Landry
This evening is going to be a royal disaster.
Dinner with some guy my freaking dad is setting me up with. He could be a total nerd or a giant douchebag. Worse, he could be someone just like my father.
Controlling. Cruel. Cold.
Every nerve in my body is electric and alive in anxious anticipation.
Breathe, Landry.
I refocus my attention to the mirror. My blonde hair shimmers in the light, the ends bouncing at my bare collarbone with each movement I make. The Paco Rabanne floral print dress that Lucy recently brought me hugs my curves yet is still tasteful with a below the knee length. I’ve paired it with my favorite pair of patent leather Louboutin pumps. I might feel sick to my stomach with worry, but I at least look put together.
A long sigh rushes past my lips, exhaling the last of my unease. It’s time to put my game face on and play the part of perfect daughter. At least tonight I won’t have to worry about Della. I’d helped her get ready for bed and then I read her one of her favorite stories. She fell asleep without putting up a fuss.
I can do this.
“Something bothering you?”
The deep timbre of Dad’s familiar voice vibrates and can be felt in each bone in my body. Like an aftershock of an earthquake, my teeth chatter noisily and against my will. Gritting them together, I turn and face my father, a forced smile on my face.
I expect to see his adoring expression.
But that’s not at all what’s looking back at me. It’s the same cruel stare he uses on Della. I freeze mid-step toward him, at a loss for words.
“Landry, sweetheart,” Dad says, words sharp and biting, “I’ll tell you what’s bothering me instead.”
Swallowing, I barely manage a nod. He slowly steps into my room and then walks—no, stalks—my way. I fist my hands at my side to keep the trembling at bay.
“W-What’s bothering you?” I whisper, unable to lift my head and meet his stare now that he’s only inches from me.
Please don’t say Della…
“This.” He motions at my dress. “This is dinner you’re going to, not a hotel for paid sex.”
I flinch at his words, jerking my head up to gape at him. “But, Dad, this one was one of Lucy’s picks. You bought me this dress—”
His hand seizes my jaw, and spittle hits my face as he growls, “I bought you every goddamn dress in your closet. This one is all…wrong. I’m going to have a serious fucking talk with Lucy about what she thinks is acceptable.”
Struggling to keep the tears at bay, I blink furiously. Every day is a minefield in this home. You never know which misstep will obliterate you. Clearly, I’ve put my foot on the mine and the second I try to escape, it’s going to blow.
“I’m sorry,” I croak out. “Which dress should I wear instead?”
“The black Shoshanna puff sleeve dress will do.” He narrows his eyes which are slightly bloodshot. Based on the scent of liquor emanating from him, I know why, too.
He’s drunk.
Or at least, fast getting there.
And he always promises he’ll never let it happen again. Just wine. Wine is safe. Whichever hard liquor he’s tried to drown himself in is anything but safe.
“I love that dress,” I agree, my voice a mere whisper. “I’ll go change.”
“Good girl.” He doesn’t release his grip on my jaw. “You need to understand something about tonight. This dinner is nothing more than a power move. It’s a chance to align ourselves with one of the wealthiest families in the world.”
“I understand.”
He shakes his head slowly. “No, you don’t. You will not make this easy for him. I will not have my daughter whoring herself out on the first date.” His eyes narrow. “You’ll take your time and drag this out for as long as I say. I want to make sure this arrangement is beneficial to us in every way. You winding up pregnant or ending up on the cover of every tabloid magazine in compromising photos will not happen.”
“Dad…”
“Change your dress and wipe that goddamn lipstick off. I can’t look at you right now.”
Without another word, he releases me and storms from my room. Tears well in my eyes, blurring the room in front of me, as I try desperately to get air to enter my lungs. It’s as though a vise is clamped around my throat, keeping me from taking a breath.
I remain frozen for God only knows how long and am only jolted into movement at the sound of the doorbell. The sound of men speaking to each other can be heard which means my dinner date is here. Quickly, I rush into my large closet and strip out of my dress. I exchange it for the dress Dad wants me to wear. Once I’ve pulled the material into place, I leave the closet to make my way to my vanity.
The girl staring back at me doesn’t feel like me. This girl is haunted. Terrified. So tired.
I use a makeup pad to remove the lipstick and exchange it for a soft pink gloss instead. Since my eyes keep threatening to spill over with tears, I take a minute to touch up my eye makeup. Finally, I feel like I could be presentable and acceptable in my father’s eyes.
Yesterday, I let Ford distract me at school, but tomorrow, I’m going to try and slip out of class early to do some research in the media center since I won’t have security breathing down my neck like at home. Maybe I can figure out a way to access my trust fund without him knowing. As it stands, the second I attempt to withdrawal any of it from the bank, they’ll notify him to make sure it’s allowed. Which it’s not. The twenty bucks he gave me this week for coffee and snacks at school won’t get me very far. I know he probably keeps a stash of money and jewels in his safe, but that’s a risk I can’t take again. What’s in there that’s so valuable anyway?
At this rate, I’m never going anywhere. He’s smarter than me and always ten steps ahead. Every time I think I have some grand idea, reality squashes it.
The quicker I can figure out a plan to get me and Della the hell out of here, the better. I thought I had more time, but after the way Dad acted just a bit ago, I realize I was foolish to ever think anything was in my favor, especially time.
His cruelty isn’t often pointed at me, but when it is, it always ends badly.
Calling the police won’t help since they’re all deep in his pockets. Reaching out to people like Noel or Sandra or even one of the drivers, like Trey, won’t work because they’re all completely intimidated by him and are always doing their best to impress him.
Money talks.
Dad has endless piles of it.
I’m at a complete disadvantage here.
Lifting my chin, I stride out of my bedroom, hoping for an air of self-confidence. All depressing thoughts of my future are shoved into the corners of my mind when I am mentally prepared to deal with them. I’ll be the polite, demure heiress Dad wants me to be, and make my way through this dinner without any further damage.
I can do this.
Following the sound of the voices, I walk into the dining room where both my father and a man in a fitted suit stand chatting amicably. Funny how only moments ago, Dad was in my bedroom, his anger washing over me like a tsunami. Now, he’s seemingly normal, putting on his pleasant show for our guest.
Clearing my throat, I alert my father to my presence. Both men turn to regard me. Dad’s features are tight but he’s wearing his business smile reserved for boardroom deals. The man beside him, despite my not wanting to look at him, draws my attention anyway.
Oh, wow.
Definitely wasn’t expecting someone so…handsome.
Unlike Ford, with his devilishly sexy good looks, this man appears to have fallen from heaven—all golden skin and perfectly styled dark blond hair. His blue eyes sparkle as he rakes his gaze over my form. A smile curls his lips up and reveals a perfect row of pearly white teeth. He takes a step forward and offers a hand.
“Tyler Constantine, er, Ty.” His grin grows wider. “You must be the lovely Landry Croft. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Dad’s irritation clouds the air around me. I don’t have to look at him to know he’s fuming with it.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, as I take his hand. “I’ve heard lots about you as well.”
Lies.
Ty’s hand is slightly clammy in mine as he squeezes it and gives it a shake. Something about the fact that he might be nervous too calms me considerably. There’s a kindness in his expression that’s disarming.
And I absolutely cannot afford to be disarmed when in the presence of my father.
Jerking my hand from his, I force a wide smile. “Thank you for joining us for dinner.” Dad steps between us and his palm finds the small of my back. He guides me over to one of the dining room chairs. It feels like a blatant show of possession. As though he wants to remind everyone in the room that I’m his and he’s allowing this other man to be present. Dad pulls out the chair and I sit in it. He takes the seat on the end and Ty sits in Della’s usual spot across from me.
“So,” I say too cheerily, “you’re working with my dad? How are you liking it?”
Noel slips into the dining room with a bottle of wine. We all pretend she isn’t here as she pours our drinks and Ty prattles on about how excited he is to work with my father.
“Mr. Constantine is doing a wonderful job thus far.” Dad drains his wineglass and gestures it toward Ty. “He’s a natural.”
Ty’s cheeks turn pink and he offers me a sheepish grin. “Thanks, Mr. Croft.”
“It’s Alexander in my home,” Dad says, smirking. “Tomorrow morning, though, it’ll be business as usual.”
While dinner is served and the two of them discuss some things they worked on today, I keep sneaking glances over at Ty. He’s really cute, but the fact that he seems nice, too, is a huge relief. I find myself relaxing and joining in on the conversation much more easily than before. Dinner seems to pass quickly as Ty regales us with funny tales of college life and that of his place in the Constantine family.
Dad’s phone rings and he excuses himself from the table and stalks across the living room to his office. Ty smiles at me, his blue eyes gleaming with interest. I blush at his attention, biting back a smile of my own.
“I’d like to take you out, Landry. Just the two of us. I think…” He glances toward the doorway. “I think we’d both feel a lot more comfortable without him breathing down our necks.”
A cold sweat trickles down my spine.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I murmur, body tensing. “Dad is…overprotective.”
“You think?”
Ty is definitely a lot more playful when not in Dad’s presence, but that just puts me on edge. With Dad, you always have to be on guard. You can’t be playful. You just can’t.
“Hey,” he says when I don’t answer. “You okay? You’re white as a ghost.”
Swallowing down the ball of stress in my throat, I nod vigorously. “I’m fine. It’s just—”
My words are cut off when Dad strides back into the room. I dart my gaze to my food hoping like hell I don’t look guilty. But, he sniffs out guilt like a dog with a bone. The air thickens with furious tension.
“Mr. Constantine,” Dad clips out. “I hate to cut the evening short, but it appears my daughter isn’t feeling well. You’ll forgive us for not extending our evening to a nightcap after dinner, right?”
Ty glances at me but then slowly nods. “Oh, sure. Yeah, no problem, Alexander.” He rises to his feet. “I guess I’ll get going. Dinner was great, but the company was better.”
Though they’re both standing, I wisely remain seated. I wriggle my fingers at Ty in farewell, but don’t dare try and shake his hand again. The two of them walk out of the dining room, leaving me to my spinning thoughts. When I’m sure I can stand without my knees buckling, I make a hasty exit, heading straight for my bedroom.
I hate this place.
I hate him.
I’ve barely made it into my room when thunderous footsteps can be heard behind me. I swivel around to face my father’s furious glare.
But this is more than an angry look.
He’s pissed and he pounces before I can prepare for it. The strike of his hand across my cheek is startling and powerful. It sends me careening into the wall. A cry of surprise bursts from me. My ankle screams in protest when it tries to twist wrong and I fall hard to my hands and knees.
Owww.
I reach up and touch my cheek that’s burning from the smack. The tears I’d been holding onto all night escape their confines and race down my cheeks. I can’t help but snap my head up, shooting him a horrified, accusatory look.
Whatever hateful alcohol-induced fury had been possessing him melts away and his features pinch in a pained way, like he suddenly realizes what he’s just done. He takes a step toward me and I cower in response.
“D-Dad,” I croak out. “Y-You hit me.”
He grabs hold of my shoulders, hauling me to my feet. I yelp when I’m dragged into his forceful hug.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Dammit, I’m sorry.” He strokes my hair and kisses the top of my head. “I drank too much and you know what that does to me.”
A sob that won’t be quieted garbles its way out. I shudder in his grip. He strokes my back, clearly attempting to calm me.
Why is this my life?
At least it was me and not her this time.
But when he hurts me, it’s different. It’s worse.
“Please forgive me,” he begs. “Please.”
Never. I’ll never forgive him.
“I forgive you,” I lie.
“That’s my good girl. My sweet, sweet girl.”