Page 102 of Double or Nothing

“God, how generous.”

“Alice, enough!”

But I can’t take it, I’m done with this bullshit fakery.

“No, really, thank you. Both of you. I’m so glad my whimsical little paint habit briefly got your approval.”

Dad’s jaw tightens.

There it is. The flash of temper under the polish.

Good.

Let him feel something. That’s what I really want to see in him, to sense in him. Real fucking feelings, even when they’re ugly. Because that’s all I ever wanted him to be. Authentic.

“You are my only child,” he says, and now his voice is controlled, which is worse.

It means he has a serious fucking agenda, and this is only the opening chapter.

“Yes. I’m well aware.”

“There are responsibilities that come with that.”

“I didn’t ask to be an only child.”

“No. But you are.”

Silence follows.

Huge.

Ugly.

Silence.

I know what’s coming. I can feel it, because it’s been whispering around me my whole life in the shadows. Not said outright. Not like this. But present at every charity dinner, every introduction, every comment about legacy. Every fond hand on my shoulder when Dad looks at me like I’m both a daughter and an unfinished business plan.

“You want me to marry Christopher,” I say.

Nobody speaks.

That is answer enough.

I laugh.

It comes out sharp and wrong.

“What the hell? I don’t even like Christopher Otley. He’s an asshole.”

Dad doesn’t flinch.

“That doesn’t matter. It’s not about hearts and flowers, Alice. It’s about sensibilities.”

The world stops.

Just for a second.

The chandelier above the table. Mum’s lowered eyes. Dad’s hands folded neatly in front of him. The lemon tart I haven’t started. The wine gone sour on my tongue.