A Debt Owed (The Debt Duet 1)

“I know,” I say, smiling it off as if it means nothing. “My father’s a dick.”

He grimaces. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s the truth. I should know,” I reply. “Besides, you know how rich people are.” I wink, but that doesn’t make the hurt any less.

I wish my father hadn’t called out my name, so we could’ve continued this pretty little lie until the end of the night. At least then this wedding might’ve been fun.

“If it makes it any better, I don’t think you’re like that at all,” he adds, clearing his throat.

“Like what? An asshole who cares only about money?”

He licks his lips and looks down at the glasses he was pouring. “I apologize. If I’d known he was your father, I’d—”

“No. I want to know what people think of him,” I say, taking another sip of my Coke. “Makes for some fun conversations, that’s for sure.”

I put down the glass and take a deep breath when my father calls me again, this time a little harsher. “Charlotte! Come here!”

I sigh out loud. “Good luck with work today,” I say, turning around.

“Have fun,” he says, and I can’t help but notice the contempt in his voice.

I don’t blame him. I’d feel cheated too. “Thanks,” I say, trying to add a smile, but it’s not genuine.

“I hope your father’s new wife is nice to you. You deserve it,” he adds after I’ve already started walking. “I promise next time I won’t be such an asshole!”

Shaking my head, I laugh and yell back at him over my shoulder, “You’d better not!”

Then I walk back to my father, whose penetrative stare could cut through mountains. The few steps there feel like a walk of shame because he seems royally pissed. “Could you have taken any longer? Aren’t you going to congratulate us?” He gives me the stink eye.

“Okay …” Elijah mutters, standing beside my father. “Awkward.” He always watches as I’m about to get my ass handed to me. He never intervenes even though I often look him directly in the eyes. Just as I am now. All he does is turn around and walk off, not wanting to get in the middle of it. Typical.

Rolling my eyes, I kiss my father’s and his new wife’s cheeks. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, darling,” she says, making my skin crawl.

“What the hell were you doing there?” my father asks. “Chatting up that lowlife?”

“He’s not a lowlife, Father,” I say, making a face.

“His father’s a caterer. You have no business talking to a boy like that.”

I despise how judgmental my father can be sometimes. As if no one’s ever good enough for him. “I can talk to whoever I want.”

He grabs my wrist and forces me to come closer. “Charlotte, stop acting like a little brat.”

He’s making a scene now, and everybody’s watching. I’m being humiliated in front of all the guests.

“I’m not a brat! Stop calling me that.” I jerk free of his grip, and say, “I can do whatever I want. You can’t control me.”

Suddenly, he smacks me across the face. Right in front of everyone.

My face stings when tears roll down the red mark he left on my cheek.

“How dare you? You’re ruining this perfect wedding. Behave.”

“You hit me,” I mumble, touching my cheek.

“That’s what you get for acting out. You listen to me when I tell you not to talk to someone, Charlotte.” He points at my chest as if his finger adds extra weight to his words. It sure feels like it. “Don’t ever embarrass me like that again.”

My father and his new wife turn around and walk up to the guests. “Now, where’s the music? It’s time for our first dance.”

Everyone starts smiling again, and they all walk away toward the staged area while I’m left with my head hanging between my shoulders.

His embarrassment … that’s all that matters to him. His image. His pride.

And I tarnished that idea by even being remotely interested in someone who’s beneath us. Because that’s what he thinks when he looks at someone like Easton. Just a worker who should keep his mouth shut.

But that’s not what I see when I look at him right now. The pity and empathy he exudes from one look are enough to make me cry even harder. I don’t deserve any of that compassion or that sincerity that encompasses him.

And when he parts his lips to say something from across the terrain, I spin on my heels and run off.

Charlotte

Present

I once met a boy at a wedding party. It was a picturesque location with the prettiest of decorations, but under the pressure of money, it all fell flat … except for him. That boy who managed to lighten my mood even when I was feeling down because of my father’s choice to marry his shiny new plastic wife.