Page 20 of London's Calling: Part 1
“Did I do that? Was it me?” he asks, stepping up behind me.
When I turn around, he’s taken his hoodie off completely, revealing his bare chest, and the sight traps my response momentarily.
Shaking off thoughts of his naked body, I say, “Aww, Mickey, anyone would think you give a shit.” I move further away from him, needing the space. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t you. Just some bitch thinking I was hitting on her man,” I say, the lie tripping off my tongue with ease once the idea formed.
“I call bullshit!”
I shrug. “Call it whatever you want. That is what I’m telling you.”
“Roni,” he says, grabbing my arm as I turn away from him.
I shake him off. “Leave it!” My voice is firm, putting an end to the conversation. “If you’re done, then you can leave. I have to be up early in the morning and would like to get some sleep.” I switch the ensuite light off as I move back to the bed and climb in, rolling onto my side. “Switch the bedroom light off on your way out, please.”
I hear his deep sigh a second before the bedroom light switches off, plunging the room back into darkness. Then I hear him grumbling as he heads down the hall toward the guest bedroom. For a minute I wonder if he’s planning to sleep in there, but honestly, I don’t care right now.
I fall asleep to my mind replaying our interaction again and again and stuck on the hinted concern in Mickey’s voice.
After spending half the day at the library working on my dissertation, I arrive home—my father’s home—to find him there along with Clayton.
“Where have you been?” he demands the second I walk into the lounge where he and Clayton are drinking.
“At the library working on my dissertation. The deadline is the end of the week,” I say, casting a furtive glance at Clayton, who is clearly at home in my home.
“Clayton tells me you went for dinner last night,” My father says, dismissing any mention of studying and going straight to the heart of the matter.
I nod. “We did.” I avoid looking at Clayton, but I know he’s wearing a smile.
“Good. I’m pleased to see the two of you getting along.” He pauses, taking a leisurely sip of his drink. “Sit, Veronica. Clayton has something he’d like to discuss with you.”
My fingers fidget with the strap of my bag as I look from my father to Clayton. Nerves shadow every step I take to the seat furthest away from the two men in this room.
Clayton places his drink down on the coffee table as he shifts forward, resting his elbows on his knees as I sit on the edge of the chair.
“Our wedding is booked for July 15th at Simmonds Tower Hotel at Tower Bridge. We’ll honeymoon for a week in the Maldives before returning to my father’s country home.”
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, every muscle in my body tightens and bile rises in the back of my throat at the absolute prospect of being married to this man. He’s vile inside and out. I close my eyes at the idea of him over the top of me… Eurgh. I shake off the visual, and opening my eyes, I pin my gaze on my father.
“Daddy,” I plead, already knowing it will fall on deaf ears. “Please, Daddy. I’ve been offered an apprenticeship with a magazine.” It’s not a complete lie. I got a call while I was at the library offering me an interview for the position I applied for last week. “If I’m living at the Simmonds country house, how am I supposed to work?”
Clayton clears his throat, and my father and I both turn to look at him. “There’ll be no need for you to work, Roni. As my wife, you’ll be at home taking care of our home and, hopefully, our kids.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me?” I snap, jumping up from my chair.
“Watch your damn mouth, Veronica!” My father reprimands.
“No, Daddy.” I spit out. “You don’t get to make all the decisions about my life and take away the opportunity I’ve earned for a career. Find another way?—”
“That’s enough!” My father snaps, getting to his feet and coming to stand in front of me. “You are my daughter and will do your duty to this family.”
I look him in the eye, chest heaving with the weight of my responsibilities. Denial sits heavy in my mouth, but I know I need to pick my battles, and this is not the time. Franklin Hart won’t think twice of reminding me of who I am and what is required of me in front of my future husband. Why would he? He has to be aware of Clayton’s reputation with women and must approve. Two peas in a pod.
I drop my eyes. “Yes, Daddy,” I say, holding everything inside. “Am I excused?” I ask, hoping to get the fuck out of here before my resolve breaks.
“Good girl,” he whispers, and a shiver runs up my spine. I swallow down my revulsion and turn to leave.
I make it two steps before he stops me.
“Veronica,”
