❝You think we're going to live happily ever after? Newsflash: I'm not a fucking princess, you're no prince and this fucked up thing between us is not a fairy tale.❞
Ian raises one perfectly arched eyebrow, unfazed by my outburst. ❝Fairy tales can be...
Do not fall in love with me for I will break your heart long before you realize you were going to break mine. -Atticus.
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I let out a fake laugh and shake my head. "No. Nah. Nope. Nada. No way ho—"
Father sighs like he's irritated, automatically cutting me off. He possibly irritated. But then again, when isn't he? "You haven't even heard what I have to say yet."
I look away from my laptop to give him an annoyed look. Sheesh, someone can't watch a horror movie in peace anymore. "I know it has something to do with another photo shoot and my answer is a hot, chubby no."
He crosses his arms over his chest and raises one perfect brown eyebrow. "And how did you figure that out?"
I raise an eyebrow at the question, basically imitating his facial expression. "Well, for one, anytime you have a request for me to fill in for an absent model, you barge into my room like you own the place."
His blue eyes suddenly look more like diamonds ready to cut glass. "Your room is located in my house so by default, I do own the place. And this is hardly a room. It's a junk yard," he huffs, crouching down to pick the red sports bra I threw in that direction a few hours ago. He tosses the material towards me but my room is large so it only lands halfway to it's destination... which was possibly my head.
I ignore his logic about my room being his room. "And you're holding your credit card so I know you're going to bribe me into doing it."
He has the decency to look flustered. I've made my point. I rest my case. "Well, I suppose you really do know me," he mutters and crosses the expanse of my room in a matter of long, well paced steps. He sits on my bed. I narrow my eyes.
"It's still a no," I say, looking down at the movie showing on my laptop and pressing pause. The Conjuring 2. I've watched it a million times already but I still am not tired of it. "I've got plans and none of them involve cameras and talking to stuck up models."
Father scoffs. "Not all of them are 'stuck up' and you know it," he says and I concede to the fact. I mean, it's sort of true. It's not like I haven't screwed around with some of them before despite their trashy attitudes.
...Not that Father knows this but yeah, same difference.
He continues to plead. "Make me proud for once. Tara Patterson had to cancel and the photo shoot begins in less than six hours. Please, Scarlett. I don't know who else to rely on in such short notice."
I ignore the way my stomach drops but I quickly mask my face with indifference. On a completely different note, I sigh, already knowing how this conversation is going to end. Whenever he begs, I always weaken my resolve and go along with it. It's like I have this unconscious need to make him happy and I consciously let myself do it.
