Page 93 of Wish You Weren't Here
As he folds up his paper and places it to one side, I wonder if he has some kind of fatherly instinct that can detect that I’m really going through it right now.
‘How are you doing?’ he asks me, looking into my eyes.
‘Fine,’ I lie again.
His brow furrows.
‘Have you responded to Ethan’s proposal yet?’ he asks.
‘Not yet,’ I say with a laugh.
‘For what it’s worth, I approve of him,’ Dad says – and I wasn’t expecting that.
‘Really?’ I practically squeak in disbelief.
‘Yes, you seem to have met your match,’ he replies.
Do keep in mind that I only brought Ethan here specifically because I thought my family would loathe him.
‘Although I have noticed you and Beaumont spending a lot of time together,’ he adds.
Beaumont. Imagine screaming that name in bed. Beau, sure, but Beaumont. Oh, Beaumont, harder, Beaumont, harder. It’s giving me the ick just thinking about it. I can see why he goes by Beau.
‘Now, he is a fine suitor,’ Dad says.
Speaking of the ick – he makes it sound like I’m his prize bitch that he’s looking for a mate for. Hmm, maybe that’s exactly what it is. Absolutely hilarious.
‘I’m glad you’re here, alone, I was hoping to talk to you,’ I say, moving the conversation on from my love life because: ew.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks.
‘I was hoping to ask a favour,’ I begin, because now might be my only shot to ask him when it’s just us.
‘What favour?’ he replies, his eyes narrowing slightly.
‘I need somewhere to live,’ I explain, keeping it as easy-breezy as I can, but I suppose I did just tell him I was basically homeless.
‘What’s wrong with where you’ve been living?’ he asks.
‘My flatmate needed the room back,’ I say simply, and we’ll leave that at that, I think. I can’t imagine the truth being more sympathetic.
‘What have you done now?’ he asks, that knowing tone in his voice. Oh, it pisses me off, that his instinct is to think the worst of me.
Okay, yes, in theory I have pushed Steve into kicking me out, but I was only there in the first place because he wanted to be together – would my dad rather I prostituted myself for a room? Ha, probably, he probably thinks it’s a more useful profession than a secretary.
‘Nothing,’ I insist. ‘He just needed the room back. It’s about time I got my own place though, so, I was just thinking if you could help me with the deposit? I can pay you back, when I can…’
‘Lana, you know the rules,’ he says firmly. ‘We said we would never help you kids out with handouts, that you needed to make your own way in the world.’
Jesus wept, Beau’s dad gave him a title and an estate – my dad won’t even give me a few hundred quid for a deposit.
‘I know, but?—’
‘Is she asking for money?’ Bea says as she joins us.
Great, my wicked stepmother is here. This is going to go in my favour, I’m sure.
‘You needn’t waste your breath, Lana, we have nothing to spare at the moment,’ she says firmly. ‘This wedding is costing us a fortune.’
