Page 14 of Scars of Silk

I put my fork down, picking up my napkin and dabbing my mouth, trying very hard not to puke into it. “Dad, I’m thirty; my ovaries aren’t packing up and retiring yet.”

“Sienna, do you mind!”

My lips stretch into a smirk, but I hide it behind a cough.

“I’m just saying, for the benefit of the family, we need to consider your prospects now this Fairclough deal is off the table.”

“I’m not a deal, I’m your daughter.”

“And I don’t want to leave you with millions and no direction.”

“Where the hell are you going? Bloody hell. Dad, this is exhausting every week. Can’t you just let me live my own life? I don’t need your money. I earn plenty well on my own.”

“Pfft, muck gathering for other lawyers. I never thought my daughter—who was always so bright—would end up an investigator, practically nothing, when you could practise law, shining a path of honourability.”

Five, four, three, two, one.

My blood boils, fizzing and popping in my veins.

My toes scrunch in my heels.

I push my plate away, my appetite gone. Dad glances down. “Eat up, girl, you must eat.” He spears a chunk of lobster with his fork and munches on it while staring at me thoughtfully. “Yes, I think Scott is an attractive proposition. His family is solid, although not gentry obviously, but they stand well. He has a salary more than substantial of his own, so we won’t need to worry about family assets, although of course all of that would be taken care of in a pre-nup and any arrangements that I make.”

“Dad.” I try to interrupt him. “I haven’t seen Scott in nearly a decade. I wouldn’t recognise him if we bumped into each other down the street.”

He waves his hand at me, deep in his own plots and plans.

I can’t do this anymore. I pull at the neckline of my dress which is too tight around my neck, strangling me and cutting off the air supply I desperately need.

My gaze darts to the door; freedom exists out there. Temporary freedom. If I leave now, there will be consequences. I squirm in my seat for a moment. Dad sucks on a bit of lobster claw and I nearly puke.

“I’ve got a headache. Sorry, I need to get home. I’ve got work tomorrow.” I drop my napkin onto my untouched plate.

“Yes? Where will you be digging dirt this time?”

“Brighton.” It slips out before I even think and Dad’s eyes light, shining with victory.

“She will be the end of that family, and then won’t Connie regret not making her grandson toe the family line. Now, darling, don’t forget Sunday. Your mother has it all organised.”

I lean over and kiss him on the cheek, but he’s distracted now, his mind busy, planning how to keep the Richards on top.

Outside, I unlock the car. I didn’t finish my glass of champagne so don’t need to worry about driving. I don’t have a problem driving after my meals with my father. It’s usually the hours after when I’m trying to recover from it.

I start the engine and head out into the late night traffic. With my phone on the hands-free I call Eli.

“Yep.” His voice is deep, scratchy.

“You sound awful.”

“Mm. Life is just peachy.”

“Eli, you bloody idiot. You’re the one who walked out.”

He sighs and I can imagine my friend rubbing his hand along his stubble, the worries of the world weighing down on his shoulder.

“I had to. She will never fight if I don’t give her the space to get there.”

“It’s a risky game to play.” Shit, I sound like my father.