Page 29 of Omega Artist
I shoot her another text and wait, keeping myself busy on social media. Nothing happens. Damn! I check the time and grunt when I notice that it’s been almost forty-five minutes. She must have fallen back to sleep. Dammit! The phone call fell through. Fuck!
So, I do the one thing that has the ability to appease me when there’s nobody around. I put my phone on the nightstand and slide my hand inside my boxer briefs to take care of myself. I don’t need porn these days. Closing my eyes, I picture Parisian Alie on her knees, her eyes full of lust as the tip of her skillful tongue brushes the head of my aching cock. I’m painfully hard and it doesn’t take long to get myself off.
Alone.
Chapter Ten
Somebody to Love
Aliénor
My shoulders are sotense that the ache runs along my spine. “I said, ‘Enough!’ How difficult is that to understand?” In a feeble attempt to control my anger, I grind my molars and avert the gaze that’s been judging me for the last half hour, ruining my appetite.
“Aliénor, you are not running from me. Again!” I glance at him, my eyes shooting daggers now. Calm, collected, and commanding, Father remains seated at the dinner table with Céline standing nearby. The poor woman has to pretend that this argument is the first of its kind when it’s a common occurrence. His regal posture has a way of grating my nerves and I’m tempted to shake his outdateddosanddon’tsout of him.
“Watch me!” Seething, I bolt for the threshold. I regret that Sybil is having dinner at her future fiancé’s parents, leaving only the two of us. I regret that it’s not a Sunday brunch situation so that my sisters could possibly interfere. I regret that I can’t slam the door—any door—for dramatic effect because there’s no actual door separating the living room—where Father and I were having a pleasant dinner up until he started busting my balls—from the sleeping area.
“Do not use that tone with me, Aliénor.” His tone is eerily soft. “You come back to the table, now!” You’d have to know him well to hear the full indignation behind his words. Nobody stands up to this infuriating man. Nobody defies this self-assured man. Nobody… “We’re not done here. Not with dinner. Not with this discussion. Not with your behavior.”
My behavior?
As much as I want to escape the sight of this intrusive man who wrongly believes that he’s entitled to control my life, I won’t let him get to me. I stop in my tracks and spin around to face him and this situation head-on.
His arguments aren’t worth shit. Indeed, the first two are accurate but can’t be thrown in my face. I would give anything to continue living the way that I was living before cancer set me on this detour. Since then, exams, surgery, and recovery took priority. So, yes, stuck under his roof for the time being, and although he’s convinced that I have no real income, I do. I’m a big girl. I can handle myself, thank you very much. Trust fund or not, I earn a substantial amount of money on my own. I refuse to depend on anyone, especially when it comes to finances. I don’t need this man—or any man—to support me.
He’d be baffled by how much money I’ve made from the sponsors—woman empowerment and fitness alike—that were attracted by my social media platform. At least, fighting to stabilize my health and lengthen my remission taught me how to take better care of myself, and I share the lessons with others. And Father dares to condemn my altruism and marketing skills. Why is it so bad to try to educate women about how to lessen their potential risk of breast cancer? Why is it so bad to try to educate women about how to take powerful ownership of their lives? Why is it so bad to try to educate women about how to take charge of their future?
Reluctantly, I trudge back to the table. Céline is clever enough to have disappeared to the kitchen while I was heading the other way. My entire body is trembling with anger, and I do my best to calm down, not because I surrender, but because he needs to consider my opinion. I stand to the right of his chair and glare down at him.
His eyes remain on his plate. “Sit down, child.” That even tone makes my blood boil.
“I’m perfectly fine standing up,Father.” I’m far from fine, and if he’d only take a look at me, he’d know that. Maybe he can detect the negativity radiating from me. He and I are so similar, it’s frightening at times.
“Suit yourself.” He has a way of picking his battles that never ceases to rile me up. I would have relished a fight with him and grunt at the missed opportunity. “So, as I was saying, hearing that my baby daughter is behaving… inappropriately… to say the least… is unacceptable. I have set you up on a not-so-blind date with a fine young man who will hopefully rectify your damaged reputation. His father is a good friend of mine, an owner of an international consulting firm. Trust me, I’m not trying to get rid of you; this is my way of protecting you, understood?” He doesn’t wait for my answer. “This isnotnegotiable.” Yeah, yeah, I got that from the icy tone that infused his dictatorial statement. In cases like these, the name, age, and pedigree of the fine young man are irrelevant. And I’m convinced that he’s convinced he’s doing me a favor. I can’t stand it anymore.
Two words come to mind: Fuck you!
Even in this state, I know they’re better kept to myself. Hence, I remain there, still as a statue, with my eyes downcast. I absently listen to his words while drawing up multiple plans to abort his Machiavellian strategy.
In the end, his strategy eventually worked well for Sybil, who’s now properly matched, is soon to be engaged, and will be wed within a year to a not-so-young, quiet, and noble man who’s the heir of a food empire. What matters is that she’s genuinely happy and her sexcapade with Tig is long forgotten; I haven’t confessed my plans regarding her tattoo artist to her or anyone else. As far as I’m concerned, my father is not permitted to interfere in any of myrelationships—for lack of a better word—because it’s simply none of his business.
Father’s hand reaches for mine and squeezes it. “Aliénor, you need to learn that being the talk of the town goes against what’s expected of you.” I open my mouth to speak, but his gaze orders me to keep quiet, and I brace myself for what’s to come. “I love you with all my heart, and I want the best for you… If only you’d listen and behave. Throwing yourself at every gentleman you meet may bring momentary pleasure, if any, but will assuredly bring endless trouble. A girl should—”
“Father,” I interrupt because I can’t take it anymore. He frowns, but I go on regardless; our dinner is half-eaten and cold anyway. “Allow me to clarify a few things for you.” I start counting on my fingers. “First, I don’t throw myself at every gentleman; when I spot something I like, I take it, so not everyone! Second, the pleasure is momentary, but it’s usually mutual because I’m not a selfish lover.” At that, Father’s cheeks redden and he coughs in embarrassment. While we rarely discuss sex, it’s never been taboo. “Third, I think it’s disgusting and unfair that the sole reason it troubles you is that I’m a girl.” My chest tightens. God, I hate this topic! “I do love you, but I can’t accept your judgment when you should be on my side, not against me, especially when some of the guys are far from being gentlemen with your daughter. I can’t go on like this.”
Untangling my fingers from his, I kiss his forehead and leave the room as quietly as possible. For once, he’s too shocked to speak, move, or react.
A first.
* * *
“Thank you.”The flight attendant hands me the vodka I asked for in place of the standard champagne. I offer my biggest smile to the charming man as our fingers brush.
“Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
I nod in agreement, brazenly checking out the fit of Eric’s strict uniform.
Thank heavens for name tags!
