Page 136 of Play On

Dad begins to chuckle, and the sound makes me queasy. “Violet, Violet, Violet. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but you’ve never lacked for that—in thebeginningstage of your ideas.”

“Dad, Violet just told you why she did what she did,” Nicholas says. “She’s ready to face her fears and move forward. She’s brilliant and capable, why not give her a chance?”

“Because that’s not the way things are done,” Dad says. “You know that better than anyone, Nicholas. There’s an order to the life here.”

“But Violet isn’t the heir,” he replies, his voice low. “There’s no threat if Violet succeeds, is there?”

The tension in the air is enough to choke a person right now.

“Nicholas, it’s not about threats—it never has been. It’s about the way things are done,” Dad says, his voice sharp with a warning tone.

“But there is room for change if you want it,” Nicholas counters, his brown eyes flashing. “I’m not asking for myself. I know better. But I’m begging you to give Violet a chance. If she’s going to get to London and make a career, she needs our help.”

“I do need your help,” I reaffirm. “All I’m asking for is a chance to design, plan, and host an event. Just one so you can see I’m serious about this.”

“But how can we take a chance on that when all we have to go off is unfinished ideas and projects that you have abandoned for years, ever since you came back to Wintersmith Hall?” Mum points out. “Darling, we love you, but just a week ago, you left a mess in the library. Then you were running off to spend time with Noah, and the next thing we know, you’re winging yourself to Australia just to watch a friendly, which makes zero sense.”

My cheeks burn hot now with humiliation.

“I was going to finish the book project, but you had Melanie clear it up,” I say, working hard to keep my voice even and not sound tearful. “I covered all my shifts so I could spend time with Noah.”

“But spending God knows what to follow your new boyfriend to Australia? No, Violet, that smacks of bad decision-making,” Dad says.

“No, it does not. I had my reasons for going to Australia, none that I’m willing to share with anyone out of respect for Noah’s privacy,” I say, my voice shaking. “And I wouldn’t be so careless as to host an exhibit and then go off on holiday!”

“How do I know that, based on your recent behaviour?” Dad challenges. “The answer is no, Violet. I won’t risk Wintersmith Hall’s reputation for your whims.”

“Dad, I’m begging you. I know how I acted in the past, but I’m facing my fears now. I’m taking them head-on. I won’t let you down if you give me a chance. I have proposals I’ve written up, just as if I were an outsider coming to you with a business idea. Would you and Mum please at least read them? Please?”

“No, I will not. I won’t be talking about this further with you—or you,” he says pointedly, shooting Nicholas a warning look. Then he turns back to me. “I’m sorry, but being a butterfly is who you are. That’s why it’s perfect for you to work in the gift shop, where people can cover you when you want to flitter off on a whim. There’s no harm done in that. But you pulling that routine with an event? No, no thank you.”

Tears fill my eyes. The reality of my situation sinks in.

My parents will never ever see me in another light. I won’t even get a chance to prove to them I’m ready to change. They want things to continue on as they always have, with Nicholas not bringing up new ideas or demanding some autonomy.

And they want me folding tea towels for the rest of my life.

Don’t give up,I think, as the new Violet fights to be heard.Don’t.

“But what if I had an idea and we handed it over to the events team to run?” I ask. “They could oversee it, I could consult with them, and you’d be assured it would run.”

“Don’t they have enough to do with weddings and other special events already on the schedule without having to worry about chasing you around to get details on an event you’ll most likely lose interest in?” Dad retorts.

His words slap me across the face.

“I told you, it wasn’t losing interest, it was fear,” I say, my voice beginning to break.

“Was it? Or is that the reality you want to paint for us?”

I bite down hard on my lip. I refuse to let Dad see me cry. I won’t do it.

“Often the truth is a mixture of things,” he says. “And I can’t risk the reputation of Wintersmith Hall on your butterfly way of doing things. I love you, Violet. But you’re going to have to start somewhere else for experience. I’m done with this topic, and I don’t want to hear about this anymore.”

I glance at Mum, who looks helplessly at me. As if part of her wants to believe me.

But part of her doesn’t.

I’ve sat down at this table and admitted my failings to them. I was vulnerable and honest, and for what? For them to pick me apart? To reiterate my past and not believe me when I’m telling them I want to grow and change?

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