Page 9 of House of Bass

“It’s fine, I’ll just go in and wait,” I say with a smile and wave, “We should catch up later.”

My smile drops as I enter my father’s office, he looks up when he sees me but goes back to his meeting. The room is one of my favourites in the building (only second to my own, which I designed); the graphite colour scheme of black, white and grey is tastefully put together, the sofas, round coffee table, even the bookshelf behind him, making it modern and homely while somehow remaining intimidating and cold, just like him. The lighting in the room is utterly brilliant (some of my best pictures have been taken in here), the floor to ceiling windows frame the whole city and have the most stunning view. My own office has a similar view, which is why I sometimes went in there to think and breathe.

My father shuts his laptop and walks around to sit on one of the smaller sofas, crosses his legs, while I stand on the other side of the room and we both stare at one another. He speaks first, “You look well.”

“You don’t,” I spit back.

He scoffs out a laugh. “Is there a reason you haven’t been answering or returning my calls?”

“Have you mayhaps considered that I didn’t want to hear a word out of your mouth?”

“So why are you here?” he asks, pouring himself a cup of water.

“I realised that sooner or later you’d sent Joe to my place and brought me by force, figured I’d spare myself the drama.” Joe is the head of our personal security, and has been with us for as long as I could remember. He is the one sent to reel me in when I do things my father didn't like.

“That’s a first.” It is funny how people think men can’t be sassy, but they are worse than women.“Sit down, I have something to tell you.”

“I’m alright where I am.”

All traces of humour leaves him, his gaze turns sharp and mean. I do as instructed.

He sighs, craning his neck looking particularly irritated all of a sudden, “The girl will be arriving tonight and she’ll be staying with you,” he informs me, and I freeze in disbelief in my seat.

“What?”

“She will start at Thorne on Next Monday, a little late but I had to get things sorted in quiet and without fuss. I’m sure she can cope with missing a couple classes, but help her fit in regardless. This is being kept very low profile so nobody can know… about her being mine.”

“Are you having a laugh?”

“Does it look like I’m joking?”

“What else would explain you doing this? To Mother? To me?” I grit out, my voice rising with each word. “Why does it have to be my house? Since you’re suddenly father of the year, let her fucking stay with you!”

“Reasons for anything I do is none of your business, St. Annabel,” he says with a sigh, like I am exhausting him when really I should be the one tired of his shit. “Also, I paid for that house. After you begged me to get it for you, so I’d tread lightly if I were you.”

An involuntary tear slips out of my eye and he looks at me condescendingly before groaning, “Are you crying? Tell me you aren’t fucking crying.” He doesn’t believe in tears; he always said they are a telltale sign; anyone who can’t control their emotions is susceptible to letting it cloud their judgement and influence. Signs of a weaker being. I look away from him.

“I don’t even get a choice in this…wow,” I say, incredibly baffled by his audacity. “Being around you right now is suffocating me. Don't call me, I definitely won’t answer, and if I see Joe I’m calling the police.”

I walked out without waiting for a reply. I finally understand why people hate Mondays.

✧✧✧

My decision to go see my father just before my auditions might take the cake on terrible decisions I have ever made. I can feel the world caving in on me, I want to claw out my throat. The flask sitting in my bag is now empty of the vodka I had just refilled two hours ago and I think it hardly made a difference to my mood. The last thing I want to do is dance but I had to, this is going to be my final showcase before I leave this place.

We are doing Swan Lake and I am gunning for the role of Odette just like everyone else but my main competition is Devon. She is going to give it her all with no care of how much I want it too. So, I have to make sure I get out of my head; forget my father and everything else trying to break me.

The hall is buzzing with damn near the whole department excited for their chance to audition. There are six girls and guys each in their final year. We take priority over the other students but Gigi, our head of dance, would still rather pick whoever did best no matter what year they were in.

I see Devon surrounded by some of our coursemates and walk up to them, popping a couple pieces of gum in my mouth to hide the smell of alcohol. Usually before I dance I need quiet because it feels like I’m emptying my brain from everything other than my choreography. However, I am hoping she will provide a good distraction since my mind refuses to quieten down.

“Oh my, you’re back,” Anthony, one of the male dancers, says like he doesn’t already know this. My face has been all over the internet the entire weekend. You leave for one summer and people treat it like you disappeared for years and went radio silent. I am not the only one who left London when uni isn’t in session but I apparently am the only one that counts.

“That I am,” I reply, with a smile and a subtle knowing look to Devon, who gives me a look back in return. She can’t stand him, she thinks he talks too much.

“Nobody threw good enough parties the entire summer, we missed you,” says Ella Spinelli. Her full name was Adelma but we all know her as Ella. She is the kinder of the Spinelli twins, always in bright pink and with a smile on her face. Devon finds it nauseating. I don’t mind it because her sister is in my Econ course and she is the complete opposite, it is nice to receive kindness from one of those gorgeous faces.

“Did we?” Devon says with an eyebrow raise.