Oh well.
THIRTEEN
A strangerin my own skin.
That’s what I am as I once again stand in the grand entrance hall. My long navy dress hugs my meager curves and its slit reveal more leg than I’m comfortable with. My hair cascades down my back in soft waves, and I feel the weight of my smoky eye makeup.
When I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror earlier, I hardly recognized the woman staring back at me. Pretty, yes, but someone else entirely.
I fidget with the décolletage of my dress, trying to pull it up a bit more, but it’s no use. The fabric clings stubbornly to my breasts, and I can’t shake the feeling of vulnerability that comes with it. I’ve been here for almost fifteen minutes, faking polite smiles while guest after guest walked past me into the ballroom.
It’s the night of the annual charity gala my parents host for the British Heart Foundation at the start of October. It’s a cause that’s undeniably important, but the irony isn’t lost on me.
My parents hosting a charity for a heart foundation when they seem to lack one themselves.
The superficial smiles, the idle chit-chat, the way everyone seems to be wearing a mask, I fucking loathe it. But I have toattend, at least to try and talk to August. I haven’t seen him properly since our hike, just shared quick glances and words in passing since Father keeps him in meetings at all hours. I looked for him over the security feed, but he was never around. I even called Abigail to see if she had any luck catching him and she hasn’t.
Never a chance to actually talk.
With each minute that ticks by, my anxiety grows.
What if he doesn’t come?
Then I’m stuck here all night, forced to engage in mindless conversationsfor nothing. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. Thankfully, I catch sight of him stepping into the hall, looking almost like Father in his suit. His eyes scan the room, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s looking for me too.
But when his gaze finds mine, his posture gets defensive, and as he approaches, he’s already making excuses. “Come on. We’re already late.”
Is he bloody serious?
I shake my head, frustration bubbling up inside me. “Where have you been all this time, Auggie? I came here foryou. You wanted me here, but we’ve hardly talked or seen each other. You’re always off with Father.”
He laughs, but it’s a dry, hollow sound. “That’s part of the problem, isn’t it?”
He’s right,but he’s still acting like an arse.
“Well, Abigail had time to talk to me, and we figured out a solution. We’ve planned a new life for you in the US. All you have to do is agree and come with us.” My heart races as I speak, hoping against hope that he’ll see reason.
“You did what?” August’s face falls, his expression a mixture of disbelief and resignation. “I told you?—”
“And I told you that I won’t sit by and watch you ruin your life.”
“It’s not that easy, Meelie. We can’t abandon everything like that.” He runs a hand through his hair, and I see the fatigue in his eyes.
But I can’t step back now.
“You can,” I insist, trying to keep my voice down. “And you should.” My desperation creeps into my tone, but I don’t care.
This might be the only chance I get to persuade him.
“They’re our parents,” he argues weakly, his eyes pleading with me to understand.
I feel a surge of anger, white-hot and all-consuming. “That didn’t stop them from verbally abusing me for years.” The words taste bitter on my tongue, but it feels oddly cathartic to finally say them out loud. His eyes widen in shock, and I scoff. “Don’t look at me like you didn’t know.You knew.” I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling exposed in more ways than one.
“I… I suspected,” he admits. The guilt in his eyes is palpable, and for a moment, I almost feel sorry for him.
Almost.
“And you didn’t do anything,” I accuse, my words sharp with years of pent-up hurt. “You thought a day or two out of the house would suffice for a life in Hell instead of stepping up for me.”
