Annette shook her head, unable to force out another verbal denial.
Annette had walked halfway around the house, on the wrap around terrace, looking for a private spot to make the call when it occurred to her that she was only putting off the unpleasant. She stopped and sat down on a bench that overlooked the olive grove to the side of the house.
This was as private as it was going to get.
Checking the time, and confirming it was neither too early nor too late, she dialed her father's number.
"It's about time you called," her father said by way of a greeting, his tone filled with annoyance and censure.
"I was on my honeymoon."
"Not that we were invited to your wedding," he replied with cold disapproval.
She wasn't going to feel guilty for that. "You made it clear you no longer consider me part of your family."
"Asking you to move so the scandal you caused could die down was not an excommunication from our family."
How easily he rewrote history to suit himself. Just like when he and her mom had rewritten history to say she was their daughter and not her biological father's. Had they followed that rewrite up with love and acceptance, Annette's life and perception of herself would be very different.
"First, I didn't cause that scandal. Lynette did," Annette said firmly. "Second, you didn't just ask me to move, you bribed an organization to transfer me to a job in another state. And you and mom refused to have mehomefor any holidays. That definitely qualifies as being kicked out of the family."
"You were at your sister's wedding and the baby's christening," he scoffed.
"Because Joyce never stopped seeing me as her sister."
"You cannot blame your poor choices on Lynette." Typical. Deflection when he had no answer for the truth.
"No, but I can blame her for feeding the media frenzy."
Her father started to say something, but Annette cut him off. Suddenly she was done, just done with parents who didn't care about her and a sister who actively disliked her. "Listen, there isn't going to be any reception."
Although maybe the Messinas wanted one? Annette would have to ask them. "I don't think. Carlo and I haven't talked about it."
"Of course, there will be a reception. Events like that are necessary for business."
"My marriage is not a business deal."
"What else could it be? Carlo married you to solidify his company's connection to mine. Even you should have enough intelligence to see that."
Annette knew why Carlo had married her and it had nothing to do with business. It had to do with the baby growing inside her, another tidbit she had yet to share with her parents. Maybe Joyce would let it slip and Annette could avoid another phone call like this one. Or not. She would fight one battle at a time.
"Even me?" she demanded, tired of the put downs. "Which of your children was it who won an academic scholarship for college? Oh, right, that would be me. I'm plenty intelligent, dad, but I'm not a pushover. Not anymore."
"Is that how you justify not inviting your parents to your wedding?" he asked scathingly, "Telling yourself you're not a pushover. You owe us. We raised you."
"If you had ever bothered to even try to love me, that might mean something, but you were paid for the services you rendered. That precious business of yours wouldn't exist but for your agreement totake me in."
Her father was silent for long seconds, clearly unsure how to take this new less than tolerant attitude from her. She'd never fought them on anything important.
"I'm sure the Messinas were there," her father finally said.
"Yes, they were." As Joyce had been, but saying so would have been petty and Annette was not that. Firm? Yes. Determined to stop being the Cinderella figure in her family's life? Yes. But she had no desire to hurt anyone unnecessarily.
"So, we should have been invited as well."
"No." She wasn't going to bother going into the why again. If he didn't understand now, he never would.
"Carlo isn't going to be your golden goose business partner," she warned her father, finding his claim that her husband had married her for the business connection ludicrous.