“Wouldn’t you?” He eyed me harshly.
I sank into myself and inadvertently backed into Pemmy. “Ugh!” I heard him say before righting me and setting me beside him. He rolled his eyes.
“Dinner is at seven, Sophie,” my father continued, ignoring Pembrook and ,me.
“Yes, sir,” I said, parroting my earlier acknowledgement.
I turned and barely contained myself from fleeing.
“Oh! And one more thing,” my father said, making me turn to face him. “If you’re caught again, I’ll disinherit you. Close the door.”
I closed the door, my chest pumping in air at an alarming rate and nearly sprinted for my wing of the house. I knew enough about my father to know he was in earnest. I also wasn’t a stupid girl. I knew there were things I needed more than coke, and his money was one of them.
When I reached my room a few minutes later, I opened the fifteen-foot double doors and closed them behind me. I started to strip, pulling off my garments and tossing them at the foot of my bed. I needed a shower. I was on the verge of one of my breakdowns and needed a place to hide away.
But first things first.
I went to the wall nearest my bedroom door and pressed the intercom, still undressing.
“Yes, Miss Sophie?” A staticky voice came on. It was Matilda, the house coordinator.
“Yes, ’Tilda.” I glanced at my nightstand clock. Eight a.m. “Can you ring Katy at home and let her know I’ll need her services at four this afternoon?”
Katy was lovely. Tall and slender, blonde hair and only a few years older than I. She was the beautician I used when I had one of my father’s soirees to attend. Katy never came alone though. She always brought Peter, her masseuse, and Gillian, her makeup artist.
“Of course, ma’am. Anything else?”
“No, thank you.” And with that, I headed toward my bathroom, securing the door behind me.
The bathroom was almost as large as my bedroom. On the far back wall was an estate-sized fireplace. It’s French-inspired marble mantel reached halfway up the wall. Situated in the center was the focal piece, the oversized, burnished cast-iron tub and swathed in polished stainless steel for a mirrored effect. The entire floor was bathed in three-inch octagonal tiles of Carrara marble. The Carrara marble continued on the walls in subway tile. Oval undermount sinks were fitted into the Carrara marble tops with custom washstands. The room was almost a duplicate of one I’d seen when I was thirteen on a trip to Paris.
I stepped into the tiled shower and started the water. Piping hot. I closed the glass door and decided it was safe. I let go of all the unhappiness that took unending residence in my heart and soul and stomach. I sobbed into my hands and let the water wash away the salt. My heart was in a perpetual state of sadness and the only relief I could find were in those cathartic cries. I lived a fragile existence. I knew it even then but feigning I didn’t was easier than embracing something so altogether daunting. If I faced what I’d truly created for myself, a life of debauchery and seedy fulfillment, I knew I couldn’t have lived another day and self-preservation was very much still alive in me. I loved myself too much to say goodbye. So, I would go on living just as I had been because it was the only life I knew.
I bawled for at least half an hour before washing and conditioning my hair and shaving my legs and even then the tears continued, but I had a job to do that night and damn if I was going to have bags underneath my eyes. My dad would faint, or the male equivalent, anyway. I needed sleep.
Life will continue on. Everyone will continue their worship of you. Just keep up appearances. Just keep up.
When I was done and sufficiently under control of my emotions, I shut off the water and stepped onto the heated marble beneath my feet. Reaching for my robe, I wrapped it around my body and grabbed a towel for my hair. I sat at the edge of my vanity in my room and moisturized my entire body with the five-hundred-dollar-an-ounce moisturizer my mother insisted I used.
By then, sleepiness was attempting to claim me. I was too tired to dress in pajamas so I just slipped under the covers donning my robe and the towel still wrapped around my head. Sleep came easily. It always did. It was a true safe haven from the hell I’d created for myself.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
I woke startled to the sound of rapping at my door.
“Miss Price!”
“Come in!” I shouted.
The doors bellowed open and in poured Katy and her entourage.
“Oh, I’d forgotten you were coming,” I told her.
“Thank you. Nice to see you, too,” she teased.
“Just a moment,” I told them.
I relieved myself and brushed my teeth then met them in my room. Peter had already set up his portable massage chair, modified so Katy could do my nails while he did his thing. I almost sat before realizing I’d yet to put undergarments on. I ran to my dressing room and slipped them on before joining them again.
I sat down and Peter started in with the massage. “Any place in particular I need to focus on today, Miss Price?”
“No, Peter. Just the standard.”
“Very well, miss.”
I’d already closed my eyes when I felt Katy at my feet, removing my polish. “And what are you wearing this evening, Miss Price?”
“I’m unsure. Let’s just do a French. That’s all encompassing.”
“Of course.”
Very well, Miss Price. Of course, Miss Price. I very nearly yelled at them to quiet the ridiculous platitudes but checked myself. It’d be good practice for this evening.
When my nails were dry, they sat me in the leather chair stool in my bathroom in front of the mirror. I studied myself, ensuring my skin was still flawless, my hair still long and beautiful, my eyes still shining. I would never have admitted this to anyone, but I panicked if I hadn’t seen a mirror in a few hours, affirming I still had the only thing that made me so adored.
Katy and Gillian worked their magic and within two hours I was plucked, polished, buffed and readied to entertain the only son of Calico, a company I knew nothing about. Shit.
“Peter,” I called out to my room while Katy finished up my hair.
“Yes?”
“Bring my laptop in here, will you?”
I heard shuffling in my bedroom and then Peter entered the bathroom with my computer. I pried open the monitor and put in my password. My father would kill me if I wasn’t schooled on the boy’s father’s company. I Googled Calico.
Ah, plastics. And a durable product at that. In fact, their plastics were damn near indestructible. It made sense my father wanted in. Impervious electronic products would make him unstoppable. Okay, let’s see. Founded by Henry Rokul, married to Harriet Rokul. One child by Harriet named Devon. Devon Rokul is a twenty-year-old Harvard student studying, what else, business. I further Googled Devon Rokul’s picture and stumbled upon his social media. I familiarized myself with Devon’s Twitter updates and almost gagged at how mundane they seemed to be.
Took the dog for a walk today.
Studying for an exam.
Meeting Sam for a film.
Blech! Boring! But he wasn’t a bad-looking boy, and that made me not dread the evening as badly. I’d also discovered he was tall and would be able to wear heels, thank God, unlike my last charade where the guests were terminally short. I was forced to wear flats that night.
“Done!” Katy said, obviously proud of herself.
When I looked up, I saw that I looked as I always did. Impeccable.
“Thank you, Katy,” I said drily. “Settle with Matilda, I’ll ensure she includes a generous tip.”
“Oh, of course, Miss Price. Thank you.”
I stood, not bothering to see them out, and entered my dressing room. My closet was compartmentalized according to color and event. If I didn’t do that, I’d never find anything. The thousand-square-foot room was filled with clothing from floor to ceiling save for a small step to the massive wall mirror. My shoes were housed below the large island in the center and the counter held my jewelry and hats.
“Let’s see here,” I told no one. I made for the not-too-formal section of my wardrobe and chose a couture Chanel gown. Black and white. Gasp. Shocking, right?
I dressed and was downstairs in half an hour, awaiting the guests in the library where my father brought all his guests before dinner.
My mother walked in five minutes later. “Sophie,” she said, barely acknowledging me. She leaned over the mirror beside the door and examined her makeup.
“Hello, love,” my father laid on thickly for my mother when he entered the room. He kissed her with such fervid mania, I had to clear my throat to alert my presence. Disgusting. The lust poured off them. “Sophie,” my dad spit out, still looking at my mother.
“Asshole,” I said under my breath, but he didn’t hear.
Finally, the doorbell rang and I heard the clamor of feet in the marbled foyer. Our Steward, Leith, lead the Rokul family into the library. “The Rokul family,” Leith formally announced before swiftly exiting.
“Henry! Harriet! Devon!” My dad said jovially, hugging each like he wasn’t the giant prick we all knew he really was. “This is my lovely wife, Sarah, and my daughter, Sophie.”
I plastered the most genuine smile I possibly could and made my way their direction, taking each hand after my mother did.
“What a lovely family you have, Robert,” Henry complimented.
“I couldn’t agree more,” he told Henry, grabbing us each by the waist.
I absently recognized that that was the first physical contact I’d had with my father in more than six months.
Harriet and my mother sat together on the tufted fainting couch and the men, except for Devon, observed the grounds from the window. This left poor Devon shifting near the door.
“So, I hear you attend Harvard?” I approached and asked him.
He seemed to soften at my question. “Yes, I study business.”
“What else?” I asked, not realizing how rude that was until it was too late.
A soft smile reached his lips.
“I’m so sorry that was incredibly boorish of me.” I needed to patch it up before my father found out. “I meant that it would only make sense you’d study business seeing who your father is. An unerring sense of business must be inherited.”
“And she recovers flawlessly,” he teased, making me smile genuinely.
“Dinner is served,” Leith said, interrupting the room.
Devon offered his arm and I took it. My dad winked at me in approval and I wanted to gag. Dinner was served in the more intimate dining room, as there were only six of us. Devon pulled a chair out for me at the end of the table then sat next to me, two full seats separating us from our parents.
“Thank you for this,” I secreted in his ear.
“My pleasure,” he flirted.
Devon was a complete gentleman throughout dinner and I found myself unbelievably attracted to him. I mean, of course, all the boys in my circle were utter gentlemen. It was a product of their breeding, but Devon seemed genuinely interested in being courteous just for the sake of being courteous.
When dinner was over, coffee and cake were to be served in the library and I followed my parents out of the dining room, but Devon pulled me away, out of range.
