What I don’t appreciate is how Preston and Barrett talk about me like I’m less than them. Like they wouldn’t bleed the same colour of red as me if I was to fucking stab them with my steak knife at dinner. Fucking dimwits.
Thankfully, Thomas saves the day by calling us in for dinner and I trail along behind the rest of the crowd. As we leave the sunroom I lift a spare glass of champagne that was left on a tray and down it before anyone can notice, needing to keep a slight buzz if I want to survive dinner.
By the time I catch up to everyone, they have already situated themselves at their assigned places around the table, with my father at the head of the table and Mr. Donaghue on one side and Mr. Belmont on the other. Preston is seated beside his father, with Barrett on the other side of him, sitting opposite his mother. Leaving a spare seat between Mr. and Mrs. Belmont, opposite Preston, for me.
Mmm strange, I could have sworn when I was nosing around in here earlier that I was meant to be sitting where Mrs. Belmont is currently seated. Perhaps she drunkenly sat down in the wrong seat, but I can’t help wondering if a particular sleazeball switched the place cards. The thought has my lip curling in disgust. I do not want to spend the next couple of hours beside that scumbag.
Looking around the table, I don’t see that I have any option but to take the empty seat. If I hover here much longer it’s going to look suspicious. Reassuring myself that Mr. Belmont won’t try anything at the table, I take a breath and sit down.
For the most part, my father talks to Mr. Donaghue and Mr. Belmont, ignoring the rest of us, while the servers bring out the first course and top up our glasses with alcohol, thankfully overlooking the fact neither myself, Preston or Barrett are twenty one. Alcohol will be a must if I’m to get through this day without blowing a fuse at someone.
Mrs. Belmont, who must be on glass five or six since she arrived, sits quietly on my left, occasionally giggling away to herself. Every time she does, Barrett looks at her with a look of loathing and disappointment. It’s hard to watch, seeing the failure that is their mother-son relationship.
Deciding to tune everyone else out, I dig into my meal, some fancy salad dish. It doesn’t look like much, but it tastes amazing. I continue ignoring everyone else until we are halfway through the main course and I feel a palm slide onto my lower thigh, just above my knee. I’m so startled by the gesture that I drop my fork, which clatters against my plate, drawing the attention of everyone else at the table.
Muttering an apology as Preston and Barrett continue to give me weird looks, I chance a glance in Mr. Belmont’s direction to find him continuing his discussion with my father as though nothing is happening.
Properly confused now, I sit back in my seat and glance under the table, and, yup, Mr. Belmont’s hand is definitely on my knee. What the actual fuck?
I go to shove his hand off me, but he squeezes my knee tightly, digging his nails into my skin and causing me to hiss out, in pain, between my teeth. Barrett is still watching me, giving me a strange look that I can’t decipher. I carefully ensure my facial expression is blank, not giving any indication of what is currently happening under the table. God knows, if anyone found out, I’d probably get blamed for whatever the fuck is going on right now.
Having lost my appetite, which is a fucking shame as the food is delicious and I absolutely hate to waste food, especially good food, I clench my legs together as his disgusting pervy hand starts to slowly make its way further up my thigh. My hand tightens around my knife and I wonder if I could stab him with it, without accidentally hitting myself. Deciding I probably couldn’t, I stand up abruptly, finally dislodging his hand. Once again, everyone looks in my direction and I can see my father is starting to lose his patience with me.
“Uh, sorry. I have to use the bathroom,” I explain lamely, flashing a fake innocent smile which I hope smooths over any disruption and prevents any further ire from my father, as I quickly dash out the door.
Once I’m safely locked in the bathroom, I lean against the door and take a deep breath. I can’t believe that actually happened at the dinner table, with my father right there. The balls on that guy. The problem is, I really don’t know what to do about it. Looking down at my leg I can see the asshole left red nail marks that are going to bruise. It makes me furious how people like him think they can just touch, mark, another person like that, without their consent.
After hiding out for a few more minutes, I figure I can’t stay here any longer without raising any concerns or incurring my father’s wrath. Heading back into the dining room, I subtly drag my chair as far away from Mr. Belmont as is socially acceptable, and carefully sit down, ensuring my legs are crossed and bent away from him and his grabby hands. Thankfully, he doesn’t try anything else for the rest of dinner, and I sit there quietly pushing food around my plate until we are excused.
As I predicted, Robert, Mr. Belmont, and Mr. Donaghue take themselves off to my father’s study, and Thomas escorts Mrs. Belmont to the sitting room, where there is a roaring fire she can enjoy while she continues drinking herself into a stupor - not that I can blame her if she lives with that disgusting pig.
Just as I go to make my escape, practically running from the room, a hand snakes out and grabs me by the wrist. Quickly turning around, Preston and Barrett are standing right behind me. Preston’s arm is outstretched, holding on tightly to mine, as if he has any fucking right to touch me. Yanking it back as though he has burnt me, I snarl out, “Don’t fucking touch me!”
I must be more on edge from that encounter at dinner than I realized, but you know what, fuck him! Fuck him for thinking he can just paw all over me like he owns me. Fuck Neill for thinking he can just decide where and when we are going to have sex and think I’m just going to go along with it. And while we’re at it, fuck Kurt and his creepy lecherous looks and threats.
Preston gives me a weird look but thankfully he lets me go, dropping his arm back to his side while Barrett frowns and starts looking me over in an assessing manner. I see the change in his expression when his gaze reaches my knees and he notices the half-moon marks left by his disgusting father.
“What the hell is that?” He demands, pointing to the marks in my thigh. “You didn’t have that before dinner.” He states obviously. It only takes a second of thinking it through before he puts two and two together and he barks out, “Did my fucking father do that to you?”
I keep my face carefully blank, but he must read something in my eyes as he doesn’t even wait for me to reply before cursing up a storm and stomping off.
Preston continues to give me an assessing look, as if waiting for me to refute what Barrett said, before turning around and following after his friend.
I have no idea what all of that was about but I’m so done with today, with these fucked up families and their pretentious children thinking they can get whatever the hell they want. They have no idea what it’s like living in the real world, surviving in the real world. These idiots wouldn’t last a day in my shoes.
Stopping by the kitchen to lift an entire bottle of champagne, I head upstairs and straight into the bathroom where I fill the tub with scalding hot water and lavender bath bombs. I strip off my clothes and sink into the heat with my bottle of happy juice, not even bothering with a glass, just tipping the bottle back and downing it.