Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
“You’re ungrateful. Your glasses are hideous. There are millions of children who would kill for the life you had. You have no idea the hardship you put upon us when you left.” A crack in her voice surprises me.
The man continues tapping on his phone, but the half smile stays secure on his lips as I glance between him and my grandmother, trying to figure out how they tie together.
When he looks up and winks at me, a shiver runs down my spine. “Let alone the lies you’ve been told about your new benefactor,” he says, and I struggle to take in the words. What could he possibly mean? It’s me that’s lied to Stas, not the other way around.
Isn’t it?
My mind is racing, but I refuse to go down that path. He wants me confused. He wants me doubtful. I won’t play his game.
“What do you want?” I demand. “If you are going to hurt me then hurt me.” I dare to push the envelope because the fear of the unknown is greater than whatever the reality could be.
“We both want things.” Grandmother glances at the man who is again tapping his phone screen and ignoring us. “What you don’t know, what you’ve never known, is how much your grandfather loved beauty. As you know, I was Miss Virginia, and your mother a runner up, which disappointed him more than anything in the world. Then when you were born, he vowed you would be the prize. The one that would make it to Miss America. We set about creating you to be what he wanted. In turn, as long as you were on the right path, he provided for us all generously in his will. You were our job. We made you the center of everything. When you left, the executor of the estate followed his guidelines and cut off a significant portion of our financial resources. You left us suffering.”
My head spins. This has to be a joke.
There are some questions being answered for me though. For years I pressed that I hated the pageant life. I fought and negotiated, trying to get free from the pressure and chains my parents and my grandmother seemed determined to force me into.
Never did I realize that the big house, the cars, the private schools, the lifestyle we lived, all hinged on my participation in a life I found repulsive, yet my mother and grandmother seemed to adore.
It took another wakeup call, when they tried to force me yet again into surgery to correct what they saw as a ‘defect’ in my physical appearance, to make me take matters into my own hands. A boob job, laser eye surgery, an abdominal tuck and cheek implants were all planned in a single surgery.
I had just graduated from high school and they were in the full court press to get me to the big stage.
That night, I used the screwdriver I stole from the garage, unscrewed the locks on my window and practically broke my neck jumping into the pine tree outside my bedroom, with just a backpack, a few clothes, my two stuffed donkeys and hope.
Growing up, I was given a small allowance. I’d saved almost all of that money, stuffed into an opening I’d made in my toy donkeys. It was enough to get me a modest new start out in the world but not enough to set me up for life, that’s for sure.
I glance at the man, who shoves his phone back in his pocket, and catch a glint of nervousness flickering in his dead eyes.
“And what do you want?” I counter as I try to absorb my grandmother’s words, stalling to see if I can figure out how his man fits in.
He broadens his smile and places his hands flat on the small dining table, meeting my gaze as my Grandmother looks on, crossing her arms and gripping each opposing arm tightly.
“Let’s just say, I want leverage. Keeping one step ahead of your opponent is what wins the game, shall we say? And I always win the game.”
It’s counterintuitive for him to reveal even that much to me. Tells me it’s his ego that’s calling the shots here. If he was just in it for money, just in it to win, he wouldn’t need to spout off about how important winning is. This is personal, not just professional and I need to find out how to press whatever his bruise is a bit more.
“Well, thank you for that life lesson.” I answer with an eye roll. Pushing my fear deep down I decide to press forward and risk whatever consequences might follow. “So here we sit with your obtuse rhetoric and my grandmother’s history lessons while nothing is changing.” I look to my grandmother. “So, what, you want me to be Miss America? Grandpa was an asshole, you do know that, right?”