Waiting For You [A Romance Novel]

Briar

Do you think that a hair pin, if plunged far enough into my eyeball, could kill me?

Or at least render me blind? I would take that as an alternative.

A visit to the ER would be a much-preferred alternative to being stuffed into this black dress, the silk being pulled tight by the string around my waist, making me take a sharp breath in. The pins stabbing into my scalp are only increasing my desire to snatch it from the hands of the stylist and jab it into my eye. I could picture it clearly now.

However, none of that was going to happen, especially as the last strand of brown hair on my neck was pulling up into the bun at the back of my head, leaving only the slender curve of my neck into my shoulders, covered by the thin strap that was begging to be slipped off my shoulder, followed by the entire dress off my body and me into bed. Ideally in something more comfortable than this dress that is ambitiously small, and I am already quite small. 5'2 on a good day. And in heels.

"All done my dear," Marianne, who I am presuming is some kind of stylist or something of those sorts, said as she tapped my shoulder softly a couple of times before picking up her bag and heading out of the dressing room. Attached to my bedroom, this dressing room was big enough to house a grand dinner party if you put a table in the middle. My couple of suitcases from home barely filled half of the cupboards, and my bag of expired makeup looked out of place in the pristine drawers of the dresser.

I wasn't cut out for this lifestyle. I don't even think all the preparation for this change of scene, that I could have been prepared. I was out of place, feeling like an imposter in this new life of mine.

When I moved to Amethyst Harbour to live with my father, he neglected to tell me the details of his new life here. Truth be told, I thought, judging by the name, that Amethyst Harbour was a small town, with lots of boats, and my father would be living in a shack by the beach.

I couldn't have been more wrong. When the train slowed to the main train station of Amethyst Harbour, I had to pick my jaw up from the floor, so it didn't drag across the floor of the platform. When my father's driver picked me up from the taxi rank, I had to sit on my hands, so I didn't obsessively run them across the finishes of the car that was worth more than my entire net worth. And then when it finally pulled into the driveway of my Father's home, my feet kept me planted in one spot of the gravel, unable to move me toward the, what I can only describe as, fucking mansion that my Father called home.

I mean, he never denied that this new job he took in town was going to bring in a lot of money, but I didn't know or expect that it would have brought in this amount of it.

In the week that I had been using his spare room as a temporary home, I thought I would have gotten used to it all. The butlers in the house, the full spread that was served at every meal that we would eat in this grand dining room, just my father and me. But even a week into my stay, I felt out of place, and that feeling was only exasperated by the realisation that the party that was about to fill his garden was for me. It was a welcome party. For me. A whole ass party.

The hair and makeup stylist, who I now knew as Angeline, was packing up her back of equipment, barely glancing around the expanse of the room. I don't know how she did it, held herself back from taking in the awe of the room around her, or even the whole house. Not a single person in this place was phased by the life my father hosted, except for me, obviously.

It wasn't long till the dressing room was left occupied by only me. And the glass of prosecco that I had cleaned our four times already and inching closer to a fifth. Doing this sober wasn't even an option. I hadn't once considered it because how does one, completely sober mind you, stand in front of a crowd of people that they've never met before and thank them for coming to her 'welcome party'? No one, that's who, so I polish off the fifth glass and leave the room to find more.

The dress pinched at my waist as I made my way down the grand staircase, trying not to trip over because of the thin heel carrying my feet. I could hear the music from the back garden through the shut doors, the glass only muffling the noise. A few people had arrived whilst I was getting ready, spotted through the small window in the dressing room. No one I recognised, as you can imagine, which only made me sink down the glass I had been drinking at the time.

I had told my Father several times across the week that I wasn't interested in this party, and I was even less interested in having people I don't know come and celebrate me coming to town when I didn't even know them and didn't plan on staying in Amethyst Harbour for more than a couple of months, but he just turned away with a smile on his lips and a "you are just like your mum, Briar."

If my mum wasn't literally an angel sent from heaven, I would have taken it as an insult. She was beautiful, for one. She looked like a Disney princess, all long legs and luscious hair that could well have been a wig. Yet, her simplicity is what made her perfect. For all the years of my life, we lived in a small terrace in a town just outside of London. She worked at the local school, teaching English and making all of the students, and the teachers mind you, in love with her. I don't blame them, because from the day I was old enough to remember, I was in love with my mum. She was my person; my whole entire world and she loved me right back.

So as I watched people flock down the gravel driveway in expensive cars, walking into the garden in dresses that I can only imagine cost a minimum of four figures, I wished that my mother could be here with me, a hand on my back and whispering in my ear that everything will be okay and no one is going to be staring at the way my dress dug into my body and my shoes were too tights around my ankle. She would tell me that, even though everyone would be looking at me, that no one was really looking, that I was just in their line of sight, and that I would be in bed with a cup of tea and my book before I knew it.

When I rounded the wall to find the kitchen, my near-empty bottle of prosecco stood up in the ice bucket on the bench, I half expected the room to be empty but, just to my luck, my father was entering the room from the French doors that lead to where the party was happening. The grin on his face was enough to force my negative attitude to the bottom of my stomach. As he shut the doors behind him, he turned to me with wide eyes and a glass of wine in his hand.

"Briar, darling, you look beautiful."

Despite my reservations about my father, I couldn't hide the blush to my cheeks. My scowl turned to a soft smile as I walked over to him and fell into his open arms, careful not to smudge makeup across his pressed suit or pull a thread of hair loose from my updo. I could feel the smile on his face and he pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

"Ready to come out yet?" He asked as I pulled away from his chest, just enough to meet eyes with him, the smile not fading from his lips. It was then that I noticed the slightly bigger-than-usual pupils that were focused on me and suddenly his good mood made a bit more sense. I plastered an even bigger smile on my face, pulling away from his embrace and flattening out my dress.

"Let me top up my glass first," I raised the empty glass just in front of our faces and his grin spread into a low chuckle.

"That's my girl."