The mere thought of marriage made Abbie’s stomach clench. Not that Evan hadn’t hinted it was the next logical step. But every time she thought about it, it felt like someone was tying a noose around her neck.
“I’m fine, Dad,” she said as she tried to pull the drawer open. It didn’t budge.
“Have you selected a school yet?”
“Uhm…” Her voice trailed as she grabbed the letter opener and tried to slide it into the drawer to pop the latch. “I need to. I was hoping to hear from University of West London.”
Her father harrumphed. “A photography course does not qualify as school.”
Abbie could almost see him grumbling and pacing in his office. “Dad, actually, it does. The program is prestigious, and it's at an accredited university.”
Her father's accented voice pitched lower. “Abena, what do you think you’re going to do with a Masters in Photography? You’re supposed to go to law school.” Of course, to Ghanaian parents, the only appropriate professions and worthwhile educational pursuits included law, medicine, and engineering. He ignored the prick of pain his disappointment caused. She was used to it by now.
“Dad. You already have one daughter who’s a lawyer. Besides, with the photography, there's a lot I'm planning to do. With a recommendation from my professor, opportunities in production would open for places like National Geographic and a career in documentary films.”
And she was sure a recommendation from Xander Chase would open those kinds of doors. But she didn’t care about those doors. What she was after was the apprentice position offered to his top student.
“Abena, you can’t put all your eggs into one basket. You have to have a backup plan.”
“I know. I know. I’ll be looking at all the offers tonight, and I’ll make a decision by the weekend.” She could only hope and pray that the acceptance came before then. She really only had two more days to stall.
The drawer opened with a splintering pop, and for a second, she was worried she’d broken it, but it slid smoothly on its grooves. Her father mentioned something about her sister, but Abbie had already tuned him out. She pulled out the envelope with its maroon stamp of the Queen, and her breath caught. With her blood rushing in her ears, she carefully scanned the return address.
University of West London.
Twice, her brain tried to make her lips cooperate. Twice it failed. On the third attempt, she managed with a shaky breath, “Listen, Dad, I have to go. Evan’s going to want his lunch soon.”
She bid a quick goodbye to her father. Unable to swallow and unable to breathe, she slowly reached into the already opened envelope and pulled out the papers contained inside.
Her brain short-circuited as her eyes flitted over the cover sheet. …Great happiness that we offer you a spot…our students…we look forward to hearing….
Numb with shock, the only coherent thought her brain managed was, Get lunch ready, otherwise it’s going to get ugly.
In the kitchen, her body worked on automatic pilot. Chicken salad would not have been her choice of lunch, but Evan hated any Ghanaian food she cooked. She added the mayonnaise and the additional spices she knew Evan liked. She always saved the scallions for last because he liked them fresh but not too big and not too fine like the food processor would have done.
“God, I needed that shower. That run was brutal.” Evan’s voice was jovial.
She was too numb to answer, rage battled for dominance with disbelief and sadness. Instead, she just continued chopping. Her mind was unable to form coherent thoughts anyway.
He continued without waiting for a response. “I went down by the library then up Independence. It was pretty. Still spring but with a touch of summer heat in the air.”
Abbie smoothed the scallions off the knife into the chicken salad with her finger. While she worked, the bitter scent burned her nostrils. She still didn’t speak.
“What’s with you?” His tone was cold and held little note of concern.
She knew the moment his eyes landed on the envelope from the school. The air around him shifted subtly, and she braced herself.
His voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke. “Where the hell did you get that?”
Stupid move or not, she wasn’t going to let this one go. If there was ever a time to stand up for herself, it was now. She was not the pathetic girl he thought she was. She had been strong once and she reached deep into the depths of a long forgotten girl to find a sliver of that strength. “Where the hell you hid it.”
She’d braced for shouting, but nothing happened. Instead, when Evan spoke, his voice was pleading. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have kept it from you, but you have to realize that London isn’t going to happen. We won’t survive if we don’t go together. Law is a more stable profession than photography. I mean, what are you going to do with that anyway? I had your best interest at heart.”
Her best interest? Her best fucking interest?
Her fingers curled around the knife handle as her anger bubbled to the surface. She forced a deep breath, then another, and peeled her fingers off. “You lied to me. Every day I asked you, and every day you hid it from me.” She searched his handsome face. How had she become this? What had become of the real her?
He waved a dismissive hand. “Look. I did it for you. You needed to make a decision. The right decision. And you wouldn’t have been able to make it if you’d seen that envelope. Besides, you and I both know that you wouldn’t be happy in London.”
“Don’t!” Her body vibrated with fury. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. You did it for yourself because you wanted me to make the choice that you wanted. You’re dispica—”
The stinging crack across her cheek snapped her head to the side. A pinball of pain ricocheted in her skull. The burning pain spread from her face to her neck and well into her hairline. She knew from experience now would be a good time to shut the hell up.
But it was as if the stronger woman inside her finally refused to be silenced. “I will not shut up. You lied to me. You hid this from me. You made me feel like I wasn’t good enough to make this dream happ—”
The next crack was enough to knock her over, and she tasted blood on the tip of her tongue. Desperate to steady herself, she reached up to the counter for purchase, but only managed to bring the diced chicken, mayonnaise, and chopping board down with her.
Evan kneeled in front of her. His tight face registered a barely concealed mask of rage. This was it, she’d done it now. There would be no concealer good enough to hide the bruises he would give her. And she didn’t give a damn. She was tired of cowering.
But instead of lying there, she probed for the cutting board to use as a shield. Her fingers wrapped around the knife handle instead. Shaking, she gripped it tight.
Over the years, she’d lost count of the number of times he’d hit her. Once, she’d even tried to run home. Her mother had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that Evan was the kind of man Abbie needed in her life. And she had better learn how to please him because she wasn’t going to do much better than a Peters.
Her mother had also pointed out that Even would be powerful someday and Abbie would benefit from that. Abbie had learned that day not to go running home with her problems. Once, she considered telling her father, but that would end in bloodshed, either with her father dead or in jail for murder. Neither outcome was acceptable. So, as always, she suffered alone.