Page 55 of Trustfall

“Emory,” my dad says under his breath. “You’re being rude.”

I snap myself out of the trance I’m in, pushing down the nausea and dizziness. If this is fight or flight, I’m choosing to fight. I’m stronger now. I’m not that same girl I was three years ago.

But aren’t you?

I reach out and shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jaxon,” I manage to grit out. I never told my father about my relationship in college. He never took an interest in my dating life until recently, so I didn’t feel the need to tell him. The last thing I needed was for Nate to find out. He would have beaten Jaxon to death with his bare hands if he knew how he treated me. Jaxon didn’t mind that I hid him from my family. Fewer people in my corner to support me or tell me to leave him. But why was he still pretending not to know me? What did it matter to him now?

“Dinner is served, sir,” Maeve announces, interrupting my thoughts.

“Great, shall we?” My dad leads the way out to the dining room, as Jaxon follows closely behind.

“I want a drink first,” I blurt out, well aware that I sound like a bratty toddler who didn’t get her juice.

My father and Jaxon turn around in unison, and my dad sighs. I’m not winning any points with him tonight, but there’s no way I’m having dinner with my abusive piece-of-shit ex without alcohol.

“Maeve, can you make Emory a gin and tonic and bring it to the table, please?”

Maeve nods her assent and walks over to the bar cart to begin working on my drink.

We all go into the dining room, and once again the table is already set up to fuck me over. There is one place setting in front of my dad’s chair and two on the other side where Nate and I usually sit. There’s no way out of this without looking like a lunatic or making my dad even more aggravated with me. I take the seat directly across from my father, and Jaxon sits next to me. Maeve places my drink in front of me, and I take a long gulp, the ice clinking against my teeth as I revel in the slight burn of the alcohol sliding down my throat.

Twenty minutes.

I’m giving it twenty minutes, and then I’m faking a migraine.

Fuck if I’m going to sit here any longer than that and pretend the man sitting next to me didn’t torture me for years.

Maeve comes in and places salads in front of the three of us. I try to eat, but I can barely swallow. This is what his threat was about. I didn’t give him what he wants, so now he’s going through my fucking family to get to me. He’s angry that I didn’t answer his texts. He never liked being ignored. It was the number one reason we fought. If I didn’t answer a call or a text within five minutes, he would punish me. Is that why he’s here now, to punish me? But what can he do? Fuck another girl in front of me? I’d put on mood music and wish them well. Embarrass me in front of his friends? Be my guest. Belittle me? Berate me? No, he has something else up his sleeve. I can feel it.

Maeve clears our salads and puts clean plates in front of us. Then, she brings out family-style dishes of food. I’m about to feign my headache when my dad’s phone buzzes. He checks it and lets out a string of curses.

“Something came up at work. I have to deal with this. Please, start without me,” he says, motioning to the food on the table. “I’ll be back in a few.” He throws his napkin down on the table and stands up, holding his phone to his ear.

No. Don’t leave me here with him.

I almost scream out the words whirling in my head as I see my father disappear around the corner. But it’s no use. He’s gone. I need to get out of here. Jaxon can make something up when my dad gets back. Or not. I don’t really give a shit.

I try to stand, but a sudden pressure on my leg holds me back. “You don't want to do that, Emory,” Jaxon whispers in my ear, his voice dripping with venom, making my skin crawl. “We have our own business to discuss.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” I choke out.

A bitter laugh spills from his lips. “Do you know why I chose you?” I remain silent, but he continues. “You’re weak, and I knew it the first time I saw you in class. You were so delicate and vulnerable. Inexperienced. Smart when it came to school, but completely clueless about anything else. Plus, you came from a wealthy family. And your tits weren’t bad either.” I swallow hard, feeling more disgusted with every word that falls out of his mouth.

“Anyway, it was perfect,” he continues. “I had to marry eventually, per my father's orders. Why not start molding the perfect, obedient trophy wife while in college? So that’s what I did. I molded you, tested you, punished you when you needed it. I broke you in. I had it all figured out. I made you think I was going to let you take that nursing job in California. But no, that wouldn’t do. Trophy wives don’t work. You were going to stay home and plan parties. Host dinners. Push out a few babies. Then I realized something that night.” He forces his pointer finger under my chin, tipping it up, and I shudder at his touch. “No matter how many times I cheated on you, or punished you, or made you cry—you never fucking learned. You kept ignoring my calls and texts. Putting me second to school and your future career and that cunt roommate of yours. So I left. I needed to find a real trophy wife. One who didn’t have that irritating little rebellious streak you did.”

He still has his finger wedged under my chin, and I move my head to the side to escape his hold. “Fuck you,” I spit out, trying to stand again, but he grabs my arm and twists with a firm grip, not enough to leave a mark but enough to make it clear he means business. I shake him off me and slam back down onto my chair.

“I wasn’t finished, Emory. You see, I never found my trophy wife in California. They were all a little too submissive. Too boring. It took me years, but I finally realized I missed the little bit of fight you had in you. Now it’s no longer a suggestion according to my father. It’s a demand.”

“What are you saying? You want me back?” I bark. “That’s never going to happen.”

“I don’twantanything, Emory. Igetthings.”

“Not this time. You willneverget me again.”

I stand up and he lets me go this time. I start to stomp out of the dining room, but I hear him call me back in a creepy-as-fuck singsong voice.

“Oh, Emory.”

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