Page 78 of Dear Roomie
Silence hangs between us for several seconds while she contemplates, and my breath stalls in my lungs.
“Okay,” she says, the softly spoken word resonating with harsh finality, and this time, she’s the one to walk away.
Chapter 30
James
Mrs. Nicholson insisted on hosting an engagement party for us, promising it would be a “small, intimate affair.” Tanner loved the idea and spent thepast seven weeks coordinating with her to get all of the details perfect, and I…I didn’t have it in me to care about venues or color schemes.
It turns out, small and intimate doesn’t mean any less extravagant.
My fiancé’s face shines with pride as he parades me around the trendy riverfront loft, but I’m numb as he introduces me to friends and coworkers I’ve never heard of. His arm is locked around my waist, keeping me glued to his side while he drones on about things I can’t force myself to care about. It’s not like I need to care about them; as long as I keep my features locked in a pleasant mask with a demure smile, Tanner is happy.
Tanner is happy, and I am…here.
Present and accounted for.
Although, despite this being my own engagement party, I doubt that my presence was necessary at all.
The guest list is sorely lacking in familiar faces. To everyone here, I am Tanner’s fiancée—not James, barely even Ophelia—just another piece of the carefully designed decor to sell the illusion of picture-perfect storybook love. They see what they want to see: childhood sweethearts moving to the next stage in the natural progression of love, the prince who found his princess. But what they don’t know is that the princess’s heart longs for a knight instead.
“I’ve got a surprise for you.” Hot breath brushes past my ear, sending a rolling wave of disgust through my body. My shoulders tense, but that’s the only outward indicator of how repulsive his touch has become to me.
“A surprise?” I can’t fully hide the quaver of dread in my voice. The last few of his surprises haven’t been good.
“Look behind you.”
I do as he asks, bracing for the worst, and my heart skips a beat in my chest.
“Dad…” The word comes out strangled as emotions overwhelm me, and my vision grows cloudy with unshed tears.
The room goes quiet, watching our reunion like we’re here to be their source of feel-good entertainment for the week. I’m sure a few people have their phonesout recording. A spike of bitter resentment spears through the cloud of my joy. Even if bringing my dad here was done with the best intentions, there’s no denying that Mr. Nicholson’s campaign will benefit from the positive media.
If I were a stronger person, I’d fight against it and not give them the spectacle they want, but it’s been ten months since I’ve seen him, and I’ve missed my dad. I pull myself out of Tanner’s grasp and fling myself across the room. Dad catches me with ease as I all but jump into his arms, and the floodgates holding back my tears open.
“Hey, kid,” he whispers, crushing me to him in a tight embrace.
I cling to him as I sob into the crevice of his neck. Everything I’ve been bottling up—all the pain and heartache—hits me with the force of a truck the second I’m in the comfort of his arms. To everyone else, this scene looks like a girl who is happy to see her active-duty father, but in reality, it’s a girl looking to her dad to make everything better.
It takes several seconds, but I’m able to regain control over my emotions and, with considerable effort, slip my mask back into place. I pull away from the hug and wipe the tears from beneath my lashes.
Tanner walks over to join us, sticking one hand out to greet my father while wrapping the other around me in that possessive embrace.
“It’s good to see you, sir.”
My dad’s eyes roam over the two of us, the look assessing and critical. The smile that graced his face when I first saw him fades away into a hardened scowl.
“Likewise,” he responds, but his tone says it’s anything but. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a few minutes to catch up with my daughter. Alone.”
Tanner’s fingers twitch, digging into the flesh of my hips for a split second before he releases me.
“Of course, sir.” He flashes one of his plastic smiles and saunters over to one of the many groups of strangers milling around the room.
Dad nods toward a door and leads me out to the deck that wraps around the building and overlooks the river. Normally, the vibrant mix of orange and goldhues filling the sky would be a sight that would make my heart sing—it’s so close to the color I told Morgan about on the beach—but I don’t feel anything as I step out into the brisk February air. I walk over to the railing and lean against it, looking out over the shimmering water. My dad steps up beside me, letting several moments pass by in serene silence as the sun continues to sink further below the horizon.
“Ophelia, what’s going on here? What’s wrong?”
My first instinct is to lie to him, to try to sell him the same story I’ve sold to everyone else—the lie that I’m happy, the lie that everything is fine. That notion dies before the words can even form on my lips. I can lie to the world, but never to him.
