Page 24 of Princess of Pride
The sports car races down the long driveway, its lights a blur as it disappears behind lush trees.
I stand there, gaping in shock. He left. Just drove awaywhile I was talking. Is this what I’m to expect from him? My guess is yes.
The heaviest sigh I’ve let out to date passes through my lips. My shoulders slump with the long exhale. Unbelievable.
No stars shine as I drag myself back inside the estate. The gloom of the night follows me to my room where I flop backward onto my big Regency era bed. It’s one of the few things Mom and I have in common. Dusty rose, pale pink, and blush bathe the room. The floral wall art, paintings of large peonies, add a modern vibe to the otherwise period themed design.
My phone chimes from somewhere on my bed. The garden wind chime ringtone is the prettiest sound. I dig under the many pillows until I find the rose-pink encased device.
The fact that I left it on my bed buried under pillows doesn’t surprise me. Phones aren’t allowed at the dinner table except for my dad’s and his business associates, and this dress doesn’t have a pocket so I wouldn’t have brought it.
I read the text.
Unknown:It’s your husband. Save this number under my name. Also, I won’t have time to pick out your engagement ring. I’ll send my jeweler over tomorrow. Choose whatever ring suits you. I wouldn’t know what you like anyway. And stay away from Raphael if you want him to live.
If I want him to live? Who the hell does he think he is? A mobster from a dark romance novel? It hits me then. Lachlan isn’t as agreeable as I’d hoped. He’s as controlling as my father. And now he’s my husband. My molars mash together. I sit up and reply.
Me: Of course you wouldn’t know what ring to get me. You haven’t taken a moment to get to know me.
I stick out my tongue and consider sending him a picture of me doing just that. Better yet, I could send him one of me saluting him with mymiddle finger.
Hate him!
Mom wakes me the next day. Morning sun filters through the windows.
I’m in last night’s dress on my bed in the same position as when I got Lachlan’s text after he left.
I added his number and name to my contacts underMr. Assfordso I can ignore him in the future.
“This is unacceptable behavior, Chewy.” Mom walks into the en suite and turns on the shower. “Clean yourself for Heaven’s sake, and come downstairs dressed like a proper representative of this family. Lachlan’s jeweler is here. If you’re not down in ten minutes, I’ll pick out your ring myself.”
Mom saunters from the room, her cream pants romper soft in a way her attitude isn’t this morning. I like her better after she’s had a few drinks. She’s less demanding.
This was my life as a teenager before I was sent to boarding school where uniforms were mandatory, and I had more restrictions—but the rush I got from breaking the rules never left me. So I got creative and rebelled in other ways. If I couldn’t live the life I wanted, I was going to read about it in romance books.
Mom would have died if she knew I was reading adult steamy novels on my phone when I was a teenager. She believed I favored young adult romance and never bothered to monitor my account. She was just happy that I loved books as much as she did. Sometimes, we would read together in her book club room. Once, she even asked if I was hot because my cheeks were flushed, completely unaware the reaction was from a sex scene. As much as I enjoyed reading the steamy stuff that was forbidden to me in real life, I mostly loved the journey of the characters and how they learned and grewtogether into a couple that always ended with a happily ever after.
Steam billows from the open bathroom door, reminding me the shower is on. I shoot upright and stagger into the bathroom, tearing off my dress along the way. My hair gets twisted into a bun on top of my head before I step into the shower—ten minutes isn’t enough to make my long strands shine like silk. Thank god I don’t have to shave. Mom had Pippa and me lasered when we turned sixteen.
In my rush, I don’t remember which body parts I washed and didn’t wash. Assuming I was in robot mode and got them all, I get out and dry myself off. Quickly, I thoroughly lather my body with lotion and apply a conservative amount of makeup. When I exit my room, a dress hangs from my closet door. Mom came back in to pick out my clothes for the day like she’s always done.
I haven’t lived here in so long that her controlling nature grates on my every nerve. I blow out a breath for serenity and cross the large room. The pink French toile dress has puffed short sleeves and cinches at the waist with a bow before flaring at the hips.
I’m more of a doll to my mother than a daughter. At least my boobs are hidden with how the dress buttons in front like a shirt.
I run a brush through my hair, making sure it’s picture perfect, slip on my heels, and race downstairs.
Mom and the jeweler sit in her book club room, sipping tea and enjoying crumpets. The flute of an empty mimosa tells me Mom’s mood will be improved by now.
“Here she is. The blushing bride,” Mom sings. “Come join Jameson and me, darling.” She waves for me to sit beside her, as if I weren’t already headed that way.
I join her on the settee. On the table, a large velvet boarddisplays ten rings with various shaped diamonds and precious metals from gold to platinum.
Mom points to three that are set aside from the rest. “Any of these will work with the theme I have planned for your wedding.”
“And what theme is that?” Had I chosen it, I would remember.
She scowls but hides it behind a smile. How dare I question her in front of the jeweler?
