After showering, I throw on a pair of leggings and a running bra, then head downstairs to make a smoothie. No doubt my mother has taken my twin sisters to gymnastics or equestrian or whatever new thing they’re into at the moment, so the house is quiet. I’ll be able to do some yoga by the pool and enjoy the late winter sunshine in peace.
My stepfather looks up from his newspaper as I enterthe kitchen, the heavy weight of his leering gaze landing hard. My stomach rolls, knowing the dirty old man is imagining what it would be like to do naughty things to his stepdaughter. Just like stepdaddy one and two, he thinks money and prestige will get his dick sucked.
Sorry to be a disappointment, but while I’m into older men, I’m not into the wrinkles of the men my mum marries, and it won’t take long before the Viagra no longer works for sixty-year-old Roger, and she’ll move on to the next poor son of a bitch. Or should I say rich son of a bitch, considering my dear old mum is accustomed to a certain way of life.
It’s ironic that my family look down on my cousin, Jeremy, for creating an incredible sex club where people have the freedom to safely explore their sexual proclivities, yet my mother is basically a gold-digging whore, but no one takes an issue with that. What a joke.
Okay, so maybe I have unresolved mummy issues, too, but honestly, who doesn’t have hang ups because of their parents?
Take my bestie for instance. Quiet, studious, little Willow has low self-esteem because her mother constantly rags on her for not being a size six. My girl is an absolute smoke show, only she doesn’t believe it.
It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for. While Willow lets people walk all over her at home and at school, she brings men to their knees in the bedroom.
She’s had a man enthralled with her for the past six months, and it made me happy to see them together last night. Willow deserves a good time, and to take back her power. I’m so proud of her.
I try to get her to come to the club more often, but they only host the masked nights once a month, and my pretty little angel is too shy to let her alter-ego take over without the mask.
Roger clears his throat, and I look over my shoulder to find his eyes firmly on my backside as I bend over to get my favourite berry yoghurt from the back of the fridge. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he put it there just so he could take advantage of me bending over to find it. No, he can’t have. He’s not that smart.
“Can I help you?” I ask in my best saccharine tone.
The old man swallows, his face bright red and sweaty, and I worry he’s about to have a stroke or a heart attack or something. “Jemima has taken the twins to their tennis lesson. They won’t be back until two.”
It’s twelve now.
“Good for her,” I say breezily as I straighten and close the fridge with my arse before sashaying to the blender, my arms laden with yoghurt, berries, and coconut water.
His eyes drop to my boobs as I reach over to grab a banana from the fruit bowl in front of him. His tongue darts out to swipe along his bottom lip. The sports bra I’m wearing has no padding; my nipple piercings press against the material.
Dirty perve.
Like he’s got a chance.
Clearly, he’s stupid enough to try, though.
“What are your plans for the day?”
Ugh, anything other than you.
Ignoring him, I start the blender, staring at my manicured nails while I wait for my smoothie. When it’sfinally done, I pour it into a cup with a straw, wrapping my lips around it and taking a long pull. Then I leave everything where it is, not bothering to clean up, and exit the room without another word.
Fuck him. It won’t be long before he’s screwing his secretary, and Mum will get the house and the yacht in the divorce settlement. It’s always the same story. Although, surprisingly, this husband has stuck for a lot longer than the other two. We’re going on two and a half years, which is a record for her.
When it happened with stepdaddy number one and two, Willow questioned whether my mother was bribing these women to sleep with her husbands, and look, I wouldn’t be surprised. If she’s nothing else, Jemima Sheridan is resourceful and cunning. She’ll cut a bitch to get what she wants.
Sucking down my smoothie, I wander over to the pool area where I like to do my yoga. The gardener’s son catches my eye as he trims the hedges. I hope he’s a little more careful today. Last time, he fell off the ladder because he was too busy watching me.
Okay, so I might have deliberately been a little naughtier in my yoga poses that day, but we all know how much I love being watched. I couldn’t help myself.Sorry, not sorry.
I offer him a wink, laughing to myself when his eyes widen and he grips the ladder tighter. Poor boy.
After connecting my phone to the pool house’s Bluetooth sound system, I select my meditation playlist and roll out my mat. With the intense orgasms last night andthis morning, I most definitely need to balance out my chakras. I kneel in thunderbolt pose and close my eyes, taking deep breaths until my mind is clear, then I move through my favourite poses, concentrating on my breathing and blocking out all distractions.
The winter sun beams down on me, and I lift my face to soak it up. The promise of spring brings a smile to my lips. My nan got me into yoga at seven to help me slow down my busy mind and reharness my control.
I miss her, but when Dad left, Mum cut all contact with his family and moved us interstate. We moved two more times during my teens before ending up in Beckford, where my aunt and uncle live. That’s how Mum met Roger. He’s my uncle’s boss.
When I was eighteen, I tried to reach out to Dad’s side of the family, only to find out Nan had died three years earlier. I added that to the long list of reasons I hate my mother.
