Nine months wasn’t nearly long enough.
“Sweetheart, did you hear me?” my mother questioned as her pointed toe Valentino flats tapped lightly against the marbled floors. Her manicured hand rested against her hip, popped slightly as she looked at me with annoyance. “I asked you if you were excited to meet Blake Bradley. Your father and I just adore him. He’d be a wonderful candidate for you.”
Not friend.
Not boyfriend.
Not lover.
Candidate.
As though my life was a transaction, or a job position that had an opening.
Fire licked my insides, rage rearing its ugly head. “Candidate for what, mother?” I asked, with innocence. We were still standing in the foyer, already facing off before I had even set my clutch down.
She waved her hand dismissively. “For marriage, of course! You’re twenty-two now, Isla. It’s time to think about these things. You have your entire life ahead of you but without a clear path… Well, what’s the point? A young woman needs to have a plan.”
“Yikes,” I muttered under my breath as I plastered on the fakest smile I could. “It’s not like you and father don’t already have a plan for me,” I rebutted, trying to keep my hands from forming into fists at my sides. “If it’s all the same to you, mother, I’d like to go set my purse down and grab a glass of water. Could we chat later?”
“Of course, darling. Go rest, the Bradleys will be here in about an hour and a half. Our waitstaff will serve dinner at six o’clock sharp.”
I nodded curtly and placed my hand on the banister, readying myself to go upstairs. Mid step, my mother’s voice called to me again.
“Oh, and Isla? Your father is in his office. He’s not to be disturbed.”
Um, okay.Speaking to him was the last thing I wanted to do right now, anyway.
With a curt nod, I wordlessly made my way upstairs, letting my feet guide me to my old bedroom. As I turned the doorknob, I expelled a shaky breath and entered, relieved to be amongst things that once brought me joy. My room was exactly how I left it, except for the items I deemed important enough to take with me.
CHAPTERTWENTY
I don’t think I’ll survive the next few hours.
Not only do I think you’ll survive, I’m counting on it. I’m ready to be back at your place.
I told you to just stay there while I was gone.
You could be searching through my underwear drawer right now. What a missed opportunity.
You’re right, that was stupid on my part. Rookie mistake.
I had to go home, though. Check on my pops. It is Thanksgiving, after all.
I guess you’re right. That’s why I’m here, at hell on earth.
It can’t be that bad. Plush furniture, fancy waitstaff, all the Thanksgiving fixings you could want.
Turkey… mashed potatoes… pie… mmmmmm. ??
I’m looking forward to my tryptophan coma later on tonight. You’ll watch a Hallmark Christmas movie with me, right?
Count me in for the Christmas movie, but out for the Hallmark. Can’t we just watch Elf or something? It’s a classic.
A classic is White Christmas. Not Will Farrell dressed in an elf costume.
But the narwhal…
Okay, fine. The narwal is the best part of the whole movie.