“I’m busy,” I bite out, not turning my attention away from Nesrin, who’s now pinning the redhead with a glare that would certainly kill if she had the powers to do so.
Jealous? I ponder silently.
“But I—”
“I. Said. I’m. Fucking. Busy.” My words are low, but they’re like silver bullets hitting her right in the chest. To the very heart of where she thought I was going to take her out for dinner and then fuck her into oblivion. I don’t do dates, and I certainly am not boyfriend material.
“You’re an asshole,” the redhead spits. I chuckle, it’s something I’ve known my whole life. I’m just like my father. I may look like my mother, but my charming and oftentimes misunderstood personality comes from Daddy Dearest. Cold, heartless, and narcissistic.
“Did you have to be so rude to her?” Nesrin’s voice is a whispered gasp. Shock is painted on her pretty face, and I can’t help but be intrigued by her. Even though I’ve never met her before, this is the first time I’ve come face to face with a woman who wasn’t fawning over themselves for me.
“Yes,” I answer simply. She doesn’t need any more information than that. I glance up, noticing the crowd moving around, watching who’s talking to whom. I notice Finn and Cassian, both have a woman on their arms, one more languid than the other, and I can’t help but roll my eyes.
And, as the eldest brother, I take my responsibility seriously. But, sometimes, I let them do what they like. Even though they haven’t spotted me yet, I know Cassian’s going to give me grief for taunting our little sister.
“You’re so confident that every woman in this room would drop to their knees and suck your dick. Aren’t you?” Nesrin hisses under her breath, as she leans into me, and I bask in her scent.
“Yes, I am, because they will. When they learn my name, they’ll even fall on their back and spread their thighs for me to fuck them into oblivion, just to say they’ve been with a Thorne.”
Nesrin stumbles backward, into someone, before she spins on her heel, but she doesn’t make it out of the room before she slams into my father’s chest. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but it’s clear he doesn’t want her leaving.
I’m not sure why she’s so shocked by my words. She’s clearly not the innocent rose I thought she was. And her fragile exterior is nothing on the strength that shimmers in her eyes and has her squaring her shoulders.
Dad offers her a pat on the arm before he steps onto the small platform that serves as a stage. He grabs the microphone and holds up his glass of champagne. He takes in the crowd before smiling down at his new pride and joy—Marcia.
5
Nesrin
The Past
My mother’s angry. I watch her pace back and forth, her body rigid at my outburst. I hate being here, I never wanted to go to the stupid casting, but she insisted. I tried, I really did, but I just couldn’t face those people prodding and poking at me.
Four faces, four sets of eyes were on me, watching me intently. They wanted me to perform like a dancing monkey, and I hated every moment. My anxiety curled slowly in my gut, twisting it painfully. My stomach tightened into a knot, it stole my breath, and that’s when I started hyperventilating.
Nobody understands.
They all thought I was some crazy daughter of a well-loved actress, throwing a hissy fit. But I’m not. I’m old enough to know when I’m uncomfortable. So, instead of opening my mouth and telling them, choking out the words, I couldn’t form any, so I ran. Right out of the room.
Why can’t my mother understand?
“This is going to make me look like an idiot to the people I have to work with,” she finally speaks. “Do you know how much you’ve embarrassed me?” Finally, she stops pacing, her glower on me makes me shrink back. “Sixteen! You’re a fucking teenager, and you can’t even open your goddamned mouth!” Her voice bounces off the walls of my bedroom, the sound burying itself in my mind; the words, filled with poison, slowly burrowing under my skin.
Every time she’s ever insulted me, shouted at me and been angry at me feels like it’s coming to the forefront and slowly rising up to the surface of my skin.
Sweat dots my arms, the nape of my neck. My stomach is aching, but I know if I move now, she’ll only laugh at me, tell me I’m overreacting.
“I don’t know how I got lumped with you as a daughter.” Ice fills my veins, and I want to respond and tell her I don’t know either. But I don’t because it will only make her angrier.
She turns around, looking at my bedroom. My haven. I’m almost sure she wants to smash everything within reach, but she doesn’t.