A week away would be perfect. My bruise would heal. I’d go home, then Marc and I would have a real date. What if everything changed after that?
What if he finally, finally took my virginity?
I was so giddy on the idea of it, I wasn’t really thinking when I answered the door. It was probably just the landlord checking in that everything was okay with the rental.
Instead, there stood a large man, older, in his forties, wearing a suit and tie. He looked official. Like a former Army General, the way he held himself.
“Can I help you?”
“Ashleigh Landen?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Your father sent me here to watch over you. I’ll be following you throughout your vacation. I wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t be concerned.”
What?
“My father sent you? He doesn’t even know where I am.” Which was obviously a stupid thing to say. He clearly knew where I was because he’d sent someone to my damn door.
But how? He’d kept calling, but I’d refused to speak with him. I needed time and space.
“There was a credit card trail,” the bodyguard—I guessed that’s what he was supposed to be—said.
“A credit card trail…”
The man smirked. “You ladies always fuck it up.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, offended and still confused as to why Arthur would do this. He left me alone on the estate for days at a time, but because I’d refused his trip to the spa, I needed a bodyguard?
“Not the first time I’ve had to track down a rich princess runaway.” He shrugged. “You all want your freedom, but none of you realize freedom costs money you don’t have. It’s your father’s money. Which means your life is his, until he says it isn’t.”
“Just keep your distance,” I said, shutting the door in his face.
“Ten steps behind you. Wherever you go,” he called through the door.
This didn’t make sense. Then again, neither did the bruise on my face.
One week later
Home
Ashleigh
I walked through the front door of my home having no idea what to expect. There were cars in the driveway, but that didn’t mean Arthur was home. In fact, it was unlikely he was here, given it was a weekday morning.
Still, I entered the house with a sense of trepidation. The feel of his hand cracking across my face was vivid, even if the bruise was gone.
I’d been away seven days, which had seemed like a rational amount of time to overcome the shock, the anger and the anxiety of what came next. Only having a bodyguard following me around the whole time hadn’t helped. He was the stand-in for my father. And his presence had never let me forget I didn’t truly have any space or freedom.
The only thing that had helped get my head straight was texting with Marc. He’d reached out every day and that centered me. Sometimes he was snarky. Sometimes he was worried I was still pissed off at him. Sometimes he just said hey.
Eventually, I told him I was in San Diego; there was no point in keeping it a secret since Arthur knew. Telling Marc had made him happy. He hadn’t liked not knowing where I was.
Stepping into the living room, I rolled my suitcase behind me, then stopped when I saw Arthur sitting on the living room sofa. Casual slacks and a polo shirt. His white hair impeccably neat as if it had recently been cut. His face healthy looking without the flushed red I was coming to expect as normal.
He looked like my father.
Only I knew he wasn’t the man I’d known, or thought I’d known, my whole life.
Because there was a reason he was sitting calmly in the living room on a weekday morning and it wouldn’t be good for me.
“Welcome home, Ashleigh. Did you enjoy your trip to San Diego?”
I left my suitcase behind, and walked over to sit across from him on the opposite couch. I kept my hands folded in my lap, my legs crossed only at the ankles.
“It wasn’t as relaxing as I’d hoped. The bodyguard was a little stifling. Still, I did get to unwind. I didn’t realize the strain I’d been under in recent months. Finals, graduating. I feel refreshed.”
He nodded. That was exactly what he wanted to hear. My father and I didn’t do real, sit-down, emotional conversations. We did small talk, followed by schedules. His and mine, and if there was any reason they needed to sync up.
In truth, my prom night might have been the most emotion I’d ever seen from my father with regard to me. First his anger, then his sorrow and regret. He must have been humiliated the next day to know he’d left himself so raw and exposed to me.
So vulnerable.
“I’ve thought a lot about what happened. I won’t repeat my regrets as you’ve heard them already, but I took a hard look at the feelings that caused my actions.”
He’d called me a slut. He’d slapped me across the face. There were feelings behind that?
“I’ve come to the conclusion I’m not ready to let you go.”
I didn’t panic. Or sprint out of the room. Instead, I smiled gently. “I can’t be your little girl forever.”
“Even if I insisted?” he asked, with a soft smile that played around his lips.
“I’m not capable of stopping time.”
He rose from the couch and made his way to the wet bar situated in the corner of the room. He poured himself a splash of some brown liquor. I didn’t comment. He was sober now, while I was here. That was all that mattered. If he started drinking with any serious intention, I would flee to the carriage house.
“I’ve decided you’re not ready for Princeton. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and, while intellectually, I have no doubt you would be capable of the work, I fear socially you would be too vulnerable to the pressures of campus life. Can you appreciate where I’m coming from?”
“We talked about this. I thought it was decided,” I said, trying not to panic. The bodyguard’s words running over and over in my head.
“…your life is his, until he says it isn’t.”
He came to where I was, and actually sat on the glass coffee table in front of me. Arthur never sat on tables. He considered it unseemly.
“I know this must feel like a punishment—”
“Why should I be punished? I didn’t hit you.”
His jaw tightened. “Yes, but you did run away.”
“I decided to take a detour instead of going to a spa,” I argued.
“It’s already done, Ashleigh. I’ve talked with the admissions people and they’ve pulled your offer. They’ve already given your place to someone on the waiting list.”
There was no point in shouting, but I had to bite my bottom lip to stop from crying. My dream. The thing I’d been working toward for years. College. Princeton. Marc and I together. On our own as adults.
There was no point in calling Admissions. No point in trying to seek financial aid and do it on my own. I wasn’t naïve. My name was Landen. Much like my father had the power to get me into Princeton, he had the power to keep me out.
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked tightly, reigning in my emotions. “Without school?”
It’s not like he would let me work. I used to ask him every summer if I could get a job in town, but he considered it beneath us to do menial labor. Beyond that, he didn’t like the appearance me working would project. What would people in town think? Personally, I thought no one would care.