I really should’ve been exhausted by the time I landed in Maui. I’d had too-little sleep the night before and then there was jetlag. But truthfully, I was too wound up to be tired. I just wanted to get back to Gavin and my life in New York.

When I called he didn’t pick up so I left him a message. I was disappointed because just the sound of his voice would’ve given me more than enough strength to get through this.

As always, my father sent a car to pick me up at the airport. The hour drive to Lahaina went by in a blur. Before I knew it, we pulled through the community gates and then I was at my father’s seven acre oceanfront palatial spread.

Normal people would’ve said “I’m home!” as soon as they walked through the door.

I didn’t. One reason being that I didn’t get to walk through the door. I had to ring the doorbell like any stranger off the street would.

A maid I didn’t recognize opened the towering glass and wood portal. “Good evening, Miss Brookstone. Welcome home. Your father is waiting for you in the den.”

Even though it was late, I wasn’t surprised by the answer. My father wouldn’t care that I’d been flying for over twelve hours. Nor would he care that I’d been up since six in the morning. Nor would he have made sure I’d eaten.

His needs, and by extension Melissa’s, always came first.

I smiled at the middle-aged woman, hoping she’d be leaving soon. Although one would think I’d become immune to Patrick Brookstone’s volatile displays of temper, I didn’t want any witnesses to see how little he thought of me.

Stepping inside, I slipped off my shoes by the foyer. The maid picked them up and headed up the stairs, presumably to drop them off in my room.

As much as I would’ve liked to dawdle, I made my way across the highly-polished stone floors towards the den. Switching to tunnel vision, I didn’t pay attention to the details of how much things had changed on the main floor.

Change was inevitable here in my father’s 11,000 square feet of luxury. His and Melissa’s blistering fights necessitated new objets d’art as well as furniture.

I walked into the airy den to find Patrick dressed in his usual outfit of cargo shorts and lightweight shirt, unbuttoned to show off his deeply tanned, washboard stomach.

His vanity was my curse in my preteen years. He detested excess fat and I hadn’t been losing mine fast enough to suit him. Calorie-counting started then and only ended just a few years ago.

Even now I could feel the prickle of worry he’d find me too heavy. That was a given considering how I stopped dieting just about the same time I left Hawaii permanently. It took time to bury my habits of guilt and apology over every piece of food that crossed my lips, but it was a wonderful freedom to eat without fear of criticism.

Too bad all my freedom fell beneath the crashing waves of Patrick Brookstone.

He sat on the white leather sectional, bare feet propped up on the coffee table, and cable news dropping flashy bites of information on his oversized TV.

I didn’t doubt he knew I stood there. I imagined a normal father would get up and greet his daughter. Mine made me wait like a subordinate. Or a dog.

Sadly, I was used to this.

I stood at the entrance, hands crossed at the wrists and looking straight ahead but completely aware of his blond head. A lifetime taught me to read his mood from the slightest movement. So far, so good. Patrick waited until a commercial break came before deigning to acknowledge my presence.

“You got here earlier than I expected.”

Criticism. It was great to know he never surprised me with anything else.

“I was able to leave work early.”

He grunted and then stood up. It was strange how Gavin was just as tall as him, but never did his height make me feel so diminished. Probably because he never used his size to intimidate others.

“Melissa is upstairs.”

“Is she okay?”

He narrowed his blue eyes. They’d be lovely if they weren’t always filled with contempt or anger.

“Why wouldn’t she be?”

I switched to appeasement without a second thought. “Of course, she’d be fine. I just meant the reason you called me here.”

He stared at me for several moments. Perspiration dotted the small of my back. I hated this. I wished I was anywhere but here.

His lip curled into something passing for a smile. Of course, he read me correctly. His affinity for suffering was undeniable.

“She’s fine. She just misses you. I don’t want her unhappy, understand?”

“I understand.”

I heeded the warning. I was to be the perfect pet, bringing up nothing that might upset Melissa. Let her play with me, go shopping as if we were a normal mother and daughter duo, and then once she got her fill of normalcy, my father would step in and dismiss me.

Again, like a servant. Or a dog.

No wonder I never wanted to have one. It wasn’t because I disliked them. Great Danes, Beagles, Labs, Pomeranians—they were all so adorable and would’ve been a joy to have. Put simply?

I pitied them for being so damned loyal—even to those who didn’t deserve a shred of decency much less loyalty.  

My mind traveled through dark corridors. I’d long ago given up on winning my father’s approval or affection. Still, I suffered the twinge of rejection every single time in his presence. When did he ever do anything for me because I was unhappy?

When did he ever care?

I shouldn’t let myself feel hurt. I was lucky he didn’t love me. If he did—he’d never let me go. We all had to pay for our happiness. At least I had my freedom…or enough of it. Being rejected and unloved was simply the price I paid to be away from this luxurious cage.

Patrick yanked my attention back.

“You’ll visit, make her happy, and then leave. Remember—that’s the only reason why you’re here.”

He didn’t need to remind me because obviously I knew the drill. I’d don a perfect mask. I’d go through the motions and play my part.

Patrick and Melissa would get to pretend they created a good family. They’d smooth whatever waves were disrupting their beautiful paradise in their mansion by the ocean.

I just had to countdown the minutes and seconds until I could leave and go back to my pretend-world with Gavin.

My father picked up the phone and sweetly said, “Honey, she’s here.” He then looked over at me and barked, “Sit. She’ll be down in a few.”

Despite my best intentions, I jerked forward. I slowed my steps and gracefully sat at the end of the sectional. I wasn’t a scared little girl jumping at the first sign of his anger.

Not anymore.

Now I was just a scared adult who learned to bury any sign of her feelings and suffer them in silence.

You can do this. You’ll just be here a day. That’s it. You’ve suffered worse.

Patrick turned his attention back to the television. Unease pricked my spine but I kept my back straight and eyes forward. I knew what was coming. It was the game he played as easily as breathing.

Silence, distraction, and then attacking just as you got comfortable…

“You’re still wasting your time being a code monkey?”

“Yes, Sir.”

What was the point of arguing? He believed I was wasting my life when I could be doing something more suitable to the daughter of a multimillionaire.

Like expanding his connections via a prodigious marriage.

“One day you’ll get it through your thick skull, Paige, that it’s a waste of your time. You’ll never move up. It’s the tech field. Men will never take orders from a woman. Even nerds.”

I’d heard the words a thousand times if I heard them once. I guess Patrick was right. I did have a thick skull.

“I enjoy my work.”

“I’m sure you do considering I’m supporting you.”

Not by choice.

I didn’t care if I lived in a shoebox studio. In fact, I would’ve preferred it. At least then I would’ve had the freedom to do what I wanted to my own damned apartment.

Patrick made it impossible.

I had to live in the place he saw fit as a stipulation for my quasi-freedom. We both knew what it was even if we never spoke about it. My luxurious apartment, the credit cards, the access to the cars and jets, all of it was just another method for him to exert control from five thousand miles away.

Besides, who the fuck was he to look down his nose at me? A trust fund baby who never worked a day in his life, Patrick Brookstone was one of those guys who was born on third base and thought he hit a triple.

“Got nothing to say, huh? Truth hurts.”

No. You do.

Thankfully, I didn’t get a chance to answer because Melissa walked into the room, breezy smile on her face, lavender nightgown on her slender body, and dark eyes sparkling with joy.

“Paige, you’re here. I’m so happy to see you.”

I stood up, walking into her hug as expected but inwardly cringing. Physical touch was difficult for me because I had so little of it growing up. It was just another thing that made Gavin so special.

I didn’t have any problems touching him or being touched by him. In fact, I couldn’t wait to jump into his arms. I was greedy for his touch, insatiable for it, and not just sexually.

Gavin often laughingly called me his “little monkey”. Funny how both of the men in my life compared me to the same animal but affected me in completely different ways.

Melissa pulled back and held me by the arms. She looked me up and down and exclaimed, “You look so pretty! New York must be agreeing with you.”

Patrick grunted behind us. It could’ve meant anything but I knew it was nothing complimentary.

I smiled. “I’m happy there.”

“I bet you are,” she answered lightly while turning me around with an arm around my waist. “Honey? Is it all right with you if Paige and I take a walk around on the grounds?”

Not surprisingly, he frowned. “It’s late at night. No, you should be in bed as it is.”

Also not surprisingly, she bent to his will. “You’re right. Besides, Paige is probably exhausted from her long day.” She turned her attention back to me. “Tomorrow morning we’ll have breakfast and then take a walk. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds great.”

Patrick abruptly took Melissa by the arm. “Let’s go to bed, honey.” He walked her out of the room, not even bothering to give me instruction or look back.

As soon as they were gone, I let my shoulders slump.

Okay, I survived the initial meeting. Hopefully I’d be in the air within twenty-four hours.

A meal was out. Not just because it wasn’t offered but because I was too knotted up to eat anything anyways. Once I got to my childhood room, I took out my phone and checked for any sign of Gavin.

Not a text, e-mail, or missed call.

I swallowed my disappointment. Gavin knew I was going home for a family emergency. He was probably being thoughtful by giving me space even though he asked me to call him.

It wasn’t his fault that being back here made me feel like I was going to crawl right out of my skin. Loneliness set in just as easily as the emotional claustrophobia.

Although I was more than tempted to send Gavin a text or even call him, I was too afraid to take a chance. What if Patrick or Melissa overheard me? It was a disaster I didn’t even want to think about.

You can survive one night without Gavin if you want to get back to him.

Resolutely, I shut my phone off.