Page 3 of Because I Liked A Boy
My mother doesn’t move. She just keeps smiling at whoever’s in front of her, as if the room hasn’t shattered around her. And maybe that’s what terrifies me most—that she can stand in the rubble and pretend it isn’t there.
I follow Nathan out into the cold. The air hits like a slap, sharp and bracing after the heat of the ballroom. He’s already fishing his keys from his pocket, heading straight for the row of parked cars lining the front of the building.
“Nathan, don’t.” My heels snap against the pavement as I catch up.
He doesn’t slow. “Belle, get inside. I’m leaving.”
“You’ve been drinking.” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, but my pulse is still hammering. “You’re not driving like this.”
His jaw flexes. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” I plant myself in front of him, blocking the driver’s side door. “Give me the keys.”
“Belle—”
“Now.” My hand is out, palm up, daring him to argue. “You want to leave? Fine. But you’re not putting us both in the hospital because you’re pissed off at him.”
For a second, I think he’s going to fight me on it. His eyes are still bright with anger, his chest rising and falling too fast. Then he exhales hard, shoves the keys into my hand—just like he used to hand over the last piece of pizza when we were kids, silent but stubborn—and yanks open the passenger door.
I slide into the driver’s seat, the cool leather against the back of my legs sending a shiver up my spine. Nathan slams his door shut, leaning his head back against the rest. His eyes close, but his knee is bouncing like a drumbeat.
Neither of us speaks.
The night swallows us as I pull away from the curb, headlights carving pale lines through the darkness. The hum of the engine fills the silence, but Nathan doesn’t speak right away.
I glance at him. His head is still tipped back, eyes closed, but the bouncing of his knee hasn’t stopped.
“You going to tell me what that was about?” My voice is steady, but my grip on the wheel is tight enough to ache.
He exhales a bitter laugh, eyes opening to meet mine for the first time since we left. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“I know you just blew up Dad’s gala in front of a hundred people,” I say. “And I know you humiliated Mum. But I don’t know who she is.”
His jaw works. “Her name’s Sofia. Used to be one of Dad’s assistants. Then she wasn’t. Then she was… something else.”
The words settle like a stone in my stomach. “What do you mean?”
“They’ve been seeing each other for years, Belle. I found out a few weeks ago—walked into the office and caught them together.”
My skin prickles. “And tonight?”
“She turned up with her kid. That girl at the gala—” I cut in, my breath catching. “She’s really his?”
He nods once. “Her name’s Penelope. She’s fifteen.”
Fifteen. The number thuds in my chest. All those nights Dad said he was working late, the business trips, the times Mum sat alone at the kitchen table… they all look different now.
“She’s his kid,” I say quietly, like speaking it aloud might make it less sickening.
“His kid,” Nathan echoes. “Our half-sister.”
The word makes my insides twist. Half-sister. Blood I never knew I shared.
Nathan’s voice hardens, sharper than he probably means it to be.
“I swear to you, Belle—no matter what happens, I’ll protect that girl. She’s innocent in all of this.”
The conviction in his words makes my throat ache, but there’s an edge to his tone that scrapes against my nerves. He doesn’t want to scare Penelope, I know that but when Nathan gets this fierce, it’s impossible not to feel the weight of it pressing down.
