Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
“Go fuck yourselves.” The second the words fell from my lips, a weight lifted from my soul. My words landed in the silence like stones dropped into still water. My voice didn’t shake or rise, didn’t betray the thunder of my heart beneath my ribs. I simply stated it as an order, a dismissal of everything they represented.
My father’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, no sound emerging. For once in his life, Charles English was speechless. Beside him, my mother’s face drained of color, her perfectly painted lips forming a small ‘o’ of shock as her wine glass tumbled from her hand to spill on the table in front of her.
“Excuse me?” she finally managed, her voice barely audible.
“You heard me,” I replied, still smiling, “but I have no problem saying it again. Go. Fuck. Yourselves. Both of you. Preferably with something rusty and painful.”
My father recovered, his face flushing purple. “How dare you speak to us that way! After everything we’ve done for you!”
“What exactly have you done for me?” I asked, rising slowly from my chair. Marcus stood with me, his hand finding the small of my back. “Controlled me? Belittled me? Made me feel worthless unless I was fulfilling your expectations?” I shook my head. “That’s not love. That’s ownership. And I am not your property.”
“Sit down this instant,” my mother hissed, eyes darting to the door as if worried someone might overhear. Always more concerned with appearances than reality.
I grinned. “Make me.”
My father slammed his palm on the table, causing the silverware to jump. “You ungrateful little bitch. After everything we’ve sacrificed for you!”
“The only thing you ever sacrificed was my happiness,” I replied, feeling lighter with each word. “And I’m done paying that price.”
I turned away from them, tugging gently on Marcus’s hand. He followed my lead without hesitation, matching his stride to mine as we walked toward the door.
“If you leave with him, you’re cut off,” my father called after us. “No more safety net, Cora. No more family name to fall back on.”
I paused at the doorway, looking back over my shoulder. “I’ve been without your money for six years, Father. Haven’t missed it. Not once. Not even when I was sleeping in homeless shelters.” I smiled again, genuinely this time. “And as for the English name, I traded up. I’m Cora Wheeler now. And no matter what happens between me and Marcus in the future, I will never be Cora English again. That name – your name -- is dead to me.” I only added that last part because my mother often used to say I was dead to her whenever I did something she hadn’t much approved of. Saying it before she could might be petty, but the satisfaction was immeasurable.
We stepped through the doorway before they could respond, leaving them sputtering in outrage behind us. The main dining room stretched before us, a gauntlet of curious faces. I felt Marcus’s arm slide around my waist, his body slightly ahead of mine in that protective stance that had become so familiar.
“You okay?” he murmured, his voice for my ears alone.
“Never better,” I replied, meaning it.
We walked through the restaurant with unhurried steps.
A different hostess appeared at the front door, her false smile strained. “Was everything to your satisfaction, Miss English?”
“It’s Mrs. Wheeler,” I corrected her. “And it was exactly what I needed, thank you.”
Outside, the night air hit my flushed skin like a blessing, cool and clean after the stifling atmosphere within. To my surprise, Marcus’ motorcycle waited at the curb, its gleaming black body an incongruous sight among the luxury cars. The valet, a young man with a smug expression, pulled the keys to Marcus’ bike from his pocket and tossed them to Marcus.
“Out front for a quick getaway,” he said to Marcus, gesturing at the bike.
Marcus slipped something into the young man’s hand that made his eyes and his grin widen. “Thanks, man,” he said.
Without hesitation, I reached down and slipped off my heels, holding them loosely in one hand. The pavement was cold beneath my bare feet, but the discomfort felt clarifying.
Marcus swung his leg over the bike, the movement smooth despite his formal clothes. He held out his hand to me, his dark eyes reflecting the city lights. “Ready to go home, wife?”
Wife. The word sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the night air. I took his hand and climbed behind him, my tight dress riding up my thighs as I straddled the machine. The cool leather seat pressed against my skin, the engine’s vibration already thrumming through the frame beneath me.
“Cora!” My father’s voice cut through the night, sharp with command. He stood at the restaurant entrance, my mother a pale shadow behind him. “Don’t you dare leave like this!”