Chapter 2

DINNER NIGHT

/-Hazel-/

I arrive home with a sullen expression. With the cars in the driveway, it's obvious that my little prayer went unanswered.

Turning the knob slowly, I sneak in, progressing towards the stairs as quietly as I can. Halfway to my victory, I hear my name and a groan rumbles in my throat.

“Hazel!”

I turn around with a fake grin.

“What mischief are you up to this time? Why are sneaking into your own house?” A petite blond with stunning blue eyes question me. Her expression hard as stone despite the lightness of the words.

This woman is my mother. The best neurosurgeon in the country.

“You're home. It's a pleasure,” I feign a smile, hoping it seemed genuine enough to get her off my back. She advances towards me with her stoic expression in place.

One would think after six months of absence, she would at least be excited to see me, and probably initiate a hug. I almost chuckle at the thought.

If she hugs me, then she wouldn't be my mother. My mother would…

“Have your results been compiled yet? I told you to forward to my email once they were released but I didn't see any of that. Are you perhaps hiding the fact that you're…”

“I'm what?” I snap. All traces of the fake smiles slip off, leaving just the anger I feel inside. “slacking? Well if you actually bothered to check your email, you would see I did send the reports to you but I don't expect you to notice anyway, since you're too busy cutting brains open to remember you have a daughter…” a smack meets me across the face.

“You will not speak to me that way, you little ingrate. You should be happy about the life you have now. The luxury you get to enjoy while others are eating scraps off the floor. I did not raise you like this! It seems like this stupid painting career…”

“Leave my painting out of this! You did not raise me! No one fucking did. I looked after myself! Did everything I had to by myself! You just got back and you've already hit me, scolding me for your own mistakes,” I interrupt her with a scoff.

I move back when I notice she's about to swing her hand again.

“What's going on here? Are you challenging your mother again, Hazel?” I hear my Dad's voice somewhere. His footsteps suggest he's descending the stairs, but it's all to support his wife.

The man stops at my side, towering over me with several inches. Acker Lawal, the famous architect. Second best ranked in the continent.

“You should talk to your daughter, Acker. She keeps getting on my nerves at every slightest opportunity she gets,” Mom says to him.

“Mr Acker, you should talk to your wife as well, or one day, it might be her head cutting open and no one would be there to stitch it back since apparently, she's the best and I'm just a wannabe artist,” I throw a deadly smirk and back them.

“Stop right there, young lady! How dare you threaten me?” She yells after me but I don't stop. “Did you hear that, Acker? She wants to cut my head open!”

I roll my eyes, ascending the stairs. Once I enter my room, I shut the door and fall on my bed. Everything that happened during the day weighs down on me and I feel my eyes sting.

‘Don’t do this, Hazel. You should have gotten used to this by now,’ I reprimand myself. God forbid I cry over them again. I might have done that in my teenage years but I'm almost twenty-one now. Way above the sulking age.

I sit up and open my bag. I take out my drawing and stare at it.

Emotions. That's what he talked about.

‘Your eyes are a storm of emotions…’

Fuck!

I shouldn't be thinking about this now. Yet a set of darkened emerald eyes flash in my mind.

Just then, my phone beeps, and I let out a sigh. I pick up my phone and my face lights up when I see Rodney’s text asking about dinner with his dad.

Finally! Something to distract me.

“Sure. What time?” I type quickly.

“I'll pick you up by 6.”

My fingers dance around the keyboard. I can't let him meet my parents. It's bad enough that they hate the mere sight of me, I don't want to add him to their lists.

“No, drop me an address, I'll come over.”

“You sure? I can just pick you up, you know.”

“I insist.”

“Okay.”

I get off the bed to my wardrobe. I take out the skimpy skirt and jacket I got at the store last week.

I stare at the outfit, contemplating whether to wear a bra or not. I finally decide on the bra since we're meeting his father.

At five thirty, I sneak out of the house and take a cab to the address he sent.

It's crazy how I don't even feel nervous about meeting his dad. Maybe because I've plastered parents in general in my black book and don't care what they have to say anymore.

I press the doorbell and anticipate my boyfriend but when the door opens, that lemon minty accent from the office hits me and my composure crumbles just as a pair of emerald orbs flicker to me.

“You?” I gasp, my nerve cells spinning in panic. Instead of replying, his eyes drop lower, taking in every detail of my appearance.

A lump forms in my throat as chills run down my spine following his eye movement. His features tighten, lips press together in a frown as his eyes snap to my eyes once again.

I unconsciously hold my breath.

“Hazel! You're here!” Rodney’s voice comes from behind him. I open my mouth to answer but no words leave as a certain emerald pair holds me in chokehold.

Rodney pushes his way through and wraps me in a tight hug, lifting me off the ground in excitement, yet I can't bring myself to return it.

His eyes narrow at me then drop to the arms around my waist. Without a word, he walks inside.

“I'm so glad you made it. I was thinking of convincing you to let me pick you up,” Rodney says and I struggle to tear my gaze away from the door.

“Who is he? Why…”

“My dad? I'm sorry if he scared you, but he's always like that. He won't cause you any trouble, I promise,” Rodney assures me, planting a kiss on my lips but for some reason, I can't get my mind off him.

Isn't he supposed to be my art professor? How the hell did he end up as my boyfriend's father as well?

“Let's go in for proper introductions,” Rodney pulls me in. I stare at him, still trying to process my latest discovery.

Rodney and his father look nothing alike. No spark of resemblance between them. Hell, they don't even smell alike, so what the fuck is this relationship?

What game is life trying to play with me?

Inside smells like a food heaven. Rodney leads me to the dining where different dishes are set for dinner. My mouth begins to water at the sight of delicious food.

“Did you make this?” I ask Rodney since it's obviously homemade.

“Of course not, babe. I hired a chef, which is otherwise my dad because I'm shit at cooking,” he chuckles.

“Your father made this?” I ask in disbelief and just then, the man appears with the last dish. He sets it down without sparing either of us a glance.

“Last one?” Rodney asks.

“Yeah. I'm just going to take this off and join you,” he says, referring to the apron.

Rodney takes out a seat for me while his father disappears. Shortly after, he returns, and a pit of dread forms in my stomach.

If anyone told me this was how I was going to react tonight, I would have sworn it wasn't. Now look at me, fidgeting in front of a parent.

“Dad, meet my girlfriend, Hazel Acker,” Rodney introduces. His eyes rake through me once again and I unconsciously pull my jacket closer.

I cuss myself for choosing a bra instead of a singlet. Maybe then, my body wouldn't burn under his heated gaze.

“Hazel, this is my Dad, Mykel Ryder.”

I only realize my palms are sweaty when Rodney nudges me to greet his father. I rub it endlessly against my skirt before stretching my arms for a handshake.

“N-Nice to… meet you, sir,” I find myself stuttering which rarely happens. He takes my hand and I bite my lip. They feel so large and rough. Like they could crush mine to pieces if they wanted.

He rolls his thumb in a gentle caress on the back of my hand, like he was assuring me he had no intentions of crushing them.

“You don't need to act so terrified, Miss Acker. You weren't this meek when you were threatening my job.”

I blink, stunned by the words. I withdraw my hand immediately.

“You two have met?” Rodney asks but we ignore his question.

“Are you… taunting me?” My tone is sharper than I intended, startling everyone but the person I aimed at.

“Why? Were you expecting to be praised? Especially since you left home comfortably dressed like a whore?” He scoffs.

“Dad!”

“I beg your pardon!” I stand with a thick glare. “How could you say something so offensive to me? This is decent enough for me!”

“Babe, please calm down. He didn't mean it like that,” Rodney pleads.

“I did except you don't understand the concept of decency. Why did you bother with the jacket when you could just come in your panties?” He rests on his seat.

“You don't tell me what to wear. I feel very comfortable in them. This is the twenty-first century of goodness sake!” I fire.

“Hmm, you're right. How about you comfortably get out of my house then?”