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Elle shook her head.
“You don’t get it.”
I spread my hands.
“Then help me understand.”
She stared at me like a cornered wild animal. A split second later, she ducked out the door and disappeared without a word. I released a breath of frustration and slumped back against my desk.
So close, and yet so far away.
Chapter 5
Elle
No one can dictate what you do with your life, Miss Roche.
Professor Stonebridge had no idea how wrong he was about that. Although I had to admit, the idea of changing my major was tempting. My mind whirled through possibilities as I stared at the ceiling late into the night.
What would I study if given the choice? What would I choose to do with my life if I didn’t have my father breathing down my neck? If I wasn’t Giselle Roche, who would I want to be?
I sighed and rolled over, burying my face in my pillow.
It didn’t make any difference. No matter what I wanted, I had my father and his reputation to contend with. And maybe deep down, I was scared to defy him. Scared to go against his wishes. Not because he was a powerful man, but because he was my dad, and I still hoped that by doing what he wanted, I would finally earn his love.
God, that sounded so pathetic and desperate.
When the first blush of dawn filled my dorm room, I gave up on sleep and started my day. With midterms looming on the horizon, I had a ton of homework to catch up on. When I rested my laptop on my knees, I found myself navigating to the university’s course catalog online, studying the degrees offered. There were so many to choose from.
Mathematics, engineering, linguistics, theater, physics, history, science.
The only thing I knew I liked was my lit class with Stonebridge. Sure, it was hot as fuck to look at him commanding a room, or listen to him read. But I really loved those stuffy old poets. I recognized the longing in their text as my own—the ache to be noticed, the heat of a lover’s touch. It made me feel less alone in the world.
That reason wasn’t good enough to change my major though…
At seven-thirty on the dot, my door opened. Helene breezed in, looking crisp and flawless in her white pumps that cost more than my textbooks. I felt like a bridge troll in comparison, wearing my pink donut pajamas, hunched over my laptop.
“Good morning, sister,” she chirped, yanking open drawers without invitation. “If Daddy found out you were still in bed at this hour, you’d never hear the end of it.”
I snapped my laptop shut, fighting the urge to fling it at her. It wouldn’t solve anything, but it would probably feel pretty good in the moment.
“What are you doing here, Helene?” I asked. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
She turned to face me with a pile of clothes draped over one arm. Perfect eyeliner, perfect hair, perfect manicure. It made me want to scream. Wasn’t she tired of it? I used to be so jealous of her when we were growing up. Somehow, Helene managed to meet Dad’s astronomical expectations for us and she made it look easy. Didn’t even break a sweat doing it. She never slept in, never caved and binged on junk food. Hell, she didn’t even own a pair of sneakers.
For thirty years, she plucked and tucked and powdered herself into the daughter that Dad wanted her to be. What was the real Helene like underneath all that?
“I’m here to intervene on your behalf,” she said. “Daddy said your grades are abysmal, Giselle. That’s not acceptable. So, I thought I’d drop by and have a little chat. Get dressed. We’re going out for coffee.”
“I have homework, you know,” I pointed out.
Helene waved off my protest.
“Oh, I can’t stay long. I’m closing a deal with a high-profile client today at the firm. Your homework can wait until after I leave.”
She waltzed out the door, not bothering to wait for a response. I could hear her in the corridor as she made a call, waiting for me to follow her orders and get dressed.
Seething, I ignored the outfit she’d selected for me, and picked my own clothes. A small, meager rebellion, but I would take it.
