I want to spit in his face.
“Hmm, I see you two are getting along quite well,” my father muses.
That’s the first thing he says? No apology for selling me to this man as some kind of sacrificial lamb for his own sins? No sorry for not even contacting me and asking how I’ve been all this time?
Both their faces should be spat on.
“She’s adjusting well in my mansion. Very easygoing and frisky, if I might say so myself,” Easton retorts, and my cheeks light up like a cigarette’s bud at the sight of my father’s enlarged pupils.
His heart probably jumped through hoops there. And it’s all because of Easton’s lying ass. He should be ashamed of himself, but the moment I part my lips, Easton immediately holds up his finger right in front of my face.
“No need, Charlotte. You know how that would look on your father, right?” He glances at me from the sidelines, but it’s enough to shut me up before I even begin talking. The glimmer in his eyes predicts thunder as though he’s warning me not to step across the boundaries he’s laying out right now.
None of this was for me. This outing wasn’t for my enjoyment. I wasn’t even the reason he wanted to be here. This was all because of my father and the re-opening of this restaurant. He wants to flaunt me to my family as some goddamn trophy wife. And I went along with it like a fool.
Sighing, I turn my head and gaze at all the people talking amongst one another. They’re blissfully unaware of what’s happened here, of all the reasons why this restaurant underwent a makeover and changed its name. Why I’m even here … as a groomed kitty cat on a leash.
“Charlotte, why don’t you go to the bar? Have a drink and enjoy yourself,” Easton says, and he leans in to press a soft but forceful kiss on my cheeks as though to show to my father I’ve adjusted to the situation. As though I’ve truly become the wife Easton’s always wished for, and my father should be jealous of him.
Fuck him and fuck my father for believing his lies.
I’m not okay, and I will never pretend to be.
So I shrug Easton off and walk away without even acknowledging what either of them said. I never greeted my father, but I don’t care anymore. He can drop dead for all I care. He didn’t even ask if I was okay. All he cared about was what Easton said; as if it completely tilts him off his axis that he’s here. Not me, his daughter, but Easton.
I sit on a stool at the bar and order a tequila on the rocks from the bartender. I’ll need a drink or two to get through this. The question is, do I want to?
I look around the room for a moment. There are three potential exits, and only two guards following me. Sure, they’re not right beside me, but they’re creeping around the room, keeping their eyes on me. Easton must’ve paid them well, too, in case I attempt to escape.
The bartender hands me my drink, and I take a big sip. The burn feels nice going down my throat, and the sharpness takes the edge off things. I wonder how many it’d take for me to get drunk. I’ve never had nearly enough to get there, but tonight, I might.
As I chug down my drink, someone slides onto the stool beside me and stares at me awkwardly. A familiar smile from when I was still a youngster makes me melancholic.
“Hey, sis.”
“Elijah,” I mutter, putting down my glass.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, confused.
“You didn’t see? My name’s outside on the board.” He chuckles as if it’s no big deal even though it is.
“No, I mean, why are you here … at the bar? Aren’t you supposed to be entertaining guests?”
“Yeah, but I figured I’d take a break and talk to my sister for once,” he says.
I make a face and nod a couple of times before taking another sip.
“How are you holding up?” he asks after an awkward silence.
“How am I holding up?” I gaze at him for a second to see if he’s joking, but he seems dead serious. “Well, let’s see, I’m being held against my will in a mansion that’s more like a prison, I was forced to marry someone I don’t love, and now I’m at a place where freedom is flaunted in my face, but I’m not allowed to have it.” I cock my head and make a face. “How are you doing?”
A smile forms on his face, but it disappears in the blink of an eye. “That sounds … rough.”
I snort and take another sip of my drink. “That’s not even the half of it.”