The thoughts make me sad, but I rally.
What if Micah punishes you for calling anyone at all?
That’s a chance I’ll have to take. To sit here, doing nothing, would drive me around the bend. Besides, in the light of day, his threat to kill me seems wholly innocuous. A throwaway phrase to him; he’d appeared shocked when I took it so seriously.
Right now, I can’t even think why I reacted so strongly. I’ve been around men in the organisation long enough to know their humour is borderline. Gallows humour gets them through the job.
Maybe having your fiancé swapped out at the last minute makes a girl sensitive. Who knew?
My dad is the safest bet and wields the most possibility to change what’s happened. I dial his number and wait for him to answer, my heart in my throat. Last night, he went from calling me his precious girl to hissing at me in cold fury when I defied his order. I don’t know which version of him I’ll strike today.
When it goes to voicemail, there’s a flash of relief as I leave a brief message. “It’s Crimson. Could you call me back on this number?”
I don’t say what I want to talk to him about. He’s a smart man. He should be able to guess.
Poking around on the phone doesn’t get me any intel. It’s a no-frills work device. No social apps. No games. Nothing to pass the time.
When an hour passes with no response, I dial my father’s number again. He will have listened to the message by now, so should recognise the strange number. Perhaps he’s in a meeting and can’t talk.
It rings once, then cuts off.
He rejected the call. My father rejected the call.
Cold sweat coats my skin. How am I meant to sort things if the two men involved won’t talk to me? I wonder if they’re in the same room right now, laughing over how they torched my dreams for the future in the same time it takes to order a pizza.
Fine. Play hard to get.
Marigold could be worth a try, but she wields even less influence with my father than I do. He won’t make time to see her if she tries to visit and he’ll definitely reject her calls.
I open the messaging app and type out a text to Gabriel instead. If they won’t play fair, then neither will I.
“I’m in Auckland and Dad won’t answer my calls. Can’t you visit him?”
The moment I press send, my stomach growls in protest. Or maybe that’s just discomfort. Apart from that half sandwich last night, I haven’t eaten for more than twenty-four hours.
At least the hunger gives me purpose.
I stride back out of the room and along into the kitchen. Considering the trouble I had getting a response last time, I head in with a surfeit of attitude. “Do I make myself breakfast or can I ask you to do that?”
The woman spins on her heel, staring at me with even more confusion than I’m feeling. “Excuse me?”
“You’re the cook here, aren’t you?” When she gives a tight nod—glaring eyes seeming to indicate she’s a lot more than justa cook—I ask, “So what does a girl need to do around here to get some food?”
“Asking politely would be a good start.”
I bite back a quick retort. My life will be miserable enough without starting a war with the household staff. “Can I please make myself breakfast?”
“Sit down.” She jerks her chin at the counter, and I lever myself onto one of the high stools. “Micah usually has bacon and eggs or French toast. Would you like that?”
Despite its cravings, my stomach rebels at the thought of such a heavy meal. “Is there cereal and coffee? That’s all I have, normally.”
“I’ll put a pot on. We don’t have much in the way of cereal, but I can make some porridge.”
“Thank you. That’d be great if it’s not too much trouble.” I watch her working with tight, efficient movements and envy her knowing where she belongs and what she should be doing. “Have you worked for Micah long?”
“Five years.”
“Can I help you with anything?” When she frowns at me, I add, “I’m not sure what I’m meant to be doing.”
