Cruel Beloved

“You’ll be coming with me. Now. I have a meeting with my father in twenty minutes.” I look at my small Tiffany watch, which sparkles under the light, then back to him.

His eyes flick to the ring on my finger then his eyebrows scrunch together in a frown.

“You have to book a meeting to talk to your father?” he asks, clearly confused.

With a roll of my eyes I answer, “Yes. He’s a busy man, you should know this.”

Whiskey scratches his chin and looks back over his shoulder at his personal assistant, who has a blank look on her face, then back to me. “Give me a minute.”

I sit as he walks off and when he returns he has his phone and keys in hand.

“You ready?” I ask.

He nods, and I follow him out.

He has a driver.

It’s not a statement, it’s fact. Actually, I’m glad he does, it might impress my father a little more. I hope so anyway. We stay quiet most of the drive while Whiskey works on his phone and I worry. I hope to God my father doesn’t lose his shit at me about surprising him with an engagement and marriage.

Shit! Fuckity, fuck, fuck! My palms are sweating as we pull up, and I have to remember what I’m here for. My mind goes blank while needing to remember why I’m doing this and that it’s for the right reasons.

“Just breathe,” he says next to me.

Damn! I almost forgot he was there. Almost.

“Easy for you to say.” I slide out, and the minute I do, he steps straight to my side. Whiskey touches my hip, and just before I can push him away and tell him to fuck off, he leans in close to whisper in my ear, “Probably best you don’t do that. Especially since we are madly in love.”

He’s right, and I hate him for it.

Leaving his hand where he placed it, we walk up the stairs to where my mother opens the door for us. She eyes Whiskey while she holds the door open. “This is a surprise. We weren’t aware you were bringing guests, Carla.”

I nod, it’s all I can do right now because every ounce of fight, sass—whatever you want to call it—has completely left me in this moment.

“Pleased to see you again, Mrs. Star,” Whiskey says with a voice I don’t recognize. He’s super nice in a perfect gentleman way. I’ve never heard him use that voice before. Asshole.

“Yes, as you can tell, I’m very surprised to see you, Corton,” she says, but it’s laced with venom. Whiskey doesn’t seem to care about her tone of voice.

“It’s a pleasure to see you,” is all he replies as he looks around. His hand stays firmly on my hip, and my mother’s eyes narrow to it.

“What is this?” Her eyes flick to my hip then back to me.

“Is father free now?” I ask, trying to avoid the inevitable.

“I hope you aren’t bringing him bad news, Carla.” Her eyes narrow on me, and Whiskey squeezes my side firmly.

“No. Is he free?” I ask again.

Mother starts to walk, and we follow her to his office. Father’s sitting at his desk, his phone to his ear as he waves us in. When he looks up, his eyes drop to Whiskey who’s sitting close next to me.

Father says a few more words, then hangs up and doesn’t bother to stand. “What is this, Carla?” 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. Star…” Whiskey greets, and Father nods his head.

“Carla?” 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 not someone who’s 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, while pulling my hand free from behind my purse, which was hiding the ring, and showing my father. “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.

A lie has to fall from my lips, and it has to sound legitimate. “I wasn’t ready to tell you then.”

“And you are now? What’s changed?”

“This,” I say, holding out my ring hand again.