❝You think we're going to live happily ever after? Newsflash: I'm not a fucking princess, you're no prince and this fucked up thing between us is not a fairy tale.❞
Ian raises one perfectly arched eyebrow, unfazed by my outburst. ❝Fairy tales can be...
There is nothing prettier in the whole wide world than a girl in love with every breath she takes. — Atticus.
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I can tell that Father wants to say something.
Actually, correction: I can tell that Father really wants to say something.
Not because I'm suddenly psychic or I have a sixth sense or anything. The reason why I know Father really wants to say something? Because I'm not blind.
He's been glancing over at me over his newspaper when he thinks I'm not looking. He's also been pointleossly sipping on his mug of coffee instead of concentrating on his plate of (now possibly cold) bacon and eggs.
"Father," I drawl impassively, training my gaze on my meant to be breakfast as I repeatedly stab at my bowl of oatmeal with a spoon. "Did I sleep pierce my eyebrow?"
He has the decency to cough so I look away from what is meant to be my breakfast. He's red in the face and for the first time in a very long while, it's not because he's angry. "Pardon?"
I raise an eyebrow. "You've been glancing over at me like you want to say something ever since I sat down and started playing with my food," I point out. "So yeah. I'm wondering if I sleep pierced my eyebrow or something."
Father shakes his head slowly and drops his newspaper. He also gives his untouched plate to a maid standing beside him and she quickly walks off with the plate, probably to put it in the microwave.
"Scarlett," he sighs and he sounds like he's trying to be careful about what he's trying to say. "This is a very intrusive question but as your Father, I have rights to ask important questions and you have your duty to answer these questions."
I nod slowly at his logic. Really, what is up with him right now? I'm even starting to feel worried. "Um, okay? I will perform my duty if you don't waste time performing yours."
Father nods slowly and clears his throat. He takes a sip out of his mug and purses his lips as he stares at me like he's trying to figure me out. "Are you... in love?"
I blink rapidly as my brain processes the question. "Huh?"
Am I in love with what? Meat? Because if so, yes, of course. I think I tried to make it obvious to him and he's been trying to push oatmeal, vegetables and fruits into my system instead.
"I'll rephrase the question," Father sighs at my expression and clears his throat again. "Are you in love... with Ian Ross?"
