Their Secret Son [UNDER RECONSTRUCTION]

Chapter 1: The Ugly Duckling

"We have to send him, dear. Maria can't teach him anymore" I stopped dead in my tracks. Maria was my home tutor, she'd been teaching me for as long as I could remember. I pushed my head up against the wood of the door and listened in - what happened to her?

"No, I will not have him leave this house, he will just bring shame upon our family." My father's voice was slightly muffled, but I knew that tone. He was mad, his deep voice a stark contrast to the sweet, sultry tones of my mother.

"We don't have a choice, James. He has to go to Fiorell Academy. We can't find another tutor before the end of term, and I will not have my son uneducated." 

"Son?! He is no son of ours," he spat, and I could clearly picture his body language. He'd be standing straight, his right hand over his heart and left arm pointing in the direction of my bedroom. His usually stoic face would be beet red and crunched into a scowl. No doubt my mother would be standing with her hands on the kitchen counter, looking at him with her pleading eyes. Having been the topic of discussion for many an argument, I felt I could mimic their body language to a T. Mother appeared to say something quietly, but I was unable to fully make it out. I heard the clanging of china against marble, suggesting that father had knocked over a mug or two.

"He is an inconvenience, and I will not be humiliated by that creature!" he was shouting now, the venom in his voice clear as day. Had this been the first or second time he had spoken about me in such a manner, I might have begun to tear up; however, this was not the first, nor would it be the last. In my 17 years of life, I could not recall a single memory in which my father had shown me love or compassion. He'd never been proud of me or attempted to build a relationship. I might as well have not existed. 

"I don't care." Mother's voice was stronger now - she was using her committee voice, which still had the same charm, but no longer seemed so delicate. "He's going to the academy and that's that. I will never send a child from this house uneducated, I don't want the neighbours to think we're incapable," she seemed to place something heavily down on the counter and the conversation went quiet. As tough as father was, he knew when to back down. 

Suddenly, the door next to me opened and she sauntered into the room I was in, picking up the phone with determination. She looked over at me, seemingly entirely unfussed by my presence; she had given up trying to hide her feelings from me years ago. She pointed at me and gestured to the staircase behind me, signalling for me to leave. I quietly departed, but not before I heard her introduce herself and request to speak to Mr Caldwell. That was that. I was going to school. Real school. With real people.

Entering my room, I threw myself down on the bed. I wish I could say that this took a considerable amount of effort, but my bedroom was originally intended to be a storage closet. I had a single bed pressed up against the wall, a small dresser, and old, somewhat rundown treadmill in the corner. Bookshelves on the wall meant that I couldn't use the incline function without hitting my head, and I had to step on and off sideways as the back was pressed right up against the foot of my bed. A single, frosted window could be found above the dresser, but it had a catch on it to prevent it from opening fully. Think prison cell chic, but covered in frills and little ducks - not my design choice, I assure you. 

Opening it as far as possible, I took a look out of the window, allowing me to watch my sister and her friends walking past, dressed smartly in their uniforms. Walking down the driveway on their way back from school, I couldn't help but be envious of Christine; she had it all. I took a second to focus on each member of her crowd, laughing and jeering as they gossiped about one thing or another. They all looked so... free. However, as always, my attention focused almost solely on her boyfriend, Harry. They'd been going out from the second Christine walked through the school doors. He was the same age as me, but that never seemed to stop her. They were the dream couple both in and out of school, winning the attention and hearts of anyone who met them. Despite her stiff nature towards me, it was clear that my sister was capable of schmoozing anyone she wished to, flicking her hair and flashing that white smile of hers - although with how much father paid for it, she basically had to. It was no wonder Harry found her enchanting. I often wondered if he'd ever think the same about me.