Obedience Lessons

Chapter Thirty

Dylan's POV

We kept having to re-do the kiss for the photographer.

I could practically hear both of our fathers' frustration at our lukewarm attempts to please them, all while the Jorge, the photographer, called out instructions as he clicked away.

"Now, with your arm around her waist -Yes, good. Can you, step back now Alyssa, and you, Dylan, forward, place your right foot between hers, look up into his eyes - now feel the passion." Click! "No, no, you do it wrong, passion! Like fire inside you, you feel his fire everywhere, again!" Click! "No! I said fire!" If he said fire one more time in that ridiculous fake accent I would knock him into the fucking fountain.

Eventually he gave up on that pose too and went back to the kiss. Alyssa rolled her eyes at this and complained, "You're too stiff, loosen up and let's get this over with." Then she scoffed, pulling me forward before slipping her hand onto my shoulder she pressed her lips against mine just as I had begun to reply. It was well-timed, since my mouth was open. I vaguely remembered returning the pressure automatically while the photographer went crazy, snapping several shots.

When Alyssa pulled back her face remained impassive, and she immediately began to fuss with her hair as if she hadn't just practically raped me. My mother clapped from the sidelines, "That, was perfect!"

My father's gaze never stopped being critical, while he spoke with Alyssa's dad, a stoic looking man with salt-and-pepper hair who eyed me with open disgust. I swear I heard his thoughts. My little girl's way tougher than this fruitcake, he seemed to project.

I wholeheartedly agreed, actually, but I knew my place. My father gets what he wants - because if he didn't he would hurt Andy. At least Andy didn't really mind me doing this, turns out he was sure it wouldn't cause a problem in our relationship. He'd put up with the ring on my finger and public wife figure if it meant we could still be together. And so would I if it meant his safety. But if I was honest with myself, I knew our relationship had already been affected.

Mr. Clarke wore simple clothes, and his manly, hairy legs showed where his golf pants ended just on his knees. Meanwhile Alyssa, and I were done up to match all the splendor of a peacock. I briefly wondered if it bothered them to dress us up like a little girl dressing up her Ken and Barbie dolls and pretending there were about to get married. Probably not. The life of the unscrupulous wealthy...

"You could at least try," Alyssa reprimanded with a heavy scowl the second the camera moved away.

"Oh, because you were trying," I returned sarcastically.

"I don't have to. In my dress, do you think I have to do anything else? Every idiot will be too busy wondering who I'm wearing and what season rather than expecting me to participate. But you need game."

"I'm many things, but not a liar, Alyssa," I had to be clear, "I do not love you, I don't know how to make it look like I do."

"You need more acting classes then. Because your father looks upset. We never talked about it after your little display over breakfast but... he hits you?" Her brown eyes were steady, boring into mine. I heard the camera snapped and she turned on Jorge, releasing a string of swears and had him backing away.

"Alyssa!" Her father, called out, drawing her attention for a moment before he addressed Jorge, "That's enough for today." Our dads made their way back into the Clarke manor with my mom in tow, probably going to harass the event decorator about the interior theme for our engagement party later. I wouldn't know over half the attendees but it wasn't my job to know. Ken smiles for the camera. Right. There would probably be more kisses with Alyssa tonight.

"He shouldn't hit you," She hissed, returning her attention to me earnestly.

"Try telling that to him," I murmur, but a part of me is pleased that at least she was on my side. Alyssa was hard to place a handle on, most time she seemed content to go with the flow, and even to do stuff just to be unpredictable. "But he doesn't usually hit me, I got him pretty mad." Why did I sound like was defending him? It was my pride, and shame. I didn't like the idea of seeming entirely helpless, like the victim Alyssa now saw.

"I do that to my dad. He never hits me though, mostly I stay for the money." When I looked at her in surprise she rolled her eyes, "Come on! Prada and Gucci do not buy themselves!" At least she was honest. I didn't know if I really could make it on my own but I wanted to try. If my dad would have let me. But I knew what would happen if I did that. "And we don't all believe in love, do we?"

"What do you mean?" I felt the frown, sharp on my face. It was a surprise she didn't backpedal from how my brows were probably slanting, showing my agitation.

"Well it's all in our heads isn't it? My dad thought he was in love once. It made a fucking fool out of him. He almost lost it all..." She was caught up in the memory. "Thankfully she stole from him and left us. He's a proud man and refuses to beg. I know he's waiting for her to come back though... And I'll rip her fucking head off when she does."

"Who's that?"

Alyssa looked at me like I was the crown prince of jackals. "My mother."

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A/N: Woooo-hoo! Chapter thirty! and 7000 reads!

Bet you guys thought I forgot about you since Monday, nah, I wouldn't. Starting with this, you get a chapter a day until Sunday again. Look out for my updates... read, vote, comment!

Shout out to readers in Pakistan, New Zealand and Canada!

Stay Golden.

-Ender Xen