When I turn eighteen, payment number two will be made, and I will become Drake’s.
I’m seventeen, and I only have four months left.
Time is running out.
Age Twelve
“Evelyn, sit up straight. We have a very important guest coming over for dinner, and we can’t let him see you sitting there slouching.” My mother turns her head towards my father and scowls her disgust of me.
“Yes, Mother. I’m sorry, Mother.” Robotic responses roll off my tongue. I’m used to this. Used to the constant critical analysis of the way I dress, the way I do my hair, and the way I conduct myself.
As if in time to save the day, the sound of our doorbell ringing stops my parents from speaking of my slouching any further.
“Ooh, he’s here!” Light dances in my mother’s eyes. I’ve never seen her look so animated before. What’s so special about this man? Is he a king or something?
“William, go and answer the door, please. I need to straighten the table up a little.”
With an excitable walk I’ve never seen him use before, my father dutifully steps out of the dining room and into the hallway. My mother does start straightening something, but it’s not the dining table. Instead, it’s her hair. I frown, studying her as she carefully scrutinises her face. Her blonde hair is up in a tight bun, and her face is painted with so much makeup, that she almost looks like a china doll.
Pouting her lips, she flutters her eyelashes and puckers her cheeks before noticing my stare. “What are you looking at?”
Immediately, I look away. That’s when the door opens, and I hear the sound of a very masculine voice. I can’t hear what he says, but I clearly hear my father afterwards. “I’m so glad you accepted our invitation for dinner. I have been eager for you to meet the family.”
My father soon emerges, and ever so quickly, my mother appears, standing behind me with a hand on my shoulder.
Are we posing for a family portrait?
Momentarily, I frown, but then, I see the look on my father’s face. His look says everything. I simply must behave.
“Drake, you’ve already met my wife, Charlotte, but I want you to meet my lovely daughter, Evelyn.” My eyes widen a little at his “lovely daughter” comment, but I have no time to dwell on this as Drake suddenly appears from the doorway.
My first impression is that he’s big. In fact, he’s bigger than any man I have ever seen. Not only is he big in height, but he’s extremely muscular too. My eyes widen again, but for a different reason this time. I have never met a man so imposing or so … huge. The second thing I notice about him is his eyes. They look sinister—maybe even a little evil. I know this should scare me, and there is a little fear, but then he smiles at me, and all my fears wash away.
“Evelyn,” he whispers, light sparkling in his eyes. “What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” My parents laugh, but I don’t look at them. This man seems to have a power that holds my attention. I can’t look away. I couldn’t even if I’d wanted to.
I suck in my breath as Drake stalks towards me, and like the dutiful daughter I am, I offer him my hand. My mother shoves me a little, so I stand and wait for Drake to take my hand. He does so, and soon after, I notice how soft he feels to the touch. He obviously looks after his hands very well.
Pretty soon, I feel his gentle lips, and for some reason, my cheeks flame red at the feel of his mouth on my skin. He notices my blush, lets go of my hand, and gives me a cheeky grin.
“You should be very proud of her,” he says, addressing my parents.
My heart drums as the force of his words hit hard. I don’t know why he says this so vehemently, but I’m surprised when my father speaks up.
“We are, aren’t we, Charlotte?”
“Oh, yes,” my mother quickly answers. “She’s the apple of our eyes.”
I frown again—not knowing where this is coming from—but when I look back at Drake’s smile, my own suddenly lights up. He may be scary and a bit intimidating, but I like him. He doesn’t even know me, but he apparently felt compelled to force my parents to express their approval of me—something they don’t even do privately. Could it be that he knows about the way they treat me and was somehow sticking up for me? I can’t figure it out, but I do know that I like it. In fact, I like it a lot.
“Come, have a seat, Mr Salvatore. I’ll fetch you a drink. What would you like? I have a fifty-year-old Macallan just for you.”
I remember going shopping today with my mother. She was looking everywhere for the most expensive whiskey simply because she knew this guy really liked it.