by D. V. EEDEN
“Good Afternoon Adelaide, I like your new style,” she says, and I am pleased she noticed. It was a huge thing for me to change my hairstyle and I’m wearing more make-up than usual. I smile at her sweetly. “Thank you, Mrs. Blossom.”
She escorts me to the kitchen, because she knows I need a coffee and an orange juice. It’s my ritual whenever I come here, and I spend a lot of my time in the kitchen. As I expected, a fresh coffee and glass of juice with a blueberry muffin is waiting for me by the breakfast bar. Sally is already in the kitchen with the head chef preparing our dinner. I greet the staff quickly, especially Sally, knowing she can’t talk while she’s hard at work. The food smells amazing already and I can’t wait to see what they have come up with for tonight’s dinner.
Mrs. Blossom beckons me with her head to leave the kitchen. “Miss, let’s get you into your room and I’ll bring up your drinks and muffin.” I notice she’s acting very formal towards me and she knows how uncomfortable I am with formalities, so something strange is happening right now. I just can’t quite put my finger on it.
When I get up to my room, I open the door to a rack of clothing, all dresses in colour co-ordination on a rail with matching shoes and purses. It seems as though tonight’s dinner is important; I just don’t know why father has never mentioned anything.
I exhale sharply, my brows furrowed. “Is something wrong Mrs. Blossom?”
She looks puzzled and conflicted as she stares at me. “No Miss, but I must warn you, your father is...” she starts, but we’re interrupted by a harsh knock on the door.
Mrs. Blossom’s face goes pale before answering the door, and my father is standing on the other side, his hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. The redness of his eye’s glows under the dim light, and his frown prominent with the wrinkles in his skin. His lips are pressed firmly together before he goes to speak.
“Mrs. Blossom, some privacy please,” he says, anger radiating through his tone. My heartbeat races, sending blood to my face and making me feel overly hot and anxious. I try a smile. “Father, how are you?’”
My father stalks closer to me, his hands pulling out of his pockets as he gives me the glare of death. Confusion plays in my mind whilst my face stays placid. I don’t want to show any fear because I know he will enjoy that.
‘’Father? What’s going on…” I try and ask but before I know it, his back hand connects with my face, the force so powerful it sends me to the floor, a scream escaping my lips.
Tears flood my face, burning my red-hot cheek as they stream down. I try not to make another sound. Bringing my hand up to rub the side of my face, my fingertips wipe away the tears. But, as I check my hand, I find blood. My nose is bleeding from the force of the blow, clearly still sensitive from only healing a few weeks ago. I taste the coppery essence of my blood as it pours down my lips, staining my white blouse, but I don’t try to clean it up. No, I stare into the dangerous eyes of my father, the abuser.
He looms over me, baring his teeth before he speaks. “What the fuck have you done to yourself? he starts, stalking closer towards me. “I never gave you permission to change your looks, and now you look like a whore!” he shouts.
I’m still laying on the floor, leaning on my forearm as my hair falls around my face, my eyes glassy as they stare at the monster before me. I have no words. My chest tightens from holding the cry that threatens to burst out, but I can’t give him the satisfaction.
I know my father was an abusive man before, my mother warned me once about him. She told me how dangerous he was, but I never listened. I just wanted to know my father.
“Get yourself cleaned up and ready. You need to look presentable as we have guests arriving shortly” he says with a calm demeanor, walking out of my room without another glance.
Shortly after he leaves, Mrs. Blossom comes running in, assisting me off of the floor, and takes me to the bathroom to get cleaned up.
She takes out a first aid kit from above the bathroom cabinet while I take a seat on the closed toilet seat, my body trembling with adrenaline and fear. I can’t hold onto the cry anymore. I let it all out, spreading the blood and tears around my face and staining my blouse even further. Mrs. Blossom gives me a hot towel to put over my nose and runs me a bubble bath so that I can get in and relax but my body doesn’t want to move.
“It’s okay dear, please don’t cry,” she says, wiping away the blood and tears from my face and helping me get undressed before guiding me into the bath. The cry from my chest doesn’t stop for a while and I break down, resting my face on my bent knees, wondering why the fuck I deserve all this pain and deceit from everyone around me.
I don’t know what to do anymore
Chapter Eighteen
I’m sitting on the edge of my bed in a silk robe, staring at the rack of gorgeous dresses that I’m supposed to choose from to wear for tonight’s dinner party. My body is still traumatized from earlier and it doesn’t want to move. I lean over my bed, grabbing my phone from the nightstand and connect it to the speakers so that I can play some music.
I put on ‘The Dope Show’ by Marilyn Manson, matching my mood. I feel anesthetized, as if someone shut off my emotions by pressing a button. I really have to put on a show tonight, wear a mask of elegance, glamour, and the least of my favorites — a fake smile. Standing up, I walk over to my dressing table and stare at the bruise my father put on the left side of my face. I touch the purply, black blotched skin, immune to the pain now. I stare into my own eyes in the mirror and I can see the sadness there.
Be brave Ade.
Painting on my make-up, once again covering bruises on my face, my nose swollen again from the blast and my eyes puffy from all the crying. I cake on foundation and concealer, putting on some rouge and a little eyeliner to hide the puffy look. I add some red lipstick, the colour of blood, because it suits me. I’m so used to seeing blood on my face, I like how the colour compliments my skin. There’s nothing better than wearing blood red. Mrs. Blossom fixes my hair into a chignon, hiding all the highlighted ends, my hair looking plain again.
I practice my smile in the mirror, getting used to the stinging feeling of moving my cheeks. I wince a few times before it becomes bearable and I look as though nothing has happened.
I look like a robot.
“Miss, we should get you changed. Guests are already here in the ballroom,” Mrs. Blossom says, coming behind me and placing her lovingly soft hands on my shoulders. I can see how bad she feels that she couldn’t help me. Now I know why everyone was acting so formal towards me. What I don’t understand is who told my father dearest, because no matter what I do, it gets to him.
Is he spying on me…?
I stand up from my dressing stool, shedding the silk robe to the floor. I’m already dressed in a nude coloured corset, pushing up my breasts and holding in my waist. I’m even wearing nude coloured stockings which are connected by suspenders, and I must say, I look hot. I have never, ever thought in my life that I would have to dress like this all the time under my dresses, but according to Ms. Veronica, it helps with posture and makes you feel more ‘lady like’. Peering through the dresses on the rail, the colour of the rainbow before me, I decide to choose a dress that matches my soul.
The black one.
Backless with a halter neck, beaded bodice, and puffy skirt. The underlayer is blood red, matching my lipstick and adding the glamorous factor. I look like a gothic ballerina. Mrs. Blossom pulls out a pair of Louboutin’s and they are picture perfect. I smile at her, which she returns, knowing exactly what I’m up to. I am making a statement. The shoes match my whole outfit, the red and black ombre matching my dress and make-up down to a T.
I’m escorted down the grand stairs by Mrs. Blossom and toward the double wooden doors that lead into the ballroom. A waiter stands at the doors, next to a table filled with crystal glasses of champagne, and he hands me a glass. He goes to open the door, but I shake my head, not feeling ready just yet. I down the glass of champagne, gi
ving myself some dutch courage. The waiter eyes me in surprise, but a smirk covering his face.
Grabbing another champagne glass, I nod my head to the guy, which he obeys and opens the double doors.
Oh boy. The ballroom is heaving with bodies in expensive, elegant dresses and sharp suits. To think, my father told me it was only a dinner party. Yeah, right.
Taking a deep breath, I glide into the ballroom, remembering how perfect the room was when I first saw it. The crystal chandeliers brighten up the white space, and I look towards the dais, noticing a violinist and a pianist playing classical music, adding to the ambiance. People are dancing hand in hand. It looks glamorous. My father has pulled out all the stops for this soiree. Gulping down the champagne already in my hands, I place the empty glass back on the passing tray as I grab another one. I should really slow my drinking but when you’re as pissed off as I am, you can’t help but drink your sorrows.
“Adelaide!”
My name gets called out by the host himself, beckoning me to join him as he talks to a group of men. I obey and saunter over, trying really hard not to roll my eyes but it doesn’t work. Plastering a smile on my face, I put on my obedient mask, acting as the perfect daughter, like a robot, as expected. My father places his hand on my shoulder, causing me to flinch, squeezing his fingers really hard into my flesh as a warning to behave.
My gaze falls to the gleaming marble floors as my father introduces me to the circle of men, hoping they haven’t noticed me flinch from when my father touched me. But if these men are anything like my father, they would enjoy it too.
“Adelaide, this is Zach,” my father says through gritted teeth, and I lift my gaze from the floor to the gentleman standing in front of me. I start at his shiny black dress shoes, working my way up, taking in his broad frame, and how tight the suit is around his body until I finally meet his sapphire blue gaze.
Zach from the beach.
My breath hitches, and my eyes go wide in surprise. The words do not form, and I panic as my chest tightens. Does my father know I have met this man, or even worse, does he know about our hot kiss the other night to piss Charles off? Swallowing the knot in my throat, I hold out my hand, intending to shake his hand and introduce myself.
Zach knows who I am, he recognized me straight away. He smirks, his beautiful eyes gleaming from the crystal chandelier lights above us.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Adelaide.”
He grabs my hand in a firm handshake, and I exhale sharply. The group carries on their conversation as I stand there with my father, my gaze still on Zach, the Thor look alike. His hair is tied in a bun at the back of his head, making him look so handsome my knickers could melt. As I’m looking into his beautiful blue eyes, he tries to gesture for me to go somewhere away from these boring fucks and I so goddamn want to.
I smile at the group, “Will you excuse me father, I need some fresh air,” I excuse myself and my father nods. Walking through the French doors, the crisp winter air cools off my heated skin. I walk over to the ledge, placing my palms on the ice-cold stone, focusing on my breathing as I wait for Zach.
“Well, you could say that I’m awfully surprised,” a hard voice sounds from behind me, sending shivers down my spine. The memory of Zach when he grabbed my face and kissed me plays through my mind. Like a god taking ownership of his possession, and it was hot. The Viking king laying his claim. Well, I wish he were.
Spinning on my heel, I come face to face with Zach, who’s standing behind me with his arms crossed behind his back. He looks as handsome as I remember, but this time a posh boy, in an expensive suit like the rest of them. And he had the audacity to ask me if I was ‘one of them’ when he questioned me about Charles? I raise my dark eyebrow at him in defiance, smirking at the handsomeness before me.
“Oh really, shouldn’t I be the one who’s surprised? Considering you said you hate stuck up snobs?”
I can’t help but melt around him, the way he made me feel before creating a pool of desire within my core. Zach’s head rolls back in laughter, the sultry growl coming from his chest turning me on even more. My breath quickens, still unsure of what to make of this encounter and my skin goes all prickly from the crisp air.
“Okay, you got me. I hate posh snobs, but unfortunately my parents are one of them and I had to be here tonight,” he says, stalking towards me and joining me against the stone wall, the only sound is the water trickling in the fountain before us.
Zach sighs, his shoulders going slump. “Don’t worry. I know why you couldn’t tell me your real name. Your father is a very … unique man, and I know he ordered you not to tell anyone,” he admits, not looking at me but at the fountain, the water glowing from the coloured lights in the statue, creating a beautiful display.
So, he knows all about me, then. But did he know about me when we met?
“And no, I didn’t know who you were when I met you, I only just put two and two together.” He turns around to face me, grinning with that sinister smile of his.
I scoff, rolling my eyes. “You read my mind.”
The dick.
We stand there in pure silence, listening to the sound of crickets and the water fountain. Zach’s shoulder brushes against mine, making my whole-body tremble with just the slightest touch. The thought of his big Viking hands touching my soft tanned skin crosses my mind. The way his searing hot kiss took control over my whole mind and body, the neediness in my kiss, longing for more than just his mouth.
Shaking off the thought, I bring myself back to the moment and Zach’s side eyeing me with a wry grin, clearly aware of the effect he has on me. I take in a deep breath and turn on my heels, ready to head back inside, otherwise father will be looking for me. As I go to leave, Zach grabs my wrist, his fingers digging into my tender skin. I look down at his hand clenched on my wrist, and his suit has ridden up to reveal a tattoo.
The exact same tattoo as the Royals.
My eyes go wide, as I tear my wrist away from Zach, turning to face him as he inserts his hands into his slacks pockets, his gaze now shifted to the floor. How have I not noticed the tattoo before?
“Why have you got the same tattoo as Charles and his friends?” I whisper, my body shaking. Is he in on all this? Does he know how much they torment me?
Maybe this is a game to him, to woo me and then break my heart. Zach’s gaze lifts from the floor, staring directly in my eyes. The lights from the ballroom dance in the sapphire of his eyes but the longer he stares at me, the blacker they become.
He’s just another demon in disguise.
Zach clenches his jaw, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. I stand before him, my chin up in defiance, and I can’t help but clench my fists to the point my nails cut the palms of my hands. I can feel the blood spread between the wrinkles. Zach sighs, his right-hand scrubbing over his stubbly jaw.
“There’s a lot you don’t know Ade…I,” he starts to say, stalking closer to me, but I take a step back, not wanting to get close to him right now. As soon as I do, I lose all my senses.
“What is the tattoo about Zach? Why have you all got one?” I question, my voice coming out in shaky breaths.
“It’s a stupid tradition that’s been around for hundreds of years, created by Lord Darlington himself,” he says, and my nose crinkles at the stupid sounding ritual. Of course, there’s something traditional about it.
“They call us the Darlington Knights,” he adds, and I can’t but help let out an exaggerated laugh. He must be joking.
“Seriously? The Darlington Knights? What are you, some kind of secret society or something?” I joke, still unable to contain my laughter at this stupidity. “That’s usually something they do in films,” I add, and I can see by Zach’s face that I’m getting under his skin. Good, I hope I piss him off.
“I know you think it’s stupid Ade, but we cannot talk about it here. I will explain everything, when I am able to,” Zach says, gritting his teeth
, aggravation clear on his face so I decide not to push further. His face shifts from annoyance to almost one of fright.
I turn around to see where his gaze has wandered off to and find that he’s staring at both of our fathers, who are standing by the French doors. Both with vicious smiles on their hard, rough faces. They almost look inhumane.
My father parades me around the room, greeting everyone that attended this evening. I can’t remember when the exhaustion hit me first. Once I have done my rounds and drunk tons of champagne, I say goodnight to my father and make my way to my room, only waiting until I get into the hallway to take off my shoes and walk barefoot to my room. They may be the most beautiful shoes I have ever seen, but my god are they uncomfortable. I unzip my dress in the bathroom, letting it pool around my legs. Washing my face, I’m careful not to scrub too hard at my tender skin. The bruises start to make their appearance, reminding me of the altercation with my father earlier.
At least the alcohol numbed the pain for the whole evening.
Staring at myself in the mirror, I’m surrounded by vanity lights and I am surprised no one noticed my swollen nose. I’m starting to feel sorry for my face, the amount of battering it has received, it hasn’t even had time to heal. I wouldn’t be surprised if I permanently looked like this from now. A slight knocking sound comes from my bedroom door, and I’m really hoping it’s my hot chocolate. It must be one of the servants, because Mrs. Blossom never knocks.
“Come in!” I shout from my bathroom, hoping they will just leave the hot chocolate on my bed side table and leave. What I wasn’t expecting was to see Zach leaning in the bathroom doorway, holding my hot chocolate.