For all the things they’ve talked about behind my back, I’ve never heard that one.
“Everybody.And I thought it would be plausible after you slept with Davidson. That fucking idiot.”
“What?”
What has my ex to do with this?
“Yeah, we all thought you discovered you were gay thanks to his micropenis and went to America so you could live a happy gay life away from your parents.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“A happy gay life?” I ask, flabbergasted.
God, he’s even more pretentious and backward than I thought.
“Sorry, I know that was bad,” he says, offering a half-hearted apology. “But hey, even better. That means that when we need to have sex to make babies, you’re going to enjoy it.”
“I don’t want your babies or any babies,” I snap, crossing my arms tightly across my chest.
“It’s okay, I don’t either. We can get a nanny or two or three. I don’t fucking care. Between both of us, there is more than enough money to send them to a Swiss boarding school, and we only have to see them for Christmas or summer for a few weeks. And you can live your life, work on your computer or shit, and I can have mine.”
He’s fucking crazy and needs to be set straight.
“I’m. Not. Going. To marry you.”
“Listen, Amelia,” he pleads, his eyes searching mine. “I get it, okay? Maybe I said this the wrong way, maybe it came across too nonchalant. I’m trying to take it lightly, but this is our fucking lives we’re talking about. I don’t want to do it either, but it’s the life we’re stuck with. And I want to make the best of it. Wouldn’t you like to live that life with a friend?”
His earlier arrogance is gone, replaced by a sincerity that’s hard to ignore. He takes my hand again, and this time, I don’t pull away. His grip is firm but gentle, a silent plea for understanding.
“A friend you can talk to, where you don’t have to pretend,” he continues. “With a friend who understands that in front of everybody else, we’re the perfect couple, and at home understands that you want to do your own thing, work on your own things. I promiseI will let you work.I will let you be everything you want to be. I won’t make a cute little housewife out of you if you don’t want that. We get staff, we get maids, you can work all day, all night for all I care. As long as for appearances, you play your role as much as I play mine. Wouldn’t you prefer that? Prefer being married to a friend instead of a guy who doesn’t understand you? And who would want you to be their good little housewife who goes on her knees for them every night and pushes out five to six children?”
The weight of his words sinks in, and I realize the trap we’re both caught in.
The picture he painted. It could turn into reality.
“It won’t be long before you realize how mediocre your efforts are, and when you do, you’ll come crawling back. And when that day comes, don’t be surprised if the only suitors interested in you are old bachelors desperate for an heir. And don’t expect me to help you then. I’d rather marry you off to any of them just to soften the disgrace you’ve become.”
My mother’s voice echoes in my mind, and I start to hyperventilate.
Daniel reaches out to push a strand of hair behind my ear. “We’re in this together, Amelia, and I swear, if you agree, we’re going to be a team. A team for life. A team that supports each other and understands each other. Okay?”
“I…”
I what?
“I’m tired,” I say instead, feeling overwhelmed.
“Fine. Think about it.” He pulls me close and kisses my cheek. “I could give you a good life. And I’m a good friend. Heard you haven’t got too many of them in your corner. At least in London.”
Nowhere else, either.
I stand there, watching him walk away. The cool night air does little to calm the storm inside me, and I know that this is far from over.
FOUR
The stylist,a chic woman with kind eyes in her late thirties who I haven’t met before measures my arms while Mother scrutinizes every inch of me, her gaze as sharp as a scalpel.
I stand awkwardly in my vast childhood bedroom, feeling like a mannequin as Mother, Miranda, and the stylist fuss over me. This impromptu styling session was a complete surprise, sprung on me without warning. I can’t help but fidget, and my skin crawls under their intense scrutiny.
