Page 33 of Something Blue

“I don’t want your help, Celso. I want to know what is going on.” She snaps.

“Neve, I’ve told you before, but perhaps you need to be reminded.” I say, stepping a little closer to her and lowering my voice. Our bodies brush against each other even so, she doesn’t step away from my touch.

Her bright blue eyes are wide as she stares up at me. Her lips part and she takes in a sharp breath.

“What?” she whispers.

“I love you, and you belong to me. That means that you can ask me for anything, and I will be there for you.”

Her cheeks flush rose pink.

She clears her throat and lets out a puff of air as though she’s been holding her breath.

“I don’t want your help.” She stammers, stepping away from me. I drop my hand from her waist and notice her shudder.

Without looking at me she walks away.

I chuckle as she hurries towards the bar to refill her drink that isn’t even half finished.

I’ve unsettled her.

I love that glint in her eyes. Confirmation that she feels it too. Confirmation that she loves my hand on her skin.

“Soon, my angel. Soon.” I whisper a promise to her as I lift my whisky to my lips.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Neve

My father is pacing up and down his living room. My brother and him have been going at it, arguing about everything, for about an hour. I’m exhausted. I haven’t said a word and I don’t think they even realize I’m still here.

“Franco, you need to think about the numbers. They are lower than they’ve ever been. Before it’s too late, we need to do something drastic to recover them.”

Luke always calls my father by his first name. The only time he calls him dad is when he’s doing some family interview and wants to appear sensitive.

“I said no.” My father snaps angrily. “I can fix this.”

“How?” Luke asks with desperation flooding from his lips.

If I was allowed to have any opinion in this matter, I would side with Luke. My father’s campaign has tanked. It’s below rock bottom and even if Luke takes over now, it might not be salvageable. Our family is out of money, the bank accounts are bled dry, most of the campaign members have walked out - things are bad. Like properly bad.

I don’t even read the news anymore because it’s too embarrassing to know those things about my father and to hear other people share their very unwanted opinions on the matter.

“I’ve asked the campaign manager to mortgage the house.” My father mutters, talking to himself, not us. “When that money comes through we can restart the campaign - come in from a fresh angle?—”

Luke packs up laughing. “You’ve bonded the house? Is thata joke?” He snarls.

My father shoots him a glare filled with heated anger.

“Franco, there is no money in the house. You used it all up - probably not even on the campaign but on hookers and cocaine.” He throws his hands in the air.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, boy?” My father snarls and my brother takes a step back. He nods and sighs, pushing his hand through his slick black hair.

“Sorry.” He mutters. “I’m stressed.”

“We are all stressed.”

If my father won’t let Luke take over I don’t see a way out of this. Our family is - for lack of a better word - fucked. We will lose the house, the cars, the status we have in the community. I don’t even know if I care about all of that anymore. What was the point of it? It got us to this point. A son who calls his father by his first name. A father who views his kids as media props - a little perfect family of cut out dolls to put on display as needed. We are hardly a family at all.

---