My back is perfectly straight as I raise a fork to my lips, the slight tremor in my hand betraying the dread that’s taking root deep in my gut. I tighten my grip on the metal, willing myself to stay calm as I chew on my tasteless poached eggs.
We’re all just waiting for it — waiting for Father to snap at us over something. Will it be the food today? Perhaps he’ll think we’re chewing too loudly. Whatever it is, something is bound to give. Normally, he’d already have left for work by now, and the fact he hasn’t does not bode well for any of us.
My stepmother, Abigail, carries the same expression that I undoubtedly do. It’s fake pleasantness born from fear. We’re both eerily calm, having learned the hard way that any other behavior will set my father off.
I control my breathing and focus on swallowing my food. I won’t let him catch me wasting a single bite, no matter how close I am to throwing up.
My anxiety continues to rise as my two younger half-sisters, Linda and Chloe, squirm in their seats. With each passing second, I can see my father’s annoyance build. Please, I silently beg. Please don’t let them be punished for their restlessness.
I’m equal parts glad and fearful that my two younger step-sisters haven’t had to learn how to adjust their behavior to our father. It means there’s still hope for them, that their spirits aren’t quite broken just yet — but it also means his actions hurt them more than they do me. I’ve become used to it now, but I hope they’ll never have to. Not much longer now. Just a few more months, and things will finally get better.
“Linda,” Father says, and she tenses. For a split-second, dread flashes through my sister’s eyes, but then she controls it, pasting on the smile we’ve all perfected. So far, he hasn’t hurt the girls, but how much longer can I protect them?
“Yes, Father?”
“When do you leave for college?”
A pang of longing settles deep in my chest, and I take a shaky breath. I only just graduated, but unlike my younger sister, I was never allowed to live on campus. I don’t begrudge her the experience, but a small part of me wishes I could’ve had that too.
“Three weeks from now,” she answers, her voice soft, sweet.
Linda has so many choices ahead of her, and I wonder if she realizes what a luxury that is. My sister will get to choose her own major, her friends. She’ll leave our father’s clutches and escape into a world that will let her shape her own future — it’s everything I’ve ever wanted for her.
I wonder what it might be like to discover your own interests, the way she will. I was forced to major in Business so I’d be knowledgeable enough to have meaningful conversations with Dion, but I never had any interest in it. Everything in my life was by design, all of it meant to turn me into the perfect wife for him.
I’m not even sure I’d be a pianist if not for him. If I was never expected to marry him, would I have been forced to learn? Would my childhood have consisted of rigorous practice and competitions? Maybe — my mother was a famous pianist, after all, and so was my grandfather. My father is convinced it was in Mom’s genes, since neither Chloe nor Linda have any talent for it that he can exploit, much to his bitter regret.
“Toward the end of your first semester, you must take time off for Faye’s wedding. We’ll need you here, and you will support your sister.”
Despondency turns into desolation as I take another bite of my food, pretending to be unaffected. I’m glad neither of my sisters are standing in my shoes, but I’d give the world to have one single day of true freedom — of not feeling like a sacrifice, a broodmare.
Chloe shifts in her seat, and I glance up at her through my lashes. Two more years, and she too will escape this place we’re forced to call home. I, on the other hand, will merely be exchanging it for a different gilded cage.
My mind involuntarily drifts to a different future, one where I’d be free to choose what I wear and where I go, what I eat and how I speak. I’d travel the world, seeking new adventures, even if it’s just to figure out what I’d enjoy, who I am. I’d play an abandoned piano in a small train station, simply because I want to, and not because I’m expected to. I’d dance in the rain and drink more than is appropriate, savoring each moment that makes me feel alive. I’d hold hands with a man that chose me, that wants me, and we’d be happy. When I think of that future, it isn’t Dion’s green eyes I think of. No. In my wildest dreams, the eyes twinkling back at me are a beautiful coffee brown, the color hinting at the depth of his devotion.
I feel Father’s gaze on me moments before his knife clatters against the table, the sound of metal hitting marble an omen I’ve learned to recognize. “Faye,” he says, his voice deceptively calm. “Have you spoken to Dion recently? From what I understand, he’s preparing to move back from London, so he’ll be here more often now.”
My stomach drops at the thought of my fiancé. I haven’t heard from him in months, and one way or another, my father will find a way to blame me for it. Our wedding date was set a month ago, but we haven’t so much as discussed it with each other. I should’ve known he’d be moving back soon, but somehow, I thought I had more time left.
“I’ve contacted him on numerous occasions and he told me that he’d get in touch with me when required,” I lie, my tone perfectly calm. I’ve only called Dion once, a few weeks ago, and it went straight to voicemail. I haven’t tried calling him since, but there’s no way my father could know that.
Outside of official Windsor events, we don’t see each other, and we most certainly don’t ever call each other. In fact, I suspect I may be one of the reasons he chose to work at The Windsors’ overseas branch. He’s always incredibly polite and courteous in person, but it’s clear he doesn’t want to marry me. His complete and utter disregard of me speaks volumes. I doubt he’ll ever know how grateful I am for it. If I’m lucky, he’ll treat me the same once we’re married.
“Come here, Faye,” my father murmurs, his voice soft.
A chill runs down my spine, and my heart begins to pound wildly as dread washes over me. I swallow hard and rise to my feet, my steps measured. I know better than to disobey. My mind is whirling with panic as I pause in front of him, my shoulders hunched in fear. Helplessness tugs at me, but I refuse to give in to it.
Father pushes his chair away from the table, and the scraping sound draws a whimper from Chloe’s lips. I glance at her briefly, praying she’ll keep her eyes on her plate and her mouth shut. The last thing I want is for his anger to transfer from me to her.
I keep my body still as his hand wraps around my throat, his grip tightening slowly. He never squeezes hard enough to leave marks, but always enough to make breathing difficult. I try my best to stay calm, knowing that panicking will only make this worse for all of us. His fingers dig into my skin, and he squeezes the sides of my neck, allowing me to breathe just enough to stay lucid.
“Need I remind you of what’s at stake?” he whispers, his gaze burning with hatred. The Windsors promised him two million for each year I remain married to Dion, up to six million in total, and Father never lets me forget it.
My eyes fill with tears as my lungs battle for air. I can’t afford to give into the panic attack I feel building in my chest. If I lose control over the calmness I’m clinging to, he’ll only become more violent, and not just toward me.
“No, Father,” I croak out. I avert my gaze, unable to take that look in his eyes. I’ve never been able to figure out why he hates me so much, nor have I been able to lessen the force of his hatred. No matter what I do, I’m never worthy of the kindness that he often shows Linda and Chloe. I’m the only one he hurts like this — never them. I’m grateful they’re spared from his cruelty, but I just wish I could be too.
“Now that a wedding date has finally been set, you’d better not give him a reason to postpone this marriage any further. Isn’t it bad enough they insisted we wait until you graduated college? I’m done waiting, Faye,” he says, tightening his fingers around my neck, until I nod in acquiescence.
“Luca Windsor disobeyed his grandmother and married his secretary instead of his fiancée. In doing so, he set a precedent that could make things difficult for us. Dion never felt like he had a choice, but he knows better now. With only a few months until the wedding, there’s no room for mistakes. It’s time to switch tactics — instead of avoiding him for fear his family realizes how inadequate you are, you must now charm him sufficiently to make him overlook your flaws.”
My stomach twists, but I nod nonetheless, resigned to my fate. The last thing I want to do is go anywhere near Dion, but I have no choice. It isn’t just my own life that’s at stake. If I don’t do as he says, he’ll punish my stepmother for it. “Yes, Father,” I murmur, my posture demure despite the defiance burning deep within.
He lets go of me and swipes his phone off the table. “Don’t mess this up,” he warns, before walking out. The door slams closed behind him, and I slowly sink into his vacant seat, my legs unable to carry me a moment longer. I’m trembling, and I hate myself for it. I hate feeling so weak, so helpless.
Chloe reaches for me, her hand wrapping around mine, and I try to force a smile for her. “Are you okay?” she whispers.
I nod and tighten my grip on her hand. I’m not even remotely okay, but I’ve gotten so good at pretending that most days, I fool even myself.
“You should arrange to see Dion soon,” Abigail says, her voice soft. She doesn’t even bother checking up on me. Perhaps she’s just gotten used to this, or maybe she simply doesn’t care about my wellbeing. More and more, I’m starting to wonder if it might be the latter.
When was the last time she tried to defend me? I’d never want her to get between my father and me, because that would only make matters worse, but shouldn’t she at least be a little concerned?
“I will. I’m seeing his sister today, and if he’s back, he might be there too,” I lie, suppressing the wave of guilt that accompanies my words.
“Good,” she breathes. I stare at her for a second and take in her flawless makeup and that beautiful blonde hair that sets the girls and her apart from me. I wonder if there are bruises hidden underneath all the foundation she wears.
“Your father is a good man,” Abigail says, her eyes on her plate. I wonder who she’s trying to convince with her words — me, the girls, or herself? “Just make sure Dion marries you, Faye. Everything will be perfect again once we have the money the Windsors promised us. Your dad hasn’t been the same since his company nearly went bankrupt. The mining industry isn’t what it used to be. He’s doing his best, but he needs the financial help they’ll provide.”
She says that all the time, but my father has been the way he is for as long as I can remember. She’s clinging to the person he was over a decade ago, back when his business was still thriving, before his love for alcohol surpassed his love for us.
I sigh and get up, unable to look at her for a moment longer. “I should get ready. I’d hate to keep Sierra Windsor waiting,” I say, the lie rolling off my tongue with more ease now.
One more time. I’ll be selfish one last time.
