Teach me to desire
She offered my father a dazzling smile before turning it on me.
“Darling,” she said, her voice dripping with an artificial sweetness that only I knew was a disguise for steely ambition. She looped her arm through mine, her touch possessive and cold. “Sorry, I was finalizing the seating charts with Mother. You know how important appearances are.”
“Of course, Serena,” I replied, forcing my lips into the appropriate expression of dutiful affection. The physical contact was repulsive, made worse by the memory of Igor’s hands on me just days before. Every cell in my body screamed protest at the lie of her touch.
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