A Compelling Motive (h.s.)

five

I'm forced into a restaurant, not even sure what the consequences would be if I didn't take a foot inside. My sister sends me daggers as I look to make an exit, but I turn around. We're led to a back room; our private dining rooms a necessity for the family.

"Well, there are my girls," my father says, and he opens his arms. I fake a smile and hug him, then he hugs my sister.

"How are you, Amelia?" he asks my sister, and I sit and pour a glass of wine quicker than anyone has ever seen.

"Just wonderful, daddy," she says, the name making me want to vomit. She has got to be the only adult that calls her father 'daddy' anymore. It's just a façade she puts on to get whatever she wants.

"Rhiannon, how are you?" he asks, his tone noticeably changing when he addresses me.

"Just great. Thanks," I say, Amelia kicking me under the table. I shoot a glare her way, but my father intervenes.

"Why don't the two of you knock it off," he says, then looks at me. "Be nice to your sister."

I close my eyes to roll them, not wanting to showcase my annoyance. I'm hoping this dinner will move by fast simply because I do not want to leave intoxicated like I had the last time.

"So how are you staying up with the company?" he asks me, my eyes looking at him. He's a tall man; hair black and eyes blue. His beard is trimmed to perfection and his thousand-dollar suit is crisp on him.

"Just fine. Still adjusting to everyone not knowing I'm your daughter," I say, and he clenches his jaw. Amelia shifts uncomfortably but I only speak the truth. 'They can't know you're my daughter' he had said to me almost a year ago, and I don't think any daughter wishes to hear that. It's painful to know why.

"How is mom?" Amelia asks, my teeth almost biting my tongue as I try to fight the urge to make a swift exit. Instead, I bring the wine to my lips and drink more than I should in one take.

"She's good. Her trip to France is treating her well. She wishes she'd taken you," he directs at Amelia, smiling at her. She's on the highest pedestal any child could ever be on, and I have to watch from the ground. It sickens me, but I remain silent.

"I forgot to mention she wants to take us to Italy next summer," he says, and I look at him. Of course, he's only looking at Amelia. Another trip I'm not going on. Wonderful.

"Let me guess, just you three?" I ask, his eyes flickering to look at me. Just by his reaction, my suspicions are true. I just pound the rest of the wine in my glass, not bothering to learn the answer.

"We've only three spots on the plane Rhiannon," he says, and I set the glass down.

"Three spots my ass," I mumble, but it's enough for him to hear. The regret is hardly existent when it comes to saying my mind around them. They need to hear it.

"Watch your mouth," he says, and I look at him.

"Am I wrong? You own a private jet?!" I dispute, and Amelia chimes in. I'm so done with this dinner and I haven't even received food.

"You have no idea how grateful you should be," she says, and I stand up.

"Try being in my position Amelia!" I yell, and my father walks towards me. My eyes flicker to him and I sit back down, his body leaning against the chair.

"You respect me. I'm your father," he says, and I feel as though I'm a child being scolded.

"Because you had no choice," I respond back, and he backhandedly slaps me just as fast. It's a common response, but the words need to be spoken. I've never been treated like a daughter. I'm a pest; something they can't get rid of.