He’s still strict as fuck and gives me a curfew—that I will hopefully get rid of today.
I tell my dad’s friends that I’m going to grab something to drink. I don’t really have many of my own friends, so Dad usually brings his. When I do invite my classmates, they get super intimidated by all the hotshot businessmen and political figures that are present, so I stopped making them and myself flustered.
I don’t like my birthday anyway. It reminds me of the day when my empty brain was born.
And the woman who gave it to me.
Anyway, I walk among the crowd, forcing smiles. They don’t come naturally to me, not like they do for Dad. Many things he excels at are my weaknesses, such as physical activities, charisma, and a complete brain, I guess.
What I’m good at, though, is multitasking, so I don’t have any trouble running my gaze over all the people present while smiling and playing my birthday girl role—the role I play every year for Dad.
My dark red dress clings to my skin, but that has nothing to do with the perspiration after so much moving around. I resist the urge to wipe my sweaty hands on the material. Not only is it designer, but I also chose it carefully, so I’d look like an adult.
It molds to my curves and shows off my waist, and it also has a deep V-neckline, accentuating my breasts and teasing some cleavage. I even sacrificed my favorite white sneakers for the black high heels that are currently murdering my poor feet.
But it’s all for nothing if I can’t find him.
My nape heats and strands of my long hair stick to my neck and temples. The more distance I cross, the more I clink my nails together.
Almost everyone Dad knows is here, almost, because my step-grandma is never welcome in Grandpa’s house, per Dad’s words.
And him.
The man I’ve started to look for in a crowd when I have no right to.
After what seems like forever, I throw my weight on the swing Dad made for me and put in the backyard near the second pool when I was a kid. My gaze gets lost in the lights shining from the water, and I release a long breath.
The area is lit by lanterns and countless strips of fairy lights hanging between the trees, but it’s still dim compared to the front of the house.
My heart feels a little bit bruised, stomped upon, even though I have no actual logical reason to feel this way.
But what is logic anyway? Dad says all the good things are a little jaded, imperfect.
Illogical, even.
I’m not supposed to wallow in misery on my long-awaited eighteenth birthday, but here I am. Swinging back and forth in the wake of the destruction that’s happening in my chest.
I had great plans for today. Not because I like birthdays, but because this one is special. This one means I’m officially no longer a child.
But my most important plan was aborted before it was even implemented.
I retrieve my phone from my bra and scroll to the photo album named “Memories.” I find a picture from my first birthday, where I was squealing in Dad’s arms while Uncle Nate was trying to grab me.
Nate.
Not Uncle Nate. He’s Nate.
I run my fingers over his face and pause at the jolt that zips through my entire body.
It’s been some time since I started feeling these weird zaps whenever I see him or think of him. He even started appearing in naughty dreams that made me sweaty and wet and I had to relieve myself in the middle of the night.
That’s why he can’t be Uncle Nate anymore.
He’s not even Dad’s friend or the man who’s more powerful than the world. He might be a senator’s son, but he’s so much more than that.
He owns half of the world and eats the rest of it for breakfast.
“There you are.”
I freeze, my hand tightening on the phone. Did I maybe gain wizard abilities for my birthday and conjure him up?
That’s stupid, of course, because I can feel the warmth his body always emanates and smell his cologne. A little bit musky, a little bit spicy. A little bit…wrong.
I shouldn’t know him by his smell alone or be able to recognize him among the dozens of people crowding our house. I shouldn’t have heated ears and a throbbing neck just because I heard the deep, rough tenor of his voice that’s only meant to say firm, serious things.
A voice that I’ve started to dream about despite my damn self.
And now, he’s behind me.
And that means he can see my phone.
I jolt, hugging it to my chest, and in hindsight, that’s such a bad idea, because now I’m thinking about him between my breasts, and my heart kind of explodes all over the place.