Gilded Cage

Chapter 28

In my dad's usual perfunctory, non-elaborative manner, he simply stated, "I finished what I needed to do."

"Ah," I nodded with a grunt and suddenly remembered Zac, who was now standing beside me with a strained expression on his face. Eyes wide. Mouth in a tight grimace.

I rushed to introduce him, "By the way, this is my friend, Zac. From Ashton Wellesley. He was just dropping me off."

Zac folded his shoulders back to stand up taller. He extended his hand to greet my dad. I bit back a smile. Since his return to Ashton Wellesley, I had never seen him act so courteous or well-mannered towards any adult.

"My name is Zac, erm... Zachary Mazur. It's a real pleasure to meet you, sir," he uttered in very respectful tones. "Your daughter is such an impressive young lady. I have nothing but the utmost respect for her."

With a half-amused, half-concerned expression, my hazel eyes darted back and forth between my dad and Zac. Thank God Zac was wearing a hoodie today. It covered up his tats, but, unfortunately, the piercings in his ears and eyebrow were still on full display. My dad's dismissive gaze raked over them, traveling up and down and up again in obvious disapproval. Height-wise, Zac had a few inches on my dad, but I could tell from his face that he probably felt about two feet tall at the moment. I felt bad for the guy. My dad was an intimidating man.

Abruptly, he said to Zac, "You can go now."

Zac froze and retracted his hand awkwardly. "Oh. Of course, I was just heading out, sir. Before I go, though, I'd be happy to help Cate bring her bags inside if that's alright with—"

My dad repeated again, "I said, you can go now."

Zac gulped and turned towards me with an apprehensive look. "I guess... I'll be on my way then."

I offered him an apologetic smile, "See you at school, Zac. Thanks for the ride."

"I'll see you around, sir," Zac made one last attempt to address my dad before heading over to his car. My dad ignored him.

Once Zac's black BMW disappeared down our driveway, my dad glanced at me with a raised eyebrow.

"What was that all about, Cate?"

"What do you mean, Dad?" I murmured innocently.

"I can't remember the last time you brought a boy home."

"It's not a big deal," I explained with a practiced poker face. "Zac was just giving me a ride home from the airport. Amari and Nat were supposed to come pick me up, but something came up last minute, so they sent him instead."

"His last name was Mazur? Is he related to Tim Mazur?"

I answered as mildly as possible, "Yes, Mr. Mazur is his dad."

My dad frowned deeply. "Don't bring that boy around here again. I mean it, Cate."

"Got it, Dad," I said obediently.

Without another word, my father pivoted on his heel and marched into our house. Before collecting my bags to follow him inside, I yanked out my phone to text a warning to Trick and Bea.

He's home early.

My half-siblings and I didn't see eye to eye on most matters, but there was one unspoken understanding between us in regards to our dad. If one of us upset the man, then, usually, we all suffered. This was why Trick, Bea, and I warned each other whenever he came home unannounced. Just in case one of us needed to sneak a guy, or girl, out the back and dispose of any, ahem, incriminating evidence.

Our dad was the only person the twins feared more than their mother. In his eyes, Trick was the stupid one, Bea was the vapid one, and I was the smart one. As a kid, the rare days my father came home had been like heaven for me. Under his authority, Trick didn't dare to touch a hair on my head, and Bea shamelessly sang my praises as though she actually believed I was deserving of them.

Now that we were older, however, my father's presence in the house had become suffocating. Toxic even. There would almost always be some sort of verbal or physical altercation with Trick. Bea would prance and preen around him, desperate for his approval, only to be met with coldness and apathy. I became someone else entirely in his presence. An unrecognizable shell of myself. Meek, accommodating, and invisible. My dad drove all of us insane. We were each powerless against him in our own miserable way.

That evening during dinner, Bea was fluttering around him, talking his ear off about school and asking him about work, while Trick sat at the far end of the table, glaring daggers in our father's direction and sulkily picking at his food. I was seated in the middle, quietly eating my roasted salmon and green beans, as I mentally checked out of everything happening around me.

As my father finished up his meal, instead of leaving right away to duck into his study, he stayed in his chair. This was highly unusual for him. He cleared his throat. Our heads popped up like whack-a-moles.

"There's something that I've been meaning to tell the three of you," he began casually.

"What is it, Daddy?" Bea chirped.

Trick released a grunt of curiosity.

I said nothing.

"I've gotten married."

Silverware clattered to the floor. Bea, Trick, and I gasped at the same time, "What?"

"When the hell did this happen? Who the fuck is she?" Trick demanded.

"Her name is Andrea," he explained calmly, "She used to work as an interpreter for the Bureau. We were married two months ago."

"How could you do this without telling us first, Daddy?" Bea screeched with tears in her eyes.

"There was no need. It won't affect any of you very much," my dad replied. "Andrea wants to stay in DC. I plan to split my time between Wellesley and DC, as I have been, and you won't even have to see her unless you want to."

"Congratulations, Dad," I spoke up finally. "We're happy for you. I'm sure Andrea is a lovely person."

"Thank you, Cate," he nodded in my direction, "I should go now. I have a conference call at nine-thirty."

Once my dad withdrew from the dining room, Bea started bawling. Trick chucked his plate against the wall. It cracked into dozens of tiny shards with a loud clang. I sat there motionless, wondering why the fuck my dad would want to get hitched again and what kind of succubus would be willing to marry a man like him. It couldn't be for love. The guy was a heartless, soulless bastard. Now, it seemed, I'd be adding a wicked stepmother to my ever growing list of worries.

As if my stress level wasn't already at capacity.