by Lucia Franco
Dad glanced up and a huge smile spread across his face the moment he spotted me. I ran and gave him a hug.
"Dad!"
"My little princess," he said, pulling back. "I'm so happy to see your beautiful face!"
I'd been a daddy's girl from the moment I was born. And he loved it.
Before I could speak a word, Mom cut in. "Frank, do you have a moment to go over what we spoke about?"
Dad glanced back at me, this time gravity weighed on his features. He nodded and gestured toward his cherry colored leather chairs. I took a seat and Mom took one next to me. She was poised with a Stepford Wife face that could cut glass. A nagging, worrying feeling settled in my belly. Silence cloaked us. I shot a look at Dad, who had reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a folded newspaper. He opened it, gave it a firm shake so it would flatten, then stood tall. His face contorted, and my stomach sank.
Lowering the newspaper, he flattened his lips and glanced away, sliding the paper toward me with a heavy exhale to follow.
Before I peered down at the paper, I glanced at my mom, thinking it might have been for her, but it wasn't. She gestured elegantly with her hand out and palm up for me to take it. Hesitantly, I reached forward and viewed what had made my parents’ tune change so quickly.
I paled. My jaw dropped. My eyes widened. My stomach, and heart, plummeted to the floor. I blinked long. And I blinked long again, not believing the words written in bold black, purposely printed to catch everyone's attention. A deafening sound filled the room as I sat stone-still in my dad's office rereading the front page over and over, a newspaper strictly printed for the residents of Amelia Island.
'POSH PALM BAY PRINCESS GETTING AWFULLY COZY WITH HER COACH.'
Beneath the headline in italics, it read…
'Caught in the act! Teen socialite Adrianna Rossi seduces renowned gymnastics coach.'
Next to the headline were pictures of me at my meets. Me hugging Kova with his back to the camera. Another photo zoomed in on my face as I gave Kova a megawatt smile, again his back was to the camera. The next showed him squatted in front of me, his hands on my hips and fingertips pressed to my butt over my leotard. His ball cap was pulled low over his face, only the stubble on his chin was visible.
None of them were offensive or distasteful in my eyes. All gymnasts and coaches were close and very hands on. It came with the sport. But the one photo that held my attention the most, the one that took up the most space and center stage, was the one taken somewhere outside of my complex.
Someone had hidden in the bushes.
Kova had me cradled to his chest, my face buried in his neck with one arm draped over his shoulder, as he entered my building.
Now this looked like the definition of intimate. The sun had set, and I wore very little, next to nothing clothing. My duffle bag was on his shoulder and it looked like I had fallen asleep. The angle of the photo hid his face and made it seem like Kova was pressing a kiss to my cheek.
Fuck. I swallowed hard, trying to figure out how the hell I would get out of this. Kova hadn't kissed me outside, we’d always been careful in public. I knew at once I had to play it off as nothing unusual, when in truth, this particular photo wasn’t good. It looked bad, really bad, especially next to the others where I basically had throbbing hearts in my eyes while I gazed upon him like a lovesick teenager.
The other photos from the meets were common but completely taken out of context, and that's what I was going to go with. If this paparazzi had done their homework, then they would've seen that it was nothing out of the ordinary. But of course, why do that when they can spin it to make money. Especially when the family was well-known and lived on the prestigious Amelia Island. Fame. Money. Privilege.
I sighed inwardly and schooled my features. Placing the newspaper down, I looked up at Dad, then to Mom.
I feigned confusion, my voice piqued. "What? What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" Mom retorted, her voice much higher than mine. She leaned forward and grabbed the paper and held it up for me to see again. She shook it, the sound of the papers thrashed together. "You don't see what the issue is?"
Straight-faced, I shot another quick look at the newspaper and then back to her. Of course I did, but I had to play dumb.
I shrugged blandly and thought she was going to pop a blood vessel in her eye. "They're pictures of me and my coach. What's the big deal? You can find the same kind of photos of any other coach and gymnast on the internet."
"So you're telling me every coach carries his gymnast to her home and kisses her cheek? You seriously don't see the issue?"
"He didn't kiss me." I glanced at Dad. He tilted his head to the side. I felt like he could see right through me.
Definitely not the welcome home I was expecting.
An exasperated, yet ladylike huff expelled from Mom. "Is this not exactly what I suspected when we were at the competition, Frank? That I said they looked a little too friendly at the meet, and then in our hotel room?"
He dipped his chin. I looked into my dad's optimistic eyes; I knew he was trying to figure out what was real and what wasn't.
"See?" She threw the paper dramatically onto the desk and sat back. "Even your father saw it."
He held up a finger. "Joy."
She stopped immediately.
"I did not think they were too friendly," he scoffed as if the thought disgusted him. "You’re the one who assumed there was more. But this article…" He paused and looked at me. "You see how bad this looks, don't you, Ana? Especially on you."
I glanced down at the photos, then looked back up. I chewed my bottom lip to be a little extra. "I guess I do?" My voice was soft and quiet, and I pointed to the meet photos. "I mean, that's all normal. You guys were there. You saw the other girls, they were the same way with him, and other gymnasts and their coaches did the exact same thing. This isn't unusual."
Mom chimed in. "Those may not be unusual, but it draws unwanted attention to us. It makes it look like you…you…like you’re mooning over your coach."
Dad ignored her. "And what about this one?"
I swallowed and stayed neutral. "I had a really rough practice that day. It was bad. I hadn't eaten, I could barely walk, my ankle was throbbing. I'd worked too hard and had exhausted all my energy. So I asked him to drive me home, and he did. That’s my bag he's carrying." A partial lie. Kova insisted he take me home.
"They took the photos out of context and ran with it, Dad. You know they did."
Dad sat down and leaned back in his chair. We stared at each other, but not in a glaring, menacing way. He looked at me like he was trying to read me, to see the truth and hoped that it could never be like what Mom insinuated. His eyes flickered. I hated to lie to my dad about anything, but this wasn’t anything, and I couldn’t let them think more. I needed to put on my best social event face.
"You made this family look like trash. I don't believe a word you say, not one word. Something isn't right, and I know it. This little fantasy of yours ends now. You need to pack your belongings and come home."
"What!" I screamed, jumping from my chair. I saw red, my heart was racing. "Dad! Tell Mom that cannot happen! That it won't happen!"
"Joy."
"If anything, I help our image." I turned back to my mom. "You have a daughter who's an elite gymnast with the possibility of going to the Olympics. I've placed in the top three at every meet so far. Very few make it to this level. Do you have any idea what that means?"
She rolled her eyes. My mother rolled her eyes, and out of everything she could've done or said, that was the least of what I’d expected. Her blatant disrespect for me chiseled away something inside and dropped like boulders into my stomach. It hurt terribly, and if I wasn't already angry over her suggestion to leave my dream behind me, I would've felt my heart crack down the center.
My mother truly didn't give a shit.
"You're lucky I'm not one of those socialites getting drunk in clubs and photographed with my underwe
ar showing. I have a brain and talent and I'm using it, unlike those losers."
"Adrianna."
No one listened to Dad.
"I'd rather that than you caught in a man's arms wearing what looks like a crop top and underwear. A man of good standing, no less, a friend of the family, and, not to mention, ten plus years your senior. You're an embarrassment. It makes us all look bad. At least getting drunk is expected of this lifestyle and could be written off. This is going to follow us. How are we going to cover it up?"
I stood there, slack-jawed, aghast. I wasn't sure how I'd been cut from her cloth. We couldn't be more different if we tried.
"Do you hear yourself?" I asked barely above a whisper. I was shocked beyond words. "You want a drunk teenager?"
She lifted an elegant shoulder and crossed her legs. "It's easier to deal with. At least you won't look like a slut."
"Joy!" Dad bellowed.
I reeled in my astonishment and stood taller, straightening my back. A wall came down over me as we stared at each other. She was despicable. The malice in her eyes shifted into resentment. I wasn't going to win this conversation. I'd never win with her. Not when she looked at me like this.
"There's nothing to deal with. I'm not coming home. I train in Cape Coral and that's where I'm staying. Dad, tell her I'm staying there."
I held my breath, praying to God he'd agree.
"Adrianna will stay in Cape Coral."
Mom's nostrils flared. I'd never seen her so enraged. She jumped up in her signature Louboutins without so much as a wobble and glared down at me.
"You will not run to your father for everything. I am your mother and you are going to do as I say! You're going to stop with this little hobby of yours and come home immediately."
My hands balled into fists, nails digging into my palms creating half-moons. I thought my heart was going to pop out of my chest. Through gritted teeth, I said, "I will do no such thing. No. Such. Thing. I'm not your puppet."
I wouldn't back down. She needed to see that.
I blinked, and Mom had her hand at the back of my head, her fingers clenched my long hair. A chair scraped across the floor and Dad was up, but he wasn't fast enough. Mom pulled back her other hand and landed a shocking blow. A faint gasp escaped me as my head whipped to the side in a sharp arc of my neck.
The sound of the smack echoed across the room.
"Let go of me!"
I tried to push her away, but she wound her wrist around my hair to get a good grip, and yanked painfully hard. I yelped and stumbled into my dad's desk. I wanted to pull back, but I knew if I did she'd pull my hair even harder. She tugged again so tight, tears brimmed my eyes and I lost my footing.
"Stop!" I begged. My scalp screamed in pain. She had to have ripped out my hair.
My vision blurred. Everything in me turned cold and quiet and I surrendered. Before she let go, she gripped my hair one last time, getting in one good pull.
With my eyes squeezed shut, I held my breath and covered my face as Dad whisked her away, throwing her out of his office.
I didn't scream.
I didn't yell.
I didn't fight back.
Ever still, I stood in disbelief at the red-hot pain that laced my face from my mom's opened palm. My heart was empty. I was hollow inside. Mom had struck me. And she hadn’t stopped with her abusive words either. Hot tears began pouring from my eyes, my chest heaved up and down, and my hair covered my face. The sound of her voice was right in my ear, even though my dad had all but dragged her from his office.
I needed to get away.
"Adrianna."
Spinning on my toes, my throat was tight as I dashed from my dad's office. I held my chest as I sprinted in the opposite direction. My knees wobbled and all the muscle in my thighs turned to mush. It was all too much to withstand on top of everything else. I needed to escape, but I could barely hold myself up.
I ran through the foyer, through the formal living room and toward the formal dining area, when I trampled over my feet and caught myself on the arm of a couch, and crumbled to the floor.
"Why do you insist on torturing me?"
A small, depressed voice caught my attention. I stood up and rounded the corner and stood stock-still at the entrance to the dining room. The lights were turned down low, blinds drawn closed in a room we never used, but even through my tears I could make out the outline of their bodies at the opposite end.
"Why not?" His hand cupped her jaw. "I like to get a rise out of you. You're so fucking adorable when you're mad," Xavier joked.
I covered my mouth with my hand and blinked rapidly. My lips still burned from the slap.
No… This wasn’t what I thought it is. My best friend and my brother would never go behind my back.
His hands slowly roamed down the sides of her body. I was so lightheaded I thought I was going to faint. I squinted, trying to see if my eyes were fooling me.
Dad's worried footsteps drew closer, my heart ached in tune with my head, trying to put it all together. Avery wouldn't do this to me. She was the only real person I had left in my life. She'd never go behind my back like this.
Her forehead dropped to Xavier's chest and I stared in shock, not really processing it. She wrapped her arms around his back. "You make my blood boil," she said softly. "I want to junk punch you."
"And you make mine burn for you; even after everything you did, I still ache for you." He dropped a kiss to the top of her head.
I blinked long and quietly stepped away. It was too much to fathom and I really couldn't even process the scene in front of me. My mind was playing a cruel joke on me. This was a bombshell of a secret that couldn’t be true. It just couldn't be…
"Adrianna," Dad said tenderly as he came up behind me. I turned around. Something inside me broke at the sound of his voice. He opened his arms to me, his eyes softened with sympathy, guilt written all over his face that it physically hurt me to look at him like this. I'd never been hit in my life, and it shocked me down to the marrow in my bones.
"Don't worry, you're not going anywhere. I promise."
I fell into his arms and cried until I couldn't open my eyes or think any longer, blocking out everything that had happened and praying it was all a terrible dream.
Fifty-Three
I steered clear of my mom, and everyone, for the next few days.
She hadn't made an effort to apologize, and neither had I.
And I wouldn't. I refused. Not after she had hit me and left me with a swollen, fat lip not even the best concealer in the world could hide. Even with all that my brother has done to shed a negative light on this family, not once did she ever put her hands on him. Yet, for the first time in my life I stood my ground, and her world went up in flames. It made no sense.
And she wondered why I loved gymnastics so much. With gymnastics, I could be who I wanted to be, not what she wanted me to be.
The tension between my parents since that awful day had been tangible. I wasn't stupid. I knew it was because of me. At night when I couldn't sleep, I could hear them arguing downstairs. Doors slammed, curse words were thrown around, and I could hear the crystal of Dad’s decanter opening and closing. Mom wanted me punished, but my dad objected, saying they'd never disciplined Xavier for the far worse offenses he’d committed. Like when he was part of the lawsuit filed against his fraternity that took the life of a student. A deadly hazing that he'd been part of yet miraculously got out of.
In public, they put on a good show, but the skeletons in their personal closets were mounting.
But today, I wouldn't be able to avoid her. Today was Easter Sunday, and we always had a very intimate, very extravagant family dinner for the four of us in a dining room that typically collected dust three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year. The same dining room where I discovered my brother’s and my best friend’s little secret.
My stomach was in knots, and the thought of being forced to sit across from the same woman who scrutinized eve
rything I put on my plate and into my mouth made me nauseous. I was stressing out big time having to be in the same room with her. Especially since I knew she was still reeling with resentment.
As much as I was originally excited to be home, now I couldn't wait to go back to Cape Coral.
Since my parents hired help to handle the prep work and serve the food, I wasn't needed until right before. Thankfully.
Even though I knew she was keeping things from me, I decided to spend my free hours with Avery, who'd only gotten out of school yesterday for the holiday break. We hadn't spoke about the day she hung up on me or why she’d had such an attitude. I let it go because I missed her and wanted to spend as much time as I could with her before I had to leave.
We were in her massive walk-in closet, where she was trying on different outfits as I sat on her custom floral love seat. Rows and rows of clothes, drawers filled with accessories and fine jewelry, purses and designer shoes, all perfectly placed with a dramatic chandelier in the center.
"Ria," she said in a horribly fake Russian accent, distracting me from my thoughts. Every so often she used Kova’s nickname for me to get my attention. I laughed. "I have a rash on the back of my head. It is really bad and I do not know what to do about it."
My brows pinched together as I studied her, trying not to laugh at her terrible imitation and lack of contractions.
"Is this you being serious? Or are you being an asshole?"
Avery was staring at herself in the mirror, head slanted while she debated if she liked the tenth outfit she'd tried on. "I am being serious."