Drake surprisingly smiles. “So you want me to ask you out on a date?”
I shake my head. “That’s not what I said. I’m trying to explain to you that you tell me I’m free for two years on one hand, but I’m not, am I? I’m already yours before I even turn eighteen. You treat me like your property.”
Drake sighs. “I don’t know how many times we’re going to go over this.”
“I’m never going to quit fighting you, Drake. Just you know that.”
Drake laughs sarcastically. “I already know how much of a stubborn little thing you are. You’re going to be quite a challenge, but I will look forward to breaking you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll find out one day.”
I want to bite back. I want to scream and shout at the injustice of it all. Who does he think he is? “I should be able to choose how to live my own life.”
“Your life is with me. It’s as simple as that.”
“And in the meantime, you get to live yours, having sex with women while I sit at home, waiting until I turn eighteen. Is that it?” Drake smirks, and I know why. He knows I’m still fishing.
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he chooses to turn his head toward the window, effectively cutting off our conversation.
Gritting my teeth, I sigh before looking out of the window myself. I hate that he winds me up so much that I bite. I hate that I always end up feeling that he wins every fight we have. He always ends up having the upper hand. He knows it, and he also knows that I know he knows it.
Another few minutes go by, and soon we’re pulling into my parents drive. Drake immediately gets out and proceeds to my side before opening my door. He offers me his hand, but I ignore it getting out. He just smirks at my stubbornness.
Once we reach my door, Drake pulls me to him and plants a kiss to my forehead. I close my eyes at his touch and again berate myself for doing so.
“Make sure you drink plenty of water before bed. You’ll most probably have a hangover tomorrow. I’ll call in the morning to make sure you’re okay.”
“Why does it bother you so much whether I’ll be hung-over tomorrow or not?”
Drake shakes his head. “You still don’t get it, do you? I care about you. I’ve invested too much not to care.”
I huff, getting angry. “Yeah, I must be a real disappointment to your wallet,” I reply sarcastically.
Drake smiles. “I wasn’t talking about money.” With that, he walks away, leaving me both angry, flustered, and bewildered at the same time.
I’m about to turn and go into my house when Drake calls me. I turn, and with a big smile, he says, “Just so you know, I’ve not touched a single woman since I met you.”
He immediately gets into the car, and I’m left standing completely dumbfounded by my door. He doesn’t drive away, and it’s only when the car slightly revs its engine that I realise Drake is waiting for me to get into the house before he leaves. He’ll never drive off until he knows I’m safely inside my house.
So, I turn, placing the key in the lock and walk into my house. As I quietly close the door and wander up the stairs towards my bedroom, I realise something that both annoys and confuses me.
I’m smiling.
Two Weeks until Eighteenth Birthday – Present Day
My parents are having another party tonight. They always seem to be having parties. I know I am a burden to them, but what they fail to realise is that if it wasn’t for me, they wouldn’t actually have the money to host all these lavish functions. Am I resentful? Of course I am. I should be treated like their daughter, not a valuable asset. I know they’ve already pre-booked their world cruise because I heard them gloating to one of the guests. They leave the day of my eighteenth birthday. They couldn’t even wait a day or two.
In the meantime, I’m supposed to smile, sit still, and look pretty. That’s my job. I do as I’m told, and I get to hear the odd conversation. Every now and then, they stare at me like I’m an object on display. I am to be silent unless spoken to. Sit unless asked to stand. That is my duty as the daughter of the infamous Montgomery’s. Apart from the odd leering from old men, the only person who acknowledges me—who ever acknowledges me—is Drake. It’s gotten to that stage where I look forward to when he comes, so I can at least have someone to talk to. Unfortunately, he’s not here yet, so I have to make do with sitting still and clamping my fingers together for support.
“Evelyn, meet Charles Bellingham. He’s the CEO for Channel Six.” My mother raises one tiny eyebrow at me like I should be impressed. I’m not impressed. Only my parents are impressed by this narcissistic show they like to put on every couple of weeks.