What It's Like Being A Sunflower

Chapter 9- My Marriage Was Planned When I Was A Fetus?

Chapter 9- My Marriage Was Planned When I Was A Fetus?

I parked dads BMW in front of the large gate, this was it. Dad had reminded me that Jillian and her family were wealthy, but I didn't think they were this rich. It was clearly true from the way her mansion was towering over me. I went ahead and pressed the buzzer near the entrance gate.

A deep voice answered, "Name?"

"It's uh ... Mila Tate. I'd like to speak to Jillian, if that's okay? It's information regarding about my mother, Carla Tate."

The iron gates opened, allowing me to enter. I walked up the stoned path that was smooth to perfection, each step felt like a million dollars. Even though it was mid October, the grass was cut beautifully and was green as ever. Finally I arrived at the front of the house, I mean the fricking mansion. Rich people, I couldn't relate. It was the size of the White House, possibly bigger if you squinted your eyes.

The grey building stood above me proudly. It had large clear glassed windows that were soo polished to the point I could see the inside. I discovered that it was a three floured mansion, since there were two sets of balconies: one at the top and one in the middle. It had that modern effect, with the grey and white contrasting together, let alone the vast rectangular pool filled with crystal clear water. I crept around the pool, careful enough not to fall in.

Oh Lord, there were too many doors. Maybe one door would lead me to hell, who was I kidding, I was halfway there.

I had no idea which door to knock on, but then decided to knock on the first white wooden door I saw that was the closet to me.

No answer.

I knocked again.

Silence.

A deep sudden voice created me to jump to the extent I felt my soul leave my body briefly. "Uhm that's the wrong door, you're knocking on the bathroom door."

What sort of person had a bathroom outside? Rich people, clearly.

I flipped around to the man who was standing across from me. I was guessing he was in his late forties from the way his jelled dull dirty blonde hair had specs of grey. He was far more taller than I was, I'd say about 6'2. His expensive white shirt was tucked into his black smart pants with a brown belt secured around it. His piercing greyish dull eyes mimicked the way he looked, lacking in manners. The wrinkles on his forehead were highly indented by the number of times he had creased it, most likely from stress. His mouth remained in a straight line, expressionless.

"My bad," I tried to lift the mood, but he didn't have a sense of humour.

A stunning woman walked around him to see who he was speaking to. Her hazel eyes flushed with joy once she noticed me. My goodness was she beautiful, her chestnut hair was in one braid and rested on her shoulder, and her olive skin was flawless. Please send me your skincare routine, even though mine wasn't bad itself. She was a little shorter than I was in height, as she stood in a knee length black pencil skirt paired with a woolly white knitted top.

I realised the woman was Jillian, moms best friend.

Jillians eyes filled with tears, as she too stunned to speak. Sooner or later, her black eyeliner and mascara started to run down, leaving stains behind on her foundation.