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“It’s an invitation,” Penelope whispers.
“To what?”
“Dinner tonight. Mom sprung it on me this morning. I swear I didn’t know anything about it until now, but she’s invited your dad too, and I don’t think there’s any way for you to refuse.”
My muscles stiffen as tension radiates through me. “Where?” I ask, my voice barely loud enough to be heard.
“At home,” Penelope whispers.
“No,” Gulliver snaps, pulling me closer, his arms holding me even tighter.
“I think Mom told your dad that they wanted to mend fences before the party tomorrow so the press didn’t get wind of the rift,” she says, her shoulders pulled back, despite the tremor in her voice. “She’s going to do something, but I don’t know what. You need to be careful.”
Nodding, I swallow down the lump of very real fear in my throat.
“Fuck this. Come on, we’re leaving,” Gulliver says. “I need to speak to my dad and find out what the hell he thinks she’s playing at. I’ll figure out a way to get us out of this.”
Letting him pull me away, I keep my gaze trained on my sister and the look in her eyes. She’s scared, and that’s more terrifying than anything else.
It’s almost seven thirty p.m. in the evening when I emerge from the room Gulliver and I have been sharing since the photoshoot. Yolanda and Fitzy have worked their magic, and I’m dressed for war, or at least that’s what they described my outfit as. I look like a warrior going into battle, only instead of leather or chain mail, I have couture. Tonight’s outfit is a structured tuxedo dress cut to mid-thigh and paired with sky-high patent leather Louboutin black pumps. My makeup is fierce with dark eyes and my signature bright red lips, and my hair has been teased into sleek finger waves that frame my face.
My image in the mirror is startling. I look much older and much more intimidating than I would ever consider myself to be, but tonight, I need that. I never intended to walk back into my parents’ house, but no matter how much Gulliver has screamed and yelled, the only way we’re getting out of this dinner is simply by refusing to go. Gulliver is completely onboard with this idea, but I could see his dad wasn’t.
“Your parents would like to attempt to build some bridges before the party tomorrow night. Trudy was hysterical on the phone. She sobbed,” Donovan told me when he sat us down and explained why refusing to attend would seem childish and immature.
Gulliver told him that he literally couldn’t give a fuck, but honestly, I want to know what my family has planned, and I’d rather they play their cards tonight than tomorrow at the party.
That’s why I’m dressed for battle and steeling myself to return to my childhood home.
The car journey is short and silent. Gulliver dressed to complement me in a black suit, with a black shirt and tie. His hair is combed back, and his expression is so somber and hard that we look more like we’re attending a funeral than a family dinner.
When we drive through the familiar gates that lead to my family’s home, I feel nausea rising up my throat. The last time I was here, Mark was collecting me, bruised and broken. I’ve spoken to him several times in the last month and even went for dinner at his house to meet his wife and children. He and Mrs. Humphries are the only good things to ever come out of my parents’ home.
Looking down at our entwined fingers resting on Gulliver’s thigh, I attempt to smile when he lifts our joined hands and presses a kiss to the back.
“It’s not too late. We don’t have to go in there,” he whispers quietly.
“It’ll be fine. It’s just dinner, and then we leave,” I say, assuring myself as much as him.
“Family is important,” Donovan says comfortingly. “I’m proud of you both for coming tonight. I’m sure you’d be kicking yourself if you didn’t at least try to mend these fractured bonds.”
I hold back the snort of derision that threatens to burst from me. My parents don’t care about me. Tonight is a power play, they’re planning something, I just don’t know what.
“That’s a really pretty picture you’re painting, Dad. It’s just a shame that it’s hiding all the ugly truths,” Gulliver snarls.
When we pull up outside the house, my nerves ratchet up until it feels like a herd of elephants is stomping around in my gut. The only thing keeping me grounded is the feel of Gulliver’s thumb rubbing reassuring circles on the side of my hand. Right now, he’s the only thing I’m certain of because, real or not, I know he won’t fail me. He won’t forget me, and he won’t leave me because I know without thought, without question, without doubt, that he sees me.
Channeling my inner Penelope, I pull back my shoulders and drag in a shaky breath before I follow Gulliver from the car. He reclaims my hand the moment he can, reassuring me with his touch and making this awful night marginally better.
Mrs. Humphries opens the door, her expression wary and fearful. “Miss Izabella, Mr. Winslow, Mr. Winslow,” she greets. “Please come in, Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes and Miss Penelope are waiting for you in the living room.”
I offer her the most reassuring smile I can muster, squeezing her arm as I pass her on my way into the house. Her eyes are screaming a thousand questions at me, but I can’t tell her anything. Because I honestly don’t know what I’m doing back here either. Closing the door behind us, we wait for her to lead us to the living room, like I didn’t live here for the last eighteen years.
“Miss Izabella, Mr. Winslow, and Mr. Winslow have arrived,” she announces formally as she opens the door to the living room, stepping aside to let us pass. Donovan steps in first, then I go next, and Gulliver—still holding my hand tightly—enters last.
The room is just like it was the last time I was here when both of my parents violently assaulted me like I was nothing more than a disobedient dog. A shudder of revulsion passes through me when I step over the spot where I was curled on the floor, hurt and bleeding.
My sister helped me that night, she told me to run, from this house and our family.
