"Now, if you excuse us River, we need to talk to our daughter in private." My dad tells River, before looking at me, and bobbing his head towards the staircase.

         Oh, fucking hell.

         Not now, we can't talk now. My parents can't ruin all that has happened today; no they just can't ruin it. If only they were a little less overprotective, my life would be perfect right now.

         A beautiful and magical boy that I never thought would like me actually does. And now my parents may ruin it all.

         With my head bowed to face the ground, I follow my parents in irritation. Today has been a perfect day, and now something has to destroy the loveliness of it. Starting towards the staircase, I peek a glance behind me to see River and Brenda walking into the living room; then the door closes to envelop them inside.

         I turn my head back to face the staircase, trekking up each step and follow after my parent's lead. Once we arrive at the landing, instead of moving in the direction of the guest room, my parents head to their room. Trailing after their tales, we walk across the landing and through the corridor that I never knew existed.

         I've lived here for almost a month, and I still haven't seen the whole house. After a few moments of silence, apart from the sounds of our shoe soles slapping the marble floor beneath us, we approach a grand door. On its white wood has been carved flowers and birds, covering every inch of it.

         My father reaches for the brass doorknob (but you never know, it may be gold, and I wouldn't be surprised if it is), and opens the door. The marvelous piece of art that is meant to be a door swings open, allowing my eyes to roam over the opulence of the room.

         "This is your room?" I ask, my jaw dropping.

         My mother steps in, and I do the same. All three of us approach the seating area, which is situated a few meters ahead of the large California king bed that is pushed against the cream walls. In this area sit three sofas, plotted around a rounded mahogany coffee table. Beneath the sofas is another beautiful golden rug.

         "Yes," My father replies, sitting down on the largest sofa.

         He gestures with his hand for me to take the seat opposite. "Sit," he says.

         I do as I'm told; refocusing my mind on the problem I have to face with my overly protective parents. My mum sits on the sofa beside me, crossing one leg over the other.

         We hardly ever have serious meetings like this, but when we do, we're either addressing a really important issue, or I've got myself in some deep shit.

         Instead of examining the elegance of this room, I look at my dad, waiting for him to spill all the words.

         "Lea," he starts, sighing through his nose. "I made my rules clear with you when we came; I told you that I wanted you to be on your best behavior." He says so patronizingly that it makes me cringe.

         "Dad..." I groan, but he quickly holds up his flat palm.

         "Let me speak, please." He says, before lowering his hand back to his lap.

         "I've also made it clear to you in the past, that you cannot go out past a certain time at night." He continues, "it's an unsafe world, and I don't want you to be out at such crazy hours."

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