Page 38 of Betrayed

In two weeks, when I turn twenty-five, I’ll be a millionaire.

“That’s enough,” Daddy barked.

Something was definitely wrong; he never barked at either of us.

“Blake, I’m fine. Just worried about you, that’s all.”

He avoided making eye contact, which was a huge red flag. There had to be something he wasn’t telling me. Was he really having money problems, or was Cilla being a bitch? Was he worried I’d judge him if he had money problems?

“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m not fine. And I don’t think Blake needs protection anymore. It’s been days and nothing has happened.” Priscilla glared at me like all this was my fault. “It’s not enough we’re paying for her college tuition, but we have to fork over thousands for her to have a bodyguard, too.”

I’d had enough of her constantly complaining about me and snapped. “The scholarships I earned covered more than half my college expenses,” I argued back. “It’s not like you had to give up your weekly waxes and mani/pedis.” Priscilla lived the life of a spoiled politician’s wife.

Sometimes I wondered why my dad married her.He can’t possibly love her. Not like he loved my mom. Priscilla was a spoiled, self-centered gold digger and too young for him. The complete opposite of my mom.

Priscilla was wrong about my college expenses being a financial burden, but she was right about the bodyguard thing.

I can’t believe I’m agreeing with her.I turned back to my dad.

“But she’s right about SSI. I’m sure whoever left the note meant it as a joke and is afraid to say anything because you hired security.” It was the only thing that made sense. No one had so much as given me a dirty look. Well, no strangers at least.

“Priscilla, will you give us the room?”

“Fine.” She huffed as she stomped her fuzzy slipper clad feet out of the room.

My father followed behind her and shut the door.

“I know this is disruptive, but, um, I think, SSI thinks the threat is real and I, we, have to defer to their expertise.”

He still wasn’t making eye contact.And why is he stuttering?My father was a brilliant prosecutor and an elegant speaker. He didn’t stutter, stammer, or get tongue tied. He's beyond stressed, and I'm making it worse.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop complaining.” It was the least I could do to help him.

“Thank you. And you know none of this is your fault, right?”

I did. “Are we really having money issues?” I asked, half expecting him to laugh it off.

When he looked at me, the fear in his eyes was more than I could bear. I rushed over to him.

“Priscilla is exaggerating. I asked her not to go shopping for a while, thinking it’d be safer for her to stay home, and she assumed it’s because we have money issues.”

That didn’t ring true; she shopped a lot on line.

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to help when I get my inheritance.”

“No, no, that’s not necessary,” he dismissed my offer. “There’s nothing to worry about.” He rubbed my back to comfort me like he did when I was a kid.

I wasn’t convinced, but there wasn’t much I could do if he wouldn’t talk to me. “Okay, Daddy.” I pulled back and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he said as he sat back down and focused on his monitor.

I had a feeling he wasn’t being honest about their money problems. If it was a safety issue, Priscilla could shop online. Did he owe someone money? Was that why they threatened him, me? I’d be happy to give them what they wanted if it meant things could go back to normal.

I needed to study but couldn’t concentrate. After an hour of reading the same sentence over and over, I gave up and closed my laptop. Hoping it’d help me relax, I drank half a bottle of wine while taking a long, hot bubble bath.

Sadly, nightmares ruined my sleep.

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