A driver picks me up right in front of Gav's apartment complex, and I vividly imagine the stares his bodyguards must be giving the guy who leisurely holds the door open for me. I mumble thanks before slipping into the seat, casting a glance over my shoulder. While I told Gav that I'd be fine, my nerves are starting to get the better off me. I rub my sweaty palms across my jeans.
It takes the better part of an hour to reach the district where my father lives - and his family. I marvel at the mansions, their elaborate designs and well-cared-for gardens. A couple kids are running around and women in high heels take strolls with their miniature dogs. Everything looks so sickeningly perfect. It makes me feel sick to know that he's been living like this all this time, while Mom had struggled to feed both of us and put some half-decent clothes onto my body. Even when I'd been living with my father, we hadn't enjoyed any real luxuries.
Wondering what my life could've been like if my father wasn't such a deceptive asshole makes me ineffably angry. I curl my hands into fists and narrow my eyes at the scenery. We've entered a narrow road leading into a forest, and the mansions have made way for nature. It takes four minutes of slow driving until we reach another abode, larger than any I have seen before. This is getting ridiculous.
I close my eyes before taking a deep breath, attempting to reign in my feelings. The racing of my heart makes me nauseous, so it better slow down or my nerves might get the better of me. After another round of deliberately breathing in and out, I dare to open my eyes again. We've driven up to the entrance, and the driver stops the car. A servant that's been waiting at the double-winged front door immediately approaches the car to hold the door open for me.
I gulp and step out into the dim light of the setting sun, fidgeting at the neck of the cashmere jersey that Gav gave me to wear so it would hide my collar. The fabric is so pleasant against the skin, yet I can't help but feel choked. When I realize what I'm doing, I immediately drop my hand, though. The servant casts me an understanding smile and closes the car door behind me.
"Welcome home, young Master," he says and bows, making me stare at him a little dumbfounded. I'm not used to being called Master, and it just seems wrong on some many levels.
I smile back at him, partly amused with myself. "Thank you. I'm glad to be home. Will you show me to my father, please?"
"Of course." He leads the way inside, and I follow him with an actors confidence, though my insides are betraying me. I feel sick to the bones, and cold as well. When I inhale deeply, remnants of Gav's scent fill my nose.
There's no time to marvel at the furniture, the delicate sculptures, the lavish plants and stunning paintings. We turn a counter, and there they are - my family. My body freezes for a moment so brief that I doubt anyone has noticed.
"Matthew!" my father exlaims delighted, smiling widely. He pulls me into his arms, firmly clasping my back. "Son, it's so good to see you again after all these years."
"Yeah, it definitely is, Dad."
Not even two sentences in and the lying has already begun. He's apparently intending to ignore our meeting at the bdsm club, which means he either doesn't want to deal with the fact that I'm crawling naked on my knees for a man, or his family doesn't know he was there. I guess it's the latter. I doubt he cares much about the first.
"I've always wanted to bring you home, you know? But work really kept getting in the way." He laughs hoarsely, and I join his amusement.
"Well, there's no helping it, right?"
He laughs again and clasps my shoulder. "That's my boy. Come, meet your family."
His wife's name is Angel, fitting considering that she looks like a very expensive hooker who'd give you shit if you tried getting into her pants without being her type. Her long, blonde hair screams extensions, and her lips are just as fake as her boobs. I might've thought she was way younger than my father if not for her son, who seems to be my age.
Paul is twenty-six years old, only two years younger than I am. We might be half-brothers, yet we don't look anything alike. His face takes after my father, and he's scrawny with glasses. His gaze is scrutizing. Seems like he can't decide just how much he dislikes me.
I also have two half-sisters, who are attending boarding school and are therefore absent. Honestly, I don't mind. When I was a kid, I'd always dreamed about having siblings, yet I could do fine without them now. Every word my father says, every little bit of detail he adds, only clarifies the extent of his lies.
"How about Paul shows you the house?" my father suggest, looking at me expectantly. I glance over at Paul, who's actually scowling slightly.
I smile. "Sure. We have a lot of catching up to do anyways."
Paul's glare intensifies, but he agrees obediently, "Yeah, why not."
When I want to follow him out of the room, my father holds me back with a hand on my shoulder. He gives it a firm squeeze, almost too firm. It makes me tense apprehensively.
"It's good to see that I can still rely on you, Matt. I was a little bit worried after that phone call," he says casually - as if there was nothing left worth talking about. Maybe there isn't.
My eyes narrow, and I brush his hand off. Both our smiles falter.
"I came for a family dinner," I inform him tersely, then shake my head. Before I can I add anything though, Paul's hand appears in the doorway.
"Are you coming or what?" he snaps, probably irritated by my presence.
I sigh. "We'll talk later, Dad."