~ Chapter 9~

The shutter of camera lenses could be heard as I looked for the sign with my name on it, ready to leave the airport.

Paris Fashion Week started next week and I was here to model for a few of the brands. Of course, being in a different country wasn't enough to ward off the paparazzi but the world could be going up in flames and they'd still be there, I guaranteed it.

Finally spotting my name on one of the signs, I flashed everyone polite smiles before following the nice looking older lady out of the heavily crowded building.

Once I finally managed to check into my hotel room, I flopped onto my bed immediately, not bothering to change before having a quick nap.

Hours later, the constant tapping on my door roused me from my slumber and I groggily got up to answer it, smoothening my wrinkled clothes out as best as I could before I turned the door knob.

Upon seeing the person behind the door, I wish I'd just carried on sleeping. Before me stood none other than my mother, Camilla King.

"Harper, finally! What took so long?" she asked exasperatedly, barging past me and into my room.

I shrugged my shoulders, sitting on my bed while mother instead opted for the cushy, beige armchair in the corner. "So, you've been in France for over five hours and didn't even bother to call," she accused, narrowing her grey-blue eyes at me, not even bothering with a friendly 'how are you' but, then again, that was just mother. It'd be weirder if she had decided to exchange pleasantries.

"Sorry mother," I apologised, knowing there was no point trying to reason with her. "The jet lag got to me so I went straight to sleep."

She shook her head, sighing as she stood up, digging for something in her purse. "That's no excuse, Harper, but what's done is done I suppose. Now come on, stand up. I need to double check your measurements."

I reluctantly agreed to model for mother's brand this week because I knew I'd never hear the end of it otherwise. Unfortunately, she thought she could just invade my privacy at any time, unlike the other brands I was working with for the week including Dior and Chanel.

I was scheduled to get all my final measurements taken tomorrow so the designers could make any last minute adjustments but, of course, mother couldn't wait a few hours for me to come to her warehouse and instead decided to appear at my hotel suite at this ungodly hour. Typical.

Begrudgingly, I got up and allowed her to check my measurements; it was just much easier to appease her rather than to argue. I heard her tut and tsk as she did and mentally prepared myself for what I knew she was about to say.

She dusted off her skirt as she stood upright again, jotting down notes in her diary and I could already feel the disappointment radiating off her in waves. "Harper, you've gained weight again. Have you not been following the diet I sent you a few months ago?"

I internally rolled my eyes, thinking how best to word my answer. "Mother," I started softly, still unsure how to explain this to her. She'd never understood when I'd told her in the past. "I've told you before, I don't want to go on a diet. I'm skinny enough."

She shook her head at me, smiling in the most patronising way imaginable. "Harper, sweetheart, you're a supermodel. You have to look the part otherwise you'll become jobless. Is that what you want?"

"No, mother, but that won't happen. I still have the body of a model and I'm careful enough with what I eat that that won't change. I exercise regularly and I eat healthily, that's enough. I'm not going to starve myself or go one one of your stupid no carb, no sugar, no nothing diets."

She put her hands on her hips, giving me that glare that always used to terrify me as a child. "Harper Anastasia King, do not use that tone with me. I am your mother so show some respect," she said harshly but still somehow maintained her sickeningly perfect elegance.

"Sorry, mother," I murmured, knowing it was wrong of me to insult her ideas so directly even if she deserved it. At the end of the day, whether I liked it or not, she was my mother.

Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself down but it looked like there was still a storm brewing in her eyes. Nevertheless, she nodded, looking satisfied as she went to sit back down on the armchair in the corner of the room. "Good. Now are you going to listen to me and start being more careful with your weight?"

I almost wanted to nod just so she'd leave me alone but I couldn't. I couldn't do that; I wouldn't do that to myself again. "No mother. I'm always careful with my weight and how I treat my body," mostly, "but going on the type of diet you want me to isn't healthy; it'll only make me severely underweight."

She tutted, looking up into the air as if I was the most clueless person she had ever met. "Sweetheart, it's not about being underweight; it's about looking good and keeping your job. There's a difference."

I ran my fingers through my auburn locks, untangling my horrific bed hair. Looking at it, I wondered what life would be like if I was born blonde. Everything would be so much easier if I was more like mother.

I wouldn't be opposed to going on diets; I'd have the typical type of beauty that everyone adored; mother and I would get along much better; and I'd finally be that perfect dainty little princess I had always dreamed of as a child.

The more I thought of it, the more appealing the idea seemed. I'd still be living at home with my family and perhaps my teenage years would've played out differently. There'd be a chance that I could still be talking to my best friend.

When I thought of family, my mind immediately focused on dad and Zack and I had to remind myself that life was perfect just the way it was. They had always told me to love myself but the devil on my shoulder constantly reminded me of the enticing life I could've had if I was different.

Maybe if I followed mother's advice I'd get further in life. I mean, it worked wonders for her. She was incredibly successful, married to a man who loved her unconditionally and had ten wonderful children who she loved.

Loved... did she?

Did she love me?

I let my eyes scan over the woman who birthed me all those years ago. She still looked incredibly young for a woman pushing fifty thanks to her regular Botox injections and frequent visits to her trusted plastic surgeon. Her hair was still that stunning silky blonde I remembered doting over as a child and her eyes were still a stormy grey-blue colour that I used to yearn for. But now?

Looking at her closely made me question why I'd want to be like her.

Although she may have been flawless on the outside, I knew that she had more than a few skeletons hidden in her closet.

I knew for a fact that I'd never want to act like her or treat my children the way she had treated me, making them question if their own mother even loved them.

"Well, Harper?" she prompted, her shawl falling from her shoulders as she waited impatiently for me to agree with her. The green cashmere pooled behind where she was sitting and exposed her neck to the light.

She noticed my eyes focus on her now-naked skin and quickly wrapped the cloth back around her but it was too late. I had seen it and she knew that.

Gritting my teeth, I stood up to open my door. "Mother, please leave," I said in the most controlled voice I could muster.

She gaped at me, not moving from her seat. "I will do no such thing, Harper... and... well... I expect you to apologise for speaking to me like that. I taught you better than this."

Resisting the urge to scream as best as possible, I took in a deep breath, trying, unsuccessfully, to calm my raging emotions. "I'll apologise to you once you apologise to dad and explain to him why there's a hickey on your neck." She had been in Milan for the last two weeks so there was no way it was from him.

Momentarily, she looked like a deer caught in headlights, knowing that she couldn't lie her way out of this. However, she was quick to cover her worry, standing up like a graceful swan and brushing out any creases in her skirt.

She scoffed, eyeing me in a way she thought was menacing but I could see the caution hidden in her eyes. Thank you media training. Her next words were dangerously calm. "Typical. You always take your father's side without so much as a thought about me."

I shook my head at her, not allowing myself to be swayed by her conniving words. "That's not true, mother. Everyone knows that you cheat on him and I don't want to know your reasons for it. I know he did it once or twice as well but that was only to get back at you and you know that. He felt horrible after he did it. He wouldn't talk to anyone, not even me, for weeks.

"You broke him but for some reason you stay together. I don't get it. I'll never understand how you two work and I won't try to but, mother, you know doing this is hurting him and I can't handle that. I can't cope with the pain you cause him. We can go back to normal tomorrow but right now I need space. Please, just leave," I begged , my voice raw.

It looked like she was about to defend herself as she opened her mouth but quickly changed her mind, snapping it closed. Looking at the ground, she nodded.

"I'll see you at the warehouse tomorrow," she muttered, walking past me and gently squeezing my shoulder with her dainty fingers as she did. "Sleep well, sweetheart."

The door shut behind her and I let myself sink to the ground once I knew she was far enough away that she wouldn't hear me cry. I let my sobs ring loudly through the air, trying to comfort myself by bringing my knees to my chest and hugging them closer.

I wished dad didn't have to go through what he did.

I wished they had a happy marriage.

I wished my mother loved me.

You could wish for many things, big and small but there was no guarantee that they'd come true. Wishes were just our way of coping with bad situations in the vain hope that one day things would get better. Even if we knew things would never change, it was nice to have hope; it kept us going, a bit like a comfort blanket.

But in that moment, I felt completely hopeless. I often did after a one-to-one encounter with mother. However, what I didn't know at the time was that she felt just as hopeless as I did, silently crying on the other side of that door, wishing that things were different too.

~*~*~

How are we feeling about Harper's relationship with her mum?

So it's like 2am for me again but inspiration finally hit despite that fact that I should be sleeping because I have important assessments tomorrow and all of next week but we'll ignore that.

Regardless, I hope you liked the chapter — it's actually my favourite one so far so hopefully you like it too.

💜💜Please don't forget to vote, comment and let me know what you thought of the chapter 💜💜

Anyways, I'm going to go to sleep now. Night guys. Until next time, bye x