And so I flopped back onto the bed, stared at my ceiling, all trace of tiredness well and truly gone. Then, as if the caller sensed my restlessness, my phone rang.
“How you doing, Kit?” Len asked in a low rumble, his tone wry.
“You know,” I replied, not able to squeeze anything else out.
“Tris wanted to call, but I talked him out of it. I’m gonna ring him next, see if I can talk him down off that ledge he’s currently teetering on. So I’m assuming you’re wound up tighter than a nun’s cunt? Your family just gave you carte blanche to do what you already wanted to do, but they had to take all your personal autonomy to do that. These are the people that are supposed to love you.”
“Yes.”
My voice sounded distorted and coarse, and I hated that, biting the inside of my cheek to try and stop more pain coming through. It didn’t work. When he continued, his voice had deepened, softened.
“And you’re all alone, in a house full of people who can’t help you or won’t.”
“Yes.”
Damn him, the tears came now, no matter how hard I screwed my eyes tight.
“Oh, Kit…”
His voice was like the hand he’d described last night, rubbing all over me in an intoxicating mixture of sweetness and empathy, and that was all it took. Kit Greyson didn’t cry, yet here I was, the first sob coming out in a strangled gasp, then another and another, until the tears saturated my pillow. And Len? He listened to the lot of it, making small reassuring noises in the background that somehow let it all come out, until there were no more tears to be shed.
I would have no problems sleeping now, I realised. I felt scoured out, washed clean with acid, and left empty as a result. One more long shuddering breath, and then I was done.
“We’ll find a way through this, love. That I promise. If I have to kidnap you myself and whisk you away…”
I snorted, a soggy sort of laugh but it was one, imagining my father’s response to that.
“Thanks, Len,” I croaked out. “Call Tristan. He’ll be hurting. Work your magic on him now.”
“Will do, love. Sleep well, and I’ll see you tonight.”
I wrapped that promise around me tight as I reached over and ended the call.
Chapter 23
“You’re sure that’s what you want to wear?” Dad asked, looking over the strapless crimson sheath I’d put on, complete with satin kitten heels.
“Stop badgering the girl, Richard,” Pa said as he breezed past. “Now, where is the lovely Cerise?”
Mum would not have come down at all if she’d had a choice, but as omegas, we didn’t get them. She emerged from the kitchen looking fully Stepford, a crisp linen sundress on, her hair coiled into a sleek bun, and behind her hovered Helen. Daddy’s latest bit on the side had apparently been promoted to styling the lady of the house. Well, better Mum than me.
“Roger, what a pleasure! How was the drive down? Hopefully not too awful, with those congested roads? The premier really needs to do something about the freeways. They’re just not sufficient for the crowds that insist on teeming in and out of the city.”
“I’ll have a word with him when I play golf with him on Saturday,” Pa said with a chuckle, leaning in to kiss her cheek as Mum did the same. “The drive was awful, but all worth it to see my family. Look at you, sweetheart. You could step out and perform your debut alongside our Kit.”
I rolled my eyes at the hot and cold running bullshit going on between the two of them. Mum hated Pa, thought him a meddling old prick, and Pa had her pegged, her addictions, her absentee mothering, the impact her erratic behaviour had on the family reputation, but one didn’t openly discuss these things in our house. Except when it came to me.
“Perhaps you should be wearing something more…” Dad wrinkled his brow as he looked me up and down, and to make matters worse, Mum clicked over.
“Where are you going?” she asked me in a clipped, impersonal tone.
“Opening at the Knightsbridge Gallery with James Chadwick.”
She raised an eyebrow at me, then Dad, speaking in a low voice to him.
“So that’s what the fuss is about. The Greysons are rallying around the great white hope?”
She snickered, then came closer, hands outstretched. I tried to move out of her grip, but she frowned, then moved swiftly, tugging my dress, and right as I was letting out a hiss of frustration, her fingers dove into the bodice, manhandling my breasts until my cleavage spilled a little more lasciviously out over the top of the sweetheart neckline.