Page 13 of Filthy Mouth
When my father asked to meet me at the restaurant, I was guarded, but it turned out my gut instinct was correct. That’s why I scheduled a client consultation around the same time.
“I’m not marrying him, Father,” I said tightly.“The man is ancient and Delphina’s brother. It grosses me out simply thinking of it.”
“We've given you everything. An education, a career, freedom. Delphina and Annabelle have sacrificed many things for our family. Your selfishness—”
I gasped.
The rest of his words blurred, and I sat beside him, staring at him. The years had not been kind to him. He was fifty-nine this year, and he looked every bit of it. Overweight, red-faced, with white hair, but his blue eyes had sunken in to give him the look of a villain. The grey bushy eyebrows didn't help.
Delphine and Annabelle came into my life shortly after my mother died. Like a naive child, I’d been happy to gain a sister and a mother figure because no one could ever replace my beautiful mother. I remembered her singing to me and thinking it was the most beautiful of voices.
The night of the party, Delphina’s brother turned up to‘escort’me to the party. I’d just got home from work, only to be ambushed, so I turned back out and headed to a bar.
I stared at him. He was the sellout.
They needed me to marry her brother so they could tap into my inheritance. My father made his name in politics only by marrying my mother. My Nana had never liked him, and when he brought Delphina home, she adjusted her will to protect me. My‘family’had almost seventeen years to break me, and they nearly succeeded.
They wanted Nana’s land and probably my company, Iona Designs, my mother’s interior design company. He had the nerve to sit before me and say they’d given me everything, and I was the selfish one?
“Let me be very clear, Father. I will never marry Edmund,” I said quietly.
His eyes narrowed on me, and I wondered if my father had ever considered me as his daughter, or if I was the gateway to my mother’s inheritance.
My father’s tirade was cut short when a shadow fell over the table. I glanced up to see my £1,000 hook-up for the night in question. He sat down, and a waiter brought him the padded black and gold menu.
Had I felt him in my throat days later? Yes.
Had I masturbated to that one encounter repeatedly over the last five weeks? Hell, yes.
Here he was, sitting in a civilised environment, across from my father. I studied the nasty, foul-mouthed older man. His long, straight hair fell over his face. It gave him the Keanu Reeves vibe. I could picture him preening in the mirror, obsessed with his hair. He wore another sharp Tom Ford suit—this time, he’d opted for a severe black one.
As had I.
“Benedict, this is my daughter, Poppy, but she was just leaving,” Father said, making it clear that it was time for me to leave.
Did it hurt? Not anymore.
I’d become immune to my tormentors. There was only so much you could take before you crumbled and rebuilt into something new. But the cracks always remained. They never left.
Benedict’s eye flicked up from the menu.
He froze, eyes widened, lips parted, and his gaze dropped to my lips.
“Hello, Daddy,” I said, smiling sweetly.
Before my father could say anything, I turned to face him.“I mean bye for now, Daddy.”
Ignoring my father’s scowl, I stood up.
“No. Why don’t you stay and have lunch with us?” Benedict said, standing up.
His words were calm, but his eyes were full of wild panic.
Oh, this was too much fun.
“I’m sorry. I have a client to meet,” I said, glancing at my watch, toying with the gold band.
“Client!” he said with his voice high-pitched.
