If Romeo was my man

Chapter 5

POV: Emily

"Are you serious, Emily?" My father’s voice was louder than usual, echoing through the car as we drove home. His hands were gripping the steering wheel tightly, and knuckles pale against his tan skin.

"Dad, she started it first!" I shot back, crossing my arms over my chest and staring out the window, refusing to meet his gaze.

My dad wasn’t exactly the kind of guy you’d want to upset. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with short graying hair that always made him look more distinguished than old. His jawline was sharp, and he always had this intense look, even when he was calm. Right now, his dark brown eyes were filled with frustration, and his normally calm face had this crease between his brows that made it clear I had stepped into dangerous territory.

"But fighting over a boy, Emily? Who is this boy?" His voice climbed, almost cracking with disbelief.

I scoffed, my patience hanging by a thread. "I wasn’t fighting over a boy, Dad. I was fighting for myself. She literally grabbed my hair!"

As soon as we pulled into the driveway, I threw open the car door and stormed toward the house. Our house was modest but cozy. The porch was lined with potted plants that Isabella and I helped take care of, and the living room window gave a view of Miss Maria’s house next door. She was always watching, always ready to offer unsolicited advice or cookies.

"For what reason?" my dad called after me as I stomped up the steps.

"Father, for once, be on my side," I huffed, yanking open the front door. Miss Maria, who was watering her garden, looked up at me with a smile but quickly went quiet when she sensed the tension in the air.

"I am on your side!" my dad shouted, following me into the house.

"Well, it sure doesn’t seem like it!" I fired back.

"Emily, what if something had happened to her? You *banged* her head on the table!" His voice was both exasperated and worried, echoing off the walls of our small hallway.

I spun around on the staircase, glaring down at him. "Well, if you care so much, why don’t you go and become her father?" With that, I ran up the stairs two at a time, slamming my bedroom door behind me.

"Emily, I’m still talking to you!" He called from downstairs, but I didn’t care. I ripped my headphones out of the drawer and shoved them onto my head, drowning out the world. I could hear him downstairs apologizing to Miss Maria, who probably thought I was some rebellious monster. She didn’t know that Isabella had been sick, and tensions had been high at home. I didn’t even want to think about Bianca.

---

Some time later, I woke up to the sound of a knock on my door. My headphones had died, so I tossed them aside and reluctantly went to open the door.

"Emily, dinner is—" My dad stood in the doorway, his expression softer now, like he had thought things over.

"Yeah, fine. I’m coming," I muttered, slipping into my slippers and shuffling downstairs.

As I heated up my food in the microwave, my dad sat down at the table, arms crossed. I could feel his eyes on me, waiting for the right moment to dive back into our earlier argument.

"Listen, Emily, we need to talk about what happened," he began once I sat down.

I rolled my eyes, poking at my food. "Dad, can I just eat in peace?"

"Okay, fine," he said, sighing. "But we’re talking after."

I ate in silence, knowing there was no escaping this conversation. Eventually, I plopped down on the couch next to him, folding my arms across my chest. "So, what do you want to say?"