Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
On Tuesday and Thursday campus visits that suddenly make the prospect of college infinitely more interesting.
“Eight years,” Mother says, admiring her wedding ring in the chandelier light. “Can you believe your father and I will celebrate eight years of marriage next month? It feels like just yesterday we met at that charity thing after his wife’s death.”
“Stepfather,” I correct automatically, though I know she prefers I drop the prefix. Richard Hayes has been Father since the wedding, my actual father relegated to vague memories and occasional child support checks that Mother dismisses as entirely insufficient.
She frowns slightly at my correction but continues undeterred. “I’m trying to convince Richard to take a proper vacation for our anniversary. Perhaps the villa in Santorini. Lord knows he could use the break from work.”
I nod, arranging my features into appropriate interest while pushing the panna cotta around my plate. “That sounds lovely. I’m sure you both deserve the time away.”
“The challenge, of course, is getting him to commit to two full weeks. He insists the Hayes Enterprises merger with Northstar Pharmaceuticals requires his constant attention.” She sighs dramatically. “Men and their work. As if the company would collapse without him for fourteen days.”
“Perhaps a compromise?” I suggest the expected diplomatic response. “A shorter trip but completely disconnected from work? No calls, no emails.”
Mother brightens, patting my hand approvingly. “What a wonderful suggestion, darling. So practical, just like your father. Richard always responds better to compromise than direct opposition.”
I smile and nod, playing my role perfectly while carefully avoiding any mention that Richard Hayes is nothing like my actual father. That particular correction never ends well.
“I’ve already spoken with his assistant about clearing his calendar,” she continues, lowering her voice conspiratorially, though we’re alone in the dining room. “And I’ve had Marissa research private villas with poor internet connectivity. Sometimes technical difficulties are a blessing, don’t you think?”
“Very strategic,” I agree, recognizing the familiar pattern of manipulation she considers wifely duty. The careful orchestration of circumstances to achieve desired outcomes without direct confrontation. The Hayes family way.
“I’m thinking of wearing the blue Valentino to the anniversary dinner,” she muses, already mentally packing. “Though perhaps that’s better saved for the charity gala next week. Speaking of which, you’ll need to confirm your attendance even though you’ll be at school. Your father insists the entire family present a united front for potential investors.”
“I’ve already marked my calendar,” I assure her, though the thought of returning home mere days after escaping to college makes my stomach clench. “Blue would look wonderful on you.”
She beams at the compliment, launching into detailed descriptions of potential outfits, seating arrangements, donation strategies, and which board members might be susceptible to particular conversational topics. I provide all the right responses—appreciative murmurs, thoughtful nods, appropriate questions that demonstrate engagement without actually requiring much thought.
Years of practice have made me an expert at this performance. At being present while my mind wanders elsewhere. At appearing to be the perfect daughter while maintaining a private inner world.
And tonight, that inner world is entirely occupied with Aries. With the subtle changes in his demeanor. With the strange intensity in his gaze that seemed to see past my careful performance in a way he never has before. With the possibility of campus encounters away from Mother’s watchful eye.
For the first time in years, I allow myself to hope that perhaps something has changed between us. That the careful distance he’s maintained might finally be closing. That college might offer not just academic freedom, but emotional liberation as well.
While Mother discusses table settings for the anniversary dinner, my thoughts circle obsessively around those brief moments with Aries. The way his eyes held mine rather than sliding away. The subtle confidence that seemed to radiate from him. The almost predatory grace that replaced his usual careful restraint.
For two years, I’ve tried to extinguish these feelings. Two years of forcing myself to accept the rejection, to rebuild my pride from the ashes of that humiliating night. Two years of telling myself his coldness was kindness, his distance was necessary, and his rejection was final.
Yet one unexpected encounter has reignited everything I thought I’d buried.
What changed during these summer months? Was it the internship, as Mother suggested? Some newfound independence away from Father’s constant oversight? Or something deeper—a fundamental shift in how he sees himself. In how he sees me.
“Lilian? Are you listening, darling?” Mother’s voice cuts through my reverie.
“Sorry,” I say, straightening slightly. “Just thinking about everything I need to finish packing tonight.”
She accepts the excuse with a nod. “As I was saying, the Prescotts will be seated at table three, though Eleanor has been campaigning for table one since the hospital fundraiser last spring...”
I let her voice fade to background noise again, returning to thoughts of Aries. Of campus meetings free from familial supervision. Of conversations not confined to careful pleasantries across dining tables or formal events.