Score: Liquor Store Blues - Bruno Mars

Lydia

Patrick opens the box to expose it's contents. My eyes tear up with emotion, but it's not the emotion one would expect I should be feeling right now. It's a mixture of sadness, and anger, and helplessness. My hand shoots up to my mouth as I break into tears.

The ring is absolutely perfect. A rather large yellow solitaire, embedded in a platinum band, dotted with smaller, clear diamonds. It is gorgeous and I can see myself wearing it, but the timing, and the person, and everything feels just so terribly wrong...

"I don't want you to freak out, babe!" Patrick says. I am aware my shoulders are shaking with silent sobs, my hand still over my mouth. "It was going to happen eventually. I just wanted to make sure I had the perfect one. We'll do it all properly, with your dad, and my parents, and we can go away somewhere after that..."

"Patrick, I..."

"You don't have to say anything right now, Lyds! I just wanted to let you know I am thinking about it and I am taking this very seriously." His brows pull in in a determined expression.
"I love you and I want you to know that. I want the whole world to know that. We can get married after we graduate. You'll have time to plan for the most epic wedding. My mum would be so happy to help you! You can have as many bridesmaids as you wish! We can have it over at my grandfather's castle..."

"Patrick, stop!"

I feel like I am about to have a panic attack. I've had a fair share of those since The Incident, but not recently.

My chest feels tight, I feel hot and I can't breathe... the room spins and my legs are suddenly all weak and wobbly, and I feel like I'm about to pass out...

And, right when I think the situation couldn't possibly get any worse, Colin's head pops in the hallway, followed by a cardigan-clad torso. He looks genuinely confused, his brows furrowed, his bloodshot eyes darting from my tear-streaked face to Patrick, and then to the box in his hand.

My dad's eyes go wide and his mouth opens, forming an almost perfect, surprised "O" at the sight of the open Harry Winston velvet box and the golden sparkles, throwing rainbows on the wall. With two long strides, he is standing next to Patrick and is hugging his shoulders.

"I thought I heard someone calling me," Colin says, his voice shaking.

Oh, God, please, take me now...

"Yes, sir!" Patrick says, grinning from ear to ear. I can tell he is nervous, he is usually grinning like that when he's done something highly inappropriate or is feeling extremely uncomfortable. "Mr. Bellanger, I wanted to let you know that my intentions are honest and serious. I would like you to know that I'll be asking for Lydia's hand in marriage, I'd just like for my parents to be back, as well, so that we can celebrate afterward..."

"What?..." Colin's confusion is to my advantage. I seize the moment by grabbing Patrick by the shoulders and pushing him backwards down the hallway and into my room, shouting over my shoulder to my clearly stunned father.

"We'll be right back! Don't mind us!"

Once we've reached the safety of my room, I close the door behind us and lock it, and then turn around to face a very flushed Patrick. He's shaking. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tightly for a beat before he releases me and gives out a loud sigh.

"I've never been that nervous in my life. Ever." He says, shaking his head.

I am completely dumb folded by the scene that just unfolded before my eyes. It feels so surreal. Like I've just watched that scene in a movie, where you want to scream at the screen, throw stuff at it, or just walk out of the room and slam the door behind your back.

Only I am the main character and I don't see any way this movie can possibly have a happy ending.

"Why the fuck did you just do that?" I hear myself say. My brain hasn't even registered the words, coming out of my mouth.

Patrick blinks and clenches his jaw. He looks totally stunned.

"I thought...that..."

"You thought what, Patrick? What? Three weeks ago, in this very room, you were apologizing for your mum and dad pushing that engagement shit on me! On us! And now, you come back from France and you pull this off? What. The. Fuck!?" I yell and throw my hands up in the air.

"I thought...you wanted...after Cartier..."

"You never asked me if that was what I wanted, Patrick!" My voice has reached a dangerous octave. I am positive they can hear me from across the street, but I don't care. "You and your mum just assumed that was what I wanted, and you dragged me there with the pathetic excuse of picking a birthday present for me? Really, Patrick? Really!? You thought I'd be happy about it, because who the fuck won't be happy to be engaged to a fucking Lord?"

Angry tears are running down my face, my hands are balled into fists by my sides. My anger is all-consuming, filling my whole being, no, the entire room, actually, every crevice, every crack in the wood floor, every tiny, little gap.

I haven't felt such overwhelming, raw anger for as long as I can remember. It feels fucking amazing. Liberating, even.

"Lyds, I..."

"Let. Me. Finish!"

I'm unstoppable. There's nothing that can withhold this pure emotion, spilling out of me in huge, powerful gusts.

"We're fucking eighteen, Patrick! Eighteen! We're just about to go to University. Our lives are going to change tremendously. And you want to get engaged? No, you just want to tie me down, so that you're calm when we go away. You are trying to control my every breath even now, and you're afraid of what would happen when you are not around to tell me what to do twenty-four-seven! Because God forbid Lydia moves to Scotland! You want me to be marked yours so that nobody dares come near me! Of course, the engagement of the future Lord Casterly to that Cosmetics-Millionaire-Celebrity-Heiress will be covered by the press! The vultures are on my back anyway, waiting for me to snap and go rogue after what happened with Mum, or, even juicier, for Mother to finally slit her wrists open! I've been living with this unwanted attention for two fucking years, but, of course, the more publicity, the better, huh? Once the news is out, it'll be safe for me to go away, right? Everybody in the fucking country will know I'm betrothed to you!"

My anger's getting weaker now, but I have so much more to say, I am trying to hold on to it for as long as I can. It's giving me the courage to finally speak up.

"Well, why don't you just fucking pee on me and get it over with?"

Patrick is standing in the middle of the room, his mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out of it. It's like he's on mute.

I hope I haven't broken him. He's shuffling the Harry Winston box in his hands and looks like he's begging for the ground to open underneath him and swallow him whole.

A long, torturous, minute passes, before he breaks the awkward silence that has fallen around us, replacing my angry yelling.

"I'm sorry. I... I should go." He says.

He walks past me on his way to the door. I can see he's shaking. He leaves my room and then I can hear the front door to the flat shut closed.

He's gone.

I take a deep breath and exhale in short, loud huffs. My mind has gone completely blank. It's like it has been drained clean from any thoughts, and my brain has been replaced by mush.

It feels so good to finally let go. My throat hurts from yelling, but it feels so bloody right. Before, it used to hurt from all the unspoken words, stuck there, choking me.

I am savoring the feeling of lightness that has befallen me. It feels like I've suddenly lost at least fifty pounds. I feel so light I might just float around the room.

But I don't get to bask in the feeling for too long. Suddenly, there's a loud banging on my door, and, before I can answer, Colin stomps in.

Damnit! I should have locked the stupid door again after Patrick left!

"What the hell was that?" Colin asks, grabbing at my arm. I try to yank it away, but he tightens his grip.

"What was what?" I ask, breathless.

"Why did Patrick leave?"

"I don't know!" I twist my arm in his grip, trying to break free, to no avail.

"You're lying! I heard you yelling! The whole building heard you yelling! What the fuck was that, Lydia!?"

"I told Patrick what I should have told him a long time ago! What I should have told him after the charade he and Theodora pulled on my birthday in Cartier! I'm not a cow for branding! We're eighteen, this is simply ridiculous!"

"Are you out of your bloody mind, Lydia?" Colin finally lets go of my arm and rakes the fingers of both of his hands through his hair.

I step back, rubbing my arm where Colin was gripping it just a second ago. Perfect red prints of his fingers arise on my skin. Angry tears sting my eyes, but I am putting all effort that I am capable of to swallow them back.

He will not see me crying.

"I thought it was clear that you and Patrick were going to be engaged! What were you thinking, turning down the future fucking Lord Casterly?! Do you know who his family is!?"

"Of course I do! I've been almost living with them for the past two years, remember!?"

"Do you know what merging our two families would mean? Have you any idea what would be the impact, if we are related to the aristocracy? Do you know how fucking wealthy they are, Lydia?"

"I'm not something you can trade for their title and money!" I spit out, disgusted. I really feel like livestock for sale.

"You're useless, just like I thought you were all along, Lydia!" Colin says and I take a step back. He has never openly insulted me before, or threatened me in any other way. Apart from being a total prick, he's never actually tried to harm me. Now, though, I feel threatened in his presence.

"You're going to call Patrick right now and apologize! You are going to accept that bloody ring, when he gives it to you, if he ever gives it to you, after the shit you pulled today. And you are going to marry him and become fucking Lady Casterly one day, and you are going to thank me when you don't have to work a single day in your life and your children are born with the privilege of class. Everything will come to you just like that." He snaps his fingers in my face. "And you are going to be a good girl and help your father out. Do you know how difficult it is to find work these days? I haven't made much since the break-up with Bellanger Skin&Beauty."

"What do you mean?" I blink in his face, completely stunned.

Colin had become rich and successful with one giant hit back in the nineties. His success story involved no one else, but Gloria's mum and dad.

Gloria's parents are chemists. They met in Pharm school, at the University of Nottingham, and got married after graduation. They worked in various companies after they got their licenses, but they decided to build something of their own.

Gloria's mom's parents, who come from generations upon generations of money and titles, invested in their business idea, and Matthew and Diana Rowe started building their skincare and cosmetics company.

That's when they met my father.

He used to be a fairly decent marketeer in the pharmaceutical and cosmetics industry before he drank himself into the pathetic mess he ended up being. Back in his glory days, he'd consulted some of the biggest brands in England. He'd worked on contracts with everyone who was anyone in the field.

Gloria's parents used the Hollands' investment money to buy him off of his other deals, and he did not disappoint, placing their brand at the top in Great Britain, upon the release of their very first skincare line.

He used to be a clever man, once, so he'd asked for shares in the company, which the Rowe's happily granted him, in exchange for his exclusivity to their brand.

Then, in another smart move, he'd insisted on rebranding the company, stating that Bellanger, which is his surname, had a certain ring to it that would appeal more to their target customers. Back then, everything that sounded French had a certain level of credibility, fascination even, in the cosmetics and beauty industry. The Rowes had agreed to it, and so, Bellanger Skin&Beauty was born. It had flourished, and grown, for years, and my father grew closer and closer to the Rowes. They became friends, family, even.

Then, my father met my mum, and she was dazzled by his flashy lifestyle, the parties, the money, the expensive cars, and the publicity that the massive success that Bellanger Skin&Beauty had turned out to be, was inevitably attracting.

My parents got married, and, soon, I came into this world, followed shortly by Gloria.

And while Bellanger Skin&Beauty has been continually flourishing through the years, it all went south for Colin, when he started drinking. He had a couple of incidents, appearing drunk on interviews, at site opening ceremonies, and at awards shows, and Matthew and the board had to ask him to stay on the low, in order not to embarrass the brand that he'd helped build. When things got out of hand, though, the board was left with no other option, but to ask him to leave. He'd agreed, not before securing a big, fat compensation, and making Matthew agree on paying him royalties for the name, for good old times' sake.

"I mean we're broke." He says. His face is tense and a muscle in his jaw is twitching.

My mouth runs dry and my ears begin to ring.

We're broke.

How the hell did this happen? How have I not noticed? Nothing in our financial situation has visibly changed in the past years.

Though I've been so consumed with the situation with my mother and my plan to get away that Colin could have easily adopted a lion from the Zoo and brought it home, without me noticing. I've had too much on my plate to notice anything else.

However, everyday life hasn't changed. He's been paying for mine and John's private schools, he's been paying for Celia's tuition, he bought me a BMW, he's paying for my mother's clinic in Switzerland...How the hell has he been able to pull this off, if we're really broke?

"So, Lydia," He says and his tone makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. "Make yourself useful and call Patrick. Tell him to come over. I'll take your brother and Celia out for dinner so that you two can have some privacy. Make sure he still wants to propose. Consider this an investment in your future tuition and your mother's fancy psycho clinic. They're not going to pay for themselves, you know. I can only afford to keep paying for one more year. Two, maybe."

The tears I have been holding back finally make their way out. They sting so bad that I rub the palms of my hands over my eyes.

"Now, now, don't cry. We need you to be pretty, right?" He reaches his hand to caress my face, but I push his hand away.

"As you wish." He says. "Just make sure the Casterlys still want you."

And he leaves the room.