Page 70 of Mistletoe Mistake
Cole obligingly came forward and offered his hand to my father, who looked at it as if it were diseased.
“Forgive me, Mr Stamer. I don't make a habit of shaking hands with men determined to ruin my daughter. Not to mention I don't want to imagine where that hand has been.”
Cole recoiled in surprise as his hand fell back to his side. I couldn’t imagine anyone had ever spoken to Cole that way before, and I couldn't stop the shame that ran through me, knowing I was to blame for it. I tried to bring my father's attention back to me.
“I assume you know that Mr Stamer and I have been seeing each other.” I guessed that must be the explanation for why he was so bent out of shape.
My father's steely glare turned back to me. “Is that what you call it? 'Seeing each other'? When the papers print photos of you flaunting your disgusting fetishes?”
The colour drained from my face as his words sunk in. I had completely forgotten that the photographs from the sex shop would have been released. I hadn't seen what photos had been printed, and I had never even considered that my father might see them. At the time, when Cole suggested letting the photos be taken, it had seemed almost liberating, but now, beneath my father's withering glare, I felt dirty and degraded.
“Did you consider your reputation at all?” my father demanded, full of self-righteousness. “Did you consider mine? This family? Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?”
That was rich, coming from him, but I couldn't deny that I hadn't been thinking of anyone else. I had only been thinking of me and Cole, and that magical way he had of making the rest of the world seem unimportant.
“You’re out of line, Lord Redvers.” Cole's eyes flashed with anger as he stared down the Earl, his voice firm. “There is nothing 'disgusting' about those photos, and Gemma has done nothing wrong. She's an adult and her actions, right or wrong, don't reflect on you any more than yours do on her.”
I wanted to tell Cole not to waste his breath trying to convince my father of that, but part of me couldn't help feeling grateful that he was standing up for me. No one had ever done that for me before.
The vein on my father's forehead began to pulse, a surefire sign that he was nearing the end of whatever patience he had left. “This is none of your business. I don't care how much money you have, Mr Stamer. My daughter is not one of your prostitutes.”
My mouth went completely dry as the word echoed into the air around us. My father couldn’t know about the way we met, could he? That seemed like far too specific an insult to be something he had come up with out of the blue.
Cole's eyes glinted once more, his hard, dominant side on firm display. “I've known a lot of prostitutes with far more civility than you. I can see now why Gemma doesn't use your name in her business. I wouldn't want to be associated with you either.”
Before my father could respond, Cole came to my side.
“I think I've seen more than enough here, Gemma. Are you ready to go?”
Though I could feel my father's furious glare burning into me, I kept my focus on Cole. “Yes. I'm done.”
I took his arm and we headed to the door. As we reached it, my father called out behind me: "I'll expect you at my Christmas party next week, Gemma. Alone. This is your last chance. If you can't fix this..."
I didn't wait to hear the rest of his threat. Cole and I were already gone.
~Cole~
We didn't speak until we were back in the car. Gemma held onto my arm the whole way from her father’s drawing room, back through the public parts of the house, and out to the waiting car, and I could feel her hand trembling against me. As soon as we had settled in the back seat, I put my arm around her, pulling her close to me without a word.
The Gemma I saw in that room with her father was the first version of her that I didn't find utterly irresistible. The rigidity of her posture, the hesitancy in her eyes, and the timidity in her voice, all of it was so unlike the feisty, fun woman I had come to know, and completely different to the way she behaved with me in private. Although she was submissive in both instances, when she submitted to me, she did so by choice. She chose to give up control. But the way she submitted to her father's harassment made it clear that control was being taken from her rather than given freely, and I hated that anything or anyone ever made her feel that way.
“Does he always speak to you like that?” I asked after several minutes of silence as the car drove out through the estate parklands and back towards the highway.
Gemma raised her head from my shoulder to look me in the eye. The cornered, hunted look I had seen in her eyes before had gone, thankfully, but she still looked subdued. “Not exactly like that, no, but if you're asking if he's always so critical, then I guess the answer would be yes. I can't honestly remember the last thing I did that was good enough for him.”
“What about your brother? Is he treated the same way? Does he back you up?"
“He has his own life and his own problems. We don't speak much.”
I remembered what she'd said the night before when my sister called, that she found it nice that Isabel cared enough to check up on me, and I remembered the hint of longing in her voice as she'd said it. “Any other family that you're close to?”
Gemma shook her head. “No, not really, but it doesn't bother me, honestly. You don't need to feel sorry for me.”
“I'm not,” I protested, but as I stopped to think about it, maybe she had a point. Maybe I did feel a little bad for her, but only because she deserved so much better.
As if she could hear my thoughts, Gemma smiled knowingly at me. “Yes, you are, but I'm fine. My life is fine. I've got good friends and I love my work. I don't have to worry about money. It's a lot more than a lot of people have.”
True as that may be, it didn’t take the place of having her family’s support, which she should also be entitled to.
