Michael Taylor was sure- he was in love with Lydia Saunders, even if she was engaged to someone else. He had been for years and no one else came close. Not until that kiss happened.
Suddenly, Lyanna Saunders- the woman he vowed to hate forever- was...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I avoided going to my parents' house as much as possible. Ever since I brought Max home with me a few weeks after he was born, I've always felt like a stranger here, someone who was tolerated but never wanted. Some of my fondest memories growing up happened in that house but it was also the scene of one of the worst memories.
When I walked through the door, carrying Max's carrier in my arms, I saw the way my mother's face contorted in confusion while my father's face turned red in fury. The reaction was expected since they never knew anything about the baby I was lugging around but I hadn't anticipated it being so bad that my own dad practically disowned me on the pot. He refused to speak to me and when I asked him to hold Max so I could fix the baby a feed, Dad would walk out of the room. He wouldn't look at me or at Max, he didn't dare refer to Max by his name and instead called him 'that boy', and when Max got colic, instead of helping me, Dad found an estate agent and arranged for me to move into a flat on the south side of the river, miles from home.
In the past thirteen years, I can count on one hand the number of times I've been back here. Lyra's eighteenth birthday. Lewis' Christening. Polly-Anna's Christening. The wake for my paternal grandmother. And now, today.
"You look like you're about to throw up," Michael comments as he stands next to me on the pavement outside the house. "I would tell you that you don't have to go in but that'll be like giving you a Get Out of Jail Free card."
I clutched the bottle of wine in my hand tighter and took in a deep breath. God, I wish I'd chosen something different to wear, something more demure, something that I felt more comfortable in. Instead, I let Michael talk me into putting on a stupid silk slip dress that clung to my figure because he insisted that it would make Lydia's head spin in jealousy. Now, I'm pretty sure she'll take one look at me and think that I'm some desperate idiot.
Untangling my fingers from the wine bottle, Michael takes the Cabernet-Shiraz from me and places his other hand on the lower of my back, pushing me forward and through the front gate. The house, once an inviting home, loomed over me and that feeling of about to vomit came back tenfold. Still, Michael wouldn't let me turn around and run away. When I tried to, he blocked my path and gave me a stern glare. I felt like I was fourteen years old again and my teacher was going to put me in detention for misbehaving.
