Page 2 of It Will Always Be You
Rumour has it, they never did find all the pieces of him.
“Welcome, Gary. How lovely to see your wife with you tonight. And these must be the infamous Campbell children back from St Andrew’s. Come, come. Let me take a look at you.” His smarmy smile makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, nausea rising in my throat. I follow Peter, who is positively beaming as he shakes the older man’s hand, and it’s not long before I’m standing in front of him, Freya trying to hide behind me.
His grey eyes roam over me, darkening as he takes in my exposeddécolletage and legs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he looks me over, and while it disgusts me, it’s a price I’d happily pay a thousand times if it keeps his eyes off Freya. Unfortunately, she whimpers behind me, drawing his attention to her. As his eyes flick between us, like a predator weighing up who will be his prey first, I swallow down the urge to step in front of her. Doing so would only result in drawing even more attention to her.
“Why, you girls could be twins! How fascinating.” He smirks before turning his attention to Father. For a blissful second, I get a lungful of air without his attention or cloying cologne clogging my senses. As we follow him inside, the door clicking closed behind us, the walls start to feel like they are closing in around me. Fighting back my rising anxiety, I remind myself I just have to get through this dinner. After this, it’ll all be over. Just get through dinner. It’s only a few hours. I can do this.
I don’t know who I’m trying to kid. Any hope of this being just a dinner was snuffed out the moment Angus’ name was thrown into the mix. As we file into the dining room, Angus and Father help themselves to the seats at the heads of the table, leaving us to fill the spaces between them. Mother and Peter are quick to take the seats closest to Father, forcing me and Freya to sit beside Angus. So much for one final meal.
“Gary, remind me again why I asked you here?” The thinly veiled glee in Angus’ voice would alert even the most oblivious person to the fact that something is brewing. Grinding my molars, I keep my gaze fixed squarely on the table, my thoughts to myself. Maybe if I remain quiet, they’ll forget I’m here.
“I believe you wanted to discuss how I plan to repay your, ah...generosity.” Father clears his throat. If it wasn’t for what’s looming, I would take great joy in his obvious discomfort for once. Why should he get to be comfortable while my life slips away in front of my eyes?
“That’s right. How silly of me to forget. If memory serves, you cost me quite a lot of money, Mr Campbell, more than you can afford.” Athis raised eyebrow, Mother shifts uncomfortably while Peter watches the back and forth with wide, glee filled eyes. Before either of them can say anything else, a server comes in carrying our starters—salads for the women, and soup with a hearty bread roll for the men. The toxic masculinity in this place never fails to amaze me.
The tension in the room does little to Father or Angus’ appetite, their bowls cleared in minutes while I push my dry lettuce around my plate. The thought of trying to push anything down around the lump in my throat sounds as appetising as eating dirt. I’m jerked out of my thoughts when a heavy hand, adorned in gold rings, lands on top of my own. Freezing my movements, I look up to meet Angus’ stare head on. I might be sick to my stomach to be near him, but I’ll be damned if I show him that.
“Something wrong? Your mother assured me Caesar salad, minus that awful dressing, of course, is your favourite.” I barely hold my snort in. As if she would know what I like. I can’t even remember the last meal we had together as a family.
“Of course not. I’m just not overly hungry. I thought I’d be best saving room for the main course.” I smile at him, all prim and proper, like the perfect mafia daughter I’ve been raised to be. With a self-satisfied smirk, he sits back in his seat, eyes pinned to my chest.
Considering he’s at least twenty years my senior, and my eighteenth birthday wasn’t even a week ago, the act is disgusting. What’s worse, however, is when he turns his attention to my woefully underage sister. Breathing through my nose, I count to five in my head. Stabbing him with my fork is not an option, no matter how much I want it to be.
“Sir. If there’s something…other than money I can offer, I would be happy to,” Father’s voice cuts across the room, drawing Angus’ attention back up to him and away from Freya, who trembles in her seat.
“Hmm, well now that you mention it…I am in need of something quite special.” The emphasis he puts on special as he looks at me is enough to seal my fate, even before the next words are out of his mouth.
“I need an heir. Young Helen here would make a wonderful bride and mother, don’t you think?”
Chapter 2
Any fragile hope I had shatters in an instant. The room feels too small to contain my raging emotions. The weight of Angus’ words weighs down on me too heavily, squeezing the air from my lungs. For a moment, we are all suspended in a silence so thick, it clogs the air, as if Angus’ words have sucked all the life out of the room before it explodes into a cacophony of sound.
Mother gasps and drops her fork with a clatter, clutching the pearls at the base of her throat as her eyes shine with emotion. The fakeness makes me want to roll my eyes. As if she wasn’t in on this. As if she herself didn’t tell me this was on the table weeks ago. Freya lets out a sob as she shoves her chair back and bolts out of the room. Meanwhile, Peter joins Father and Angus in letting out a hearty laugh filled with a sick kind of glee no ten-year-old should be able to express. It hammers home just how lost to me he is. Long gone is the little boy I tried to steer away from following in Father’s footsteps.
And me? I don’t make a noise. No, I watch my sister as she runs, cataloguing every inch of her for memory’s sake. The hardest thingabout knowing tonight is my last night is knowing I’ll never see her again. I’ll never get to hug her tight or help do her hair. I’ll miss out on her first love and first heartbreak. But none of that matters more than getting her out of Angus’ clutches. The second I’m gone, Freya will be sent back St Andrew’s and Angus will turn his focus onto finding my replacement, setting her free from his web of perverse intentions. That is worth paying the price, no matter how steep. Drawing in a deep breath, I lift my chin to look around the table. I knew this day was coming, but no amount of preparation could soften this blow.
What kind of father is all too happy to send his eighteen-year-old daughter into the hands of a nearly forty-year-old creep? Especially with the reputation Angus has.
There’s a reason he still has no heir. His wives never survive long enough to produce one. And now my father,my flesh and blood, is handing me over to be the next?
Over. My. Dead. Body.
Steeling my spine, I thrust my shoulders back and hold my chin up high with a dazzling smile as I bat my eyelids and channel my inner airhead. “Wow. Me? What an honour that would be.”
As his focus returns to me—and away from Freya’s empty seat—I embrace the anger burning through me. Let him think the sudden heat in my cheeks is simply a flush of excitement. If only he knew I was plotting a hundred different ways to murder him. Surely, that would wipe the smirk off his face. Or maybe not, given the kind of sick bastard he is.
Before anyone can comment further, the next course is brought out. This time, we all get the same roast dinner, just in varying degrees of portion sizes. Glancing once more at Freya’s empty seat with a furrowed brow, Angus issues a sharp command. “Helen, be a dear and retrieve your sister. It would be such a shame for her to miss the celebrations.”
Not one to pass up an out when it’s so freely presented, I excuse myself and follow the sounds of her soft cries. It’s times like these Irealise, despite there only being two years between us, the differences are far bigger. Maybe I’ve sheltered her too much, resulting in her becoming such a fragile, sensitive soul. But then again, maybe that’s just the way she was destined to be. Either way, I pray she’s never forced to shed her softness in exchange for a tougher shell.
Pushing the bathroom door open, I find her sitting on the closed toilet lid, her head in her hands. She flinches at the sound, like a wounded animal expecting the next blow, her panicked gaze meeting mine before she visibly relaxes.
“You can’t marry that…that monster!” she spits out, jumping up to grab me by my shoulders, as if her shaking me can change anything. We’re just pawns on a bigger chessboard. Our opinions and objections aren’t worth shit here. Yet another reason to get the hell out of here before it’s too late. Before irreparable damage is done.
“Breath for me, Frey. In and out. Now, listen. I have a plan, okay?” Brushing an unruly curl back from her face, I do my best to calm her before she works herself into a panic attack. Now is not the time, nor the place.
“How are you so calm? You’ve heard the stories, how not one of his wives could stomach being married to him for more than a few months before they… I can’t lose you to him.” She sobs, throwing herself at me, burying her face in my shoulder. It’s all I can do not to cry with her. Instead, I inhale the familiar scent of her vanilla bodywash and run my hand over her hair before tugging her back so I can lock eyes with her.
