Deeper Healing

66| Undivided Attention

Isla Edwards

"You've been tossing your food around for the past fifteen minutes," Mom commented, barely looking up from her nearly empty plate. "Is there a problem?"

I lightly clenched my fist from underneath the table, taking a slow, controlled breath.

I was shocked she was even talking to me after giving me a cold shoulder for days. I still felt it wasn't enough, given I barely had her attention. Was looking at my face at least just once too much to ask for?

"You weren't at home the whole day and you dismissed your bodyguard," Dad joined in on the interrogation with a flat tone, his eyes glued to his plate. "Where were you?"

I felt overwhelmed to the point where I  clenched my fist harder, my nails digging into my palms. I never needed bodyguards before, at least not on random days with no special occasion yet all of a sudden, I was being watched and followed like a child with barbaric tendencies.

I took another deep breath to calm myself.

"I went to visit Nikolai," I responded softly, keeping my eyes on my father. "And Leilani," I added firmly.

He instantly stopped eating, dropping his fork gently on his plate. Still, he did not look at me but I could feel the icy contempt in the words he was about to say.

"You will be working from home from now onwards and your interaction with the outside world will be limited until further notice."

My hand began trembling, giant tears clouding my eyes to an extent where everything in my field of view became blurry.

I could feel adrenaline pump madly into my veins, my heart thudding so heavily in my chest I could hear it drum in my ears.

I felt the familiar urge to act on impulse so strong my own body became a stranger to me, demanding I let all the maddening frustration pent up inside me out.

A split-second from lashing out, I felt a warm hand wrap around my clenched fist from underneath the table, forcing it open to lace our fingers.

I didn't need to look to see who was on a desperate mission to avoid a long-overdue struggle. Of course, out of everyone sitting at this table, Antonio was the most sensible and mature, doing everything in his power to stall the inevitable meltdown accelerating towards us.

I let his warmth calm me, telling myself that perhaps there was no need for violence and for once, my voice would be heard without the need to break things.

"We need to talk, Dad," I said, keeping my eyes on him.

At first, he ignored me, resuming eating before he reluctantly responded after chewing and swallowing his food. "I'm in the middle of a meal and I'd like to finish it in peace."

"You're always in the middle of something when I request to talk," I pointed out, controlling my tone.

"Then maybe you need to adjust your timing then," he responded casually.

I lost my temper so quickly that I couldn't control it. "Will you at least fucking look at me when we're fucking talking?"

Mom finally looked at me but with a warning gaze. "Perhaps you're exhausted and need to take your meal in your room, Isla."

She wasn't making a suggestion. That was an order and her stern gaze made sure I understood so.

She must've signalled the maids because within a few seconds, my plate was being lifted off the table and I was being asked to get up.

I nodded politely and let go of Antonio's hand before standing, reaching for a silver serving spoon from a bowl at the centre of the table.

Enough of this bullshit.