Page 1 of Sin

Two Weeks Later

“Savannah, did you hear what my mother asked you?” If he has to ask, does he think I actually did?

“Sorry.” I tuck my bleached blonde hair behind my ear and look at Meredith Redding, my boyfriend’s mother. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Of course you didn’t. You’ve got your head in the clouds.” Tyson, my boyfriend of four years, sneers in my direction. He's not happy that I'm not paying attention to what his mother is saying to me.

“Darling, leave her alone. I’m sure whatever is on her mind, is there for a reason. What I was asking you, Savannah, dear, is if you had time to go to the boutique and select one of the dresses I picked out for you? You know the gala is only two weeks away, and you need to make sure it fits. That way, if you find that it’s too small, then at least you have time to drop a few pounds.” Boy, did she know how to lace her venom with all kinds of honey.

I look up from my place setting and train my eyes on Meredith. I have learned over the past four years that if there is anyone I can’t show weakness to, it’s her. “I haven’t had a chance. Classes have been keeping me busy, with finals and all.”

“I don't understand why you continue with all of the stress of college. Once you and Tyson marry, there won’t be any need for it.”

“We aren’t even engaged yet, ma’am.” She seems to be jumping the gun a little bit.

“Mother, let Savannah be. If she thinks, college is what’s best for her for the time being then let it rest. Savannah knows what I expect of her, now as my girlfriend, and she knows what’s expected of her as my wife. I don’t doubt that, and you shouldn’t either.” I look over as he winks at me.

“It’s important that I—” Tyson’s hand grips my thigh, his nails cutting into my skin, stopping my words from forming. Another thing to remember, never talk back to Meredith Redding. “My finals are over in two days. I’ll be sure to head to the boutique then. If there is a problem size wise, I’m sure I’ll make do.”

“Fabulous,” She smirks and takes a sip of her wine. Glancing to my right, Tyson’s father, Gerald Redding, is staring into his glass of top shelf scotch, again not acknowledging what a raging bitch his wife is.

Why have I let this family and this man continue to hurt me for the past four years? Why have I allowed myself to become their doormat?

Why?

Redding Oil has really outdone itself this year for the gala. The Annual Redding Oil’s Women’s Shelter Gala is the talk of Fort Worth. This year they staged the event at Thistle Hill, a local mansion and now part of the Historical Society. The house itself is beautiful, but the beauty of the gala is what Meredith is able to create with the yard that surrounds the house. The colors and lights, are something magical, it’s too bad that it's all for show, good cause or not.

Tyson informed me that I'm to take the town car and meet him there at seven o’clock, sharp. I guess he has things to take care of and we won’t be able to ride together. With spring in the air, the temperature is just right for the event to be held both inside the house as well as outside. Pulling up to Thistle House, the entire area is covered in twinkle lights and I blink at them in awe. Tulle in the colors of black, white and silver are strung throughout the iron fences that outline the property, surely, Meredith’s doing since normally the yard is open. People flutter about mingling, drinking, sampling the ample amount of food Meredith supplied.

Women are draped in diamonds while men sport the most expensive suits. I'd never understand why we have to dress up to actually do something good. Why make a big deal about it? Why spend thousands on clothes and jewelry when they can easily spend that money for the cause? I'm sure more money is spent on looking good than it is for the cause they’re here to support.

There has been many times when Meredith has told me that when the time is right, assuming she means when Tyson and I are married, it will be my responsibility to take over these functions. My job will be to make sure the Redding name always shines. Little does she know that for one, I don’t plan on ever marrying Tyson. And two, I would rather send out a mass email telling everyone who planned on spending thousands of dollars on their wardrobe to save it and just send that money to the cause. I'm sure the women who take up residency at these shelters don't give a flying hoot which woman wore what.

I step out of the car just in time to see Tyson walk from the middle of the chaos to me. His eyes rake over my body, appreciation present in the depths of his gaze. I can feel the heat of his stare as he continues up and hits my face. Appreciation disappears and is replaced with disgust. I thought he would admire me in this dress. That's why I picked it out; I'd hoped he would be pleased. Sometimes I feel like I can't do anything right by him. He doesn’t have to verbalize that I’ve made a wrong choice, his displeasure is written all over his face.

“Hello there, Savannah baby.” He brushes his lips against my check. He won’t kiss me if I'm wearing lipstick; he says he can’t stand the taste. He doesn’t understand why I insist on wearing any at all. He tells me all the time, ‘It’s better to see your natural beauty, Savannah. Why do you insist on dulling your beauty with paint?’ I'm sure many women would be thrilled to hear their men tell them they don’t need makeup to make them beautiful, but when the words come out of Tyson’s mouth, it’s as if he’s trying to control what I do. Those words will never be a compliment coming from him.

“Hello, Tyson. Did you get everything done at the office?”

“Nothing to worry about.”

Tyson places his hand on my lower back as we ease into the crowd. A waiter passes with a tray full of champagne and Tyson grabs two, handing one to me. “No, thank you.” I say in a quiet voice. Tyson smirks, but I choose not to acknowledge it. There's no way he can know.

We continue through the night talking to business associates, family friends and attendees. Tyson lead the conversations while I stand there, by his side, just as he likes. Many of the men don’t bother to address me. But a few, those who are closer to my age, like to bring me into the conversations, occasionally. “So, Savannah, I hear you’ve recently graduated.” Douglas, one of Tyson’s friends asks me.

“Yes, I did. Top of my class too.”

“It’s just a bachelor’s in business, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, just a bachelor’s, but it’s only a step. I have plans—”

“She has plans and dreams.” Rolling his eyes, Tyson interrupts, flicking his hand, dismissing me like a tiny bug.

“Don’t they always.” Douglas laughs as he swallows his champagne. I wish he would swallow his tongue.

“As I was trying to say,” I want to get my point across.

Tyson’s fingers dig into my side. “It is nice speaking with you, Doug, but I need to get Savannah to my parents. It’s about time for me to make my speech.”