shops keep on their counters, and rush upstairs. I already have a bag packed. My father hasn’t said no to me staying at Millie’s on a Friday for months, one of my only freedoms, so it was a pretty safe bet. Hauling it over my shoulder, I leave through the kitchen so I can say goodbye to Carrie and slip out the back door.

I drive over to Millie’s taking the short route this time, feeling excited to get ready and go out. Our Friday night blow-outs are my favourite time of the week. Millie’s parents are lovely and know me better than my own at this point. They seem to see and accept me for who I am, not the stuck-up rich girl my parents want me to be. I step into their house and beam when I see her mum.

“Hi, Mrs. Eli!”

“Hi, Ava, darling! How’s your week been?” She’s given up telling me to call her anything other than Mrs. Eli; some manners are too ingrained in me to change.

“Not too bad. Prepping for the ball, you know?”

“So salads all week? That’s no way to live.” She rolls her eyes but doesn’t scold, seeming sad at the situation.

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, good thing Millie just took your snack tray outside. Make sure you line that empty stomach before you head out.”

See? So much more relaxed than my parents. I smile and thank her, heading out their patio doors and around the pool. Millie has moved out into their pool house recently, and the place is stunning. It’s basically one big open space, like a studio apartment without the full kitchen, and it’s the most relaxing space ever. Especially when it’s quiet enough to hear the water falling over the edge of the infinity pool. You technically don’t need to go through the main house to get there, with a side gate leading into the garden, but I love to see her parents.

“Hey, Mills. Your mum said something about snacks?” I take my sunglasses off as I step through her glass doors. She laughs and points to the coffee table from her spot at her dressing table.

“Your favourites, of course. Sometimes I think she loves you more than me.” I hang my dress up next to hers on the back of the door, my black velvet strapless mini next to her red bandage-style dress with a frill hem. I grab a bag of Tostito Scoops and a jar of chunky salsa, also grabbing a bag of Crispy M&M’s at the last second. A well-rounded meal, I think. Making my way over to where Millie’s doing a killer winged eyeliner, I settle myself down with my loot.

“You’re getting ready early.” Normally I have to pry her out of bed and remind her what we’re doing, but she already has a drink next to her. She loves our Fridays as much as I do, but she tends to read after school, and it’s hard to pull her away once she’s engrossed in a book.

“Yeah, I’m in a book hangover,” she replies with a sigh. That explains it. Millie reads more books than anyone I’ve ever known—specifically, steamy paranormal romances—and sometimes she crashes back to earth when a particularly good series is finished.

“What was it this time? A dick that spins and vibrates?”

“Ha! Horns that are erogenous, actually.” I wait to see if she’s joking, but she’s totally serious.

“Of course. Let me inhale these chips and I’ll start too, then.” I do just that and we take our time, having a few drinks while we get ready. Millie tries to talk about Dane and Leila’s party, but I fob her off, not wanting to let him ruin our night, and lose myself in the process of looking like the real me. I’ve gone for a dark smoky eye that makes the green in my eyes pop and tamed my natural waves so they’re a bit more sophisticated. My Friday nights with Millie are what keeps me sane. She looks incredible herself, with her tight curls teased out and gorgeous highlighter that makes her dark skin pop. As we check ourselves over while waiting for our Uber, Millie starts to quietly chuckle at our reflections.

“What?”

“Just picturing how different this view will be tomorrow for the ball.”

“Ergh, I’d just managed to forget about that!” I say, giving her a gentle push, and she laughs some more.

“Sorry. You look incredible now, if it’s any consolation.”

“So do you. Shame we can’t find two decent guys in this whole town to appreciate it.”

We both find the guys in our circle creepy and misogynistic; there’s not a good one among them. She hums her agreement as her phone pings to signal our car is here.

We ride over to the club and Millie’s brother meets us outside. He owns the place, as well as every decent club within a fifty-mile radius, which means we get in for free even though we’re underage. It also means we don’t normally get bothered by guys as he’s always keeping half an eye on us, so we can really let loose and have some fun. As long as we don’t get too drunk, then he’s cool.

This club is our favourite local one because it’s made to dance. The vibe is down and dirty, with industrial decor and standing-only tables strewn around, so no one is sitting along the walls judging when you throw yourself around. I let my usual stuck-up demeanour go, not worrying about who’s watching and what they’ll think. Friday nights here are the only time I can. No one whose opinion my father would care about would ever admit to being seen here. The bodies are close and the rhythm runs through my veins as I sway to the music. I think Millie might have taken the extra drinking time back at hers seriously, though, as she seems a lot more drunk than usual.

I’m eyeing her warily, not able to fully get back into the dancing, when I feel a presence at my back. Usually this is when I’d freak out, but for some reason, I know I don’t need to. Millie looks up with glassy eyes and doesn’t give me the look, so I guess that’s confirmation enough. Although, I’d be surprised if she wasn’t seeing three of whoever was behind me at this point. Feeling the buzz of the alcohol in my system, my bravery ratchets up a notch, and I step back, closing the distance between me and whoever is behind me. It might not even be a man, but at this point my body doesn’t seem to care, on a mission of its own and loving falling back into the solid warmth.

I let my eyes fall closed and empty my brain, letting myself dance against the body behind me. Their hips sway with mine and a hand comes round, landing possessively on my stomach. Why does that make me feel so hot? They pull me into them even though there’s really no space left to claim, and the possessive gesture heightens my senses. My skin prickles, and I lean my head back onto a shoulder, inhaling the intoxicating scent of sweat and lime. Sweat isn’t supposed to be sexy, right? I keep my eyes shut, not wanting this spell to be broken, and I feel hardening against my ass. Definitely a man, then.

A hand runs up the front of my thigh, and before I can do anything ridiculous like part my legs so he can reach exactly where I want him in the middle of a club, someone is tugging on my arm. I lift my head back up and open my eyes to see Millie wide-eyed in front of me, a hand over her mouth. Shit. If she’s sick on the dancefloor, her brother will kill us both. I shoot out of the stranger’s hold and pull her to the staff toilet. We get to it just in time, and that’s where we spend the next hour before Millie is well enough for us to leave.