Page 31 of Guarded from Treachery

My stomach squinches into a little ball. The soup we had for dinner burns the back of my throat.

Years later, and I still hate talking about my parents.

From the armchair opposite the couch, Rhiannon gives me a sympathetic smile. “Just do your best. If you need a break, that’s okay.”

Erik leans forward in the matching chair beside her, his elbows resting on his knees. “This is tough for everyone. We get it.”

At the other end of the couch, Matt nods. “I’ll try to make this as quick as possible. And like Rhi said, if you need a break…”

“No. Let’s just get through this.” It’s sharper than I intended, my anxiety making itself known. Taking a breath, I blow it out slowly before adding in a softer tone, “I can do this. What else do you need to know?”

Matt’s lips press together in an unhappy line. He scowls at the laptop for a second before raising his gaze again. “Okay. So you said your parents are pretty conservative. And that they don’t approve of your lifestyle?”

A dry laugh bursts out at the massive understatement. “Disapproving is a nice way of saying it. But I’d say it’s more of an outright rejection. Since I was a teenager, I haven’t done anything my parents wanted me to. Back then, they tried to convince me to see the error of my ways. Now, they’re not interested in me at all. Not unless I move back to New Hampshire and follow the path they want me to.”

“And what’s that?”

“Getting married to a man from their church and staying home to raise his kids. Notmykids, because in my parents’ minds, the wife is little more than the husband’s property. I wouldn’t have a job, I’d just stay home to clean and watch the kids and volunteer at the church all the time. And—” I glance down at my shorts. “I would never dress like this. Ever.”

Rhiannon’s brow creases. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

“First, I’m not wearing a dress. And a long one, at that. Pants are considered inappropriate, and shorts like these, where you can actually see my knees? It’s practically blasphemous.”

Matt frowns. “So what happened when you were a teenager? With your parents?”

“I realized I wanted more out of life. A job. Clothes that made me feel confident in myself. I wanted friends that weren’t in the church. And I wanted to move away, to see what else was out there aside from my parents’ insular life.”

Pausing, I pick at a loose thread on the couch cushion as I collect my thoughts. “I tried to get involved in school activities. Clubs. Sports. They didn’t like that. My father said it was too showy. In his mind, I was supposed to be this quiet mouse who just stayed at home and did whatever he told me to. Things got worse through high school, and when I applied to college and got scholarships on my own, my parents lost it. They threatened to disown me if I went.”

“Shit.” It’s a muttered curse. Jaw hard, Matt asks, “And what happened after that?”

“Pretty much what they threatened to do. Once I graduated high school, they kicked me out. And they told me not to come back unless I got my act together. Since then, I hear from them every six months or so, just a quick phone call to remind me how badly I screwed up.”

“Isla.” Matt’s tone is soft with empathy. “I’m sorry. That really sucks.”

A quick glance around the living room shows Erik and Rhiannon wearing matching pissed off expressions.

Lifting my chin, I reply, “It’s not that bad. I mean, it hurts. They’re my parents, and I always thought… you know, parents were supposed to love their children unconditionally. But they never did. Even when I was a kid, they were cold. Oppressive. My father treated me like the help instead of his daughter. So I guess… it’s better that I don’t have to talk to them anymore.”

“Do you think—” Matt stops. A muscle in his jaw twitches. And I can already tell I’m not going to like his next question. “With them believing so strongly that you should have children and come back to their church, is it possible…”

An icy vise tightens around my chest. “Is what possible?”

In a rush, he asks, “Do you think there’s any possibility that your parents could be involved in this? That they could be trying to force your hand?”

“You think they arranged for all this?” My voice pitches up. “Tried to have me abducted? Somehow got me pregnant? All the way from their house in New Hampshire?”

Matt sighs. “I’m not saying I think that. But you did mention going to a wedding not too long ago. And your parents were there. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t at least consider it.”

The vise constricts, squeezing the air from my lungs. My hands go cold and clammy. “So you want to know if I think my parents would go as far as to have me… what? Drugged? At the wedding? Just to get me pregnant?”

“Not exactly?—”

“I asked them for help,” I retort. A lump expands in my throat. “I called my dad and asked if he could give me a loan to help pay for a private investigator. But he refused. Why?—”

Oh.

Could he? Would he?

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