“And what about when you thought it would be smart to start a charity where you hand out pillows for a pillow fight day?”
I’ll give him that one. It was one of Rupert’s dares that I couldn’t go back on.
“That might have been slightly misguided,” I say, scratching my cheek.
“Everything you do is misguided, unfinished, and lacking in aristocratic wisdom, something required of your future title. You’re unpolished, a foolish wanderer with no ability to take anything seriously.”
“That’s not true,” I say.
“Says the man with lipstick marks all over his face.”
Shit, should have looked in the mirror.
Shaking his head, my father walks toward the door. “You’re by far the biggest disappointment in my life.”
I know that should hurt, but it isn’t the first time he’s said it to me.
“Now I have to fix yet another mistake. Attempting to wash off the dirt you continue to throw on the family name. You’re irresponsible and self-centered. Have you ever stopped to think how your actions affect me?” He points to his chest.
Me, self-centered? I’m the only one in this family that actually visits charities and foundations and donates to those in need.
I might make mistakes here and there out of pure defiance, but self-centered?
No.
My father needs to look in the mirror when he says that.
“No, because unlike you, I don’t think about you all the time. I think about others, people with real problems.”
“You’remy problem,” Father seethes. “Your responsibility is to represent this family with respect, not to be this self-centered, entitled arsehole with a tawdry reputation.”
Self-centered. I might be hungover with lipstick marks all over me, and the faint feeling of a thong still up my arse, but I don’t fucking like him calling me that.
Not one bit.
Not when he’s the one who is self-centered.
He doesn’t care about the family name; he cares about himself and his image.
And to hell if I’m ever going to be like him. Someone whoactuallydoesn’t follow through on things, like the many, many promises he’s made while shaking hands at events but never kept. Or the many times he told my mother he was monogamous, which didn’t track with the multiple times his hand had been up skirts that didn’t belong to my mother. Or how he swears to help out the people who rely on him, but he never actually does.
I’m over it and I’m over him.
Something needs to be done. I’m putting my foot down.
“No need to worry about me,” I say, rocking back on my heels. “Because I was serious about finding a fiancée.”
“What?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.
Yeah, what?
Did that just come out of my mouth?
Jesus, am I still drunk?
I know I just went on an internal monologue about how shitty my father is, but stating I’m serious about finding a fiancée? That…that needed a little more thought before I let it out into the world.
*Internally winces*
