Page 6 of Wanted

I look back at the reflection of her face in alarm.

Her eyes flash and her knuckles go white around the handle.

She’s so angry with me, she’s shaking.

“I’ve done everything I’m supposed to do,” she exhales harshly, as if she’s struggling to find breath. “It’syou. You who ruins everything.”

My teeth cut deeper into my cheek.

The coppery taste flooding my mouth somehow soothing.

My heart calms and I know I can take her hit without flinching or crying like a baby.

“My darlings! Where are you?” Daddy calls out, his deep, booming voice echoing downstairs in the foyer. “We’re going to be late!”

Mother stiffens and glances over her shoulder.

When my father’s footsteps begin to thump up the stairs, she makes a sound of disgust in her throat.

Tossing my brush away, she releases my hair and snatches up my hand. “We’ll finish this discussion later.”

She yanks me away from the mirror, and I trip and stumble, my head spinning, before I get my feet under control.

Having no patience, she drags me up to my door and stops.

Shoulders straightening, spine stiffening, she takes a moment to collect herself and soften her expression before finally opening my door.

“We’re ready, honey!” she calls out to my father, her voice so syrupy sweet it makes my teeth ache.

Without sparing me a glance, she tugs me into the hall.

My father huffs. “It’s about time.”

“I’m sorry, we had a little hair emergency,” my mother apologizes as her hand squeezes painfully around mine, warning me not to contradict her.

Stopped on the landing in the middle of the staircase, staring down at his phone, my father bobs his head in understanding. “Now we can’t have that.”

“Of course, we can’t,” my mother agrees, her smile tightening for a split-second.

Wearing a black suit and shoes so polished I can see some of his reflection in them, my father is dressed in what he usually wears for Mass. The only change being the white rose blossom pinned close to his heart.

When he looks up and smiles at us, his eyes warming, all the sadness and anxiety inside me melts away.

I swear he’s the most handsome man on earth.

Even more handsome than Prince Charming.

Tucking his phone into his pocket, my father spreads his arms wide. “There’s my beautiful girl.”

I tug on my arm, my feet itching to run to him.

My mother’s expression tightens and she gives my hand one last painful squeeze before releasing me.

Free, I race to my father and throw myself at him.

Wrapping his big warm arms around me, my father tips his head back and laughs.

His chest rumbles against my cheek as I squeeze him harder. Wishing I could somehow squeeze myself inside him.

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