A Mistress To My StepDaddy

Chapter 7: A Forbidden Attraction

(Pov: Isabelle)

I went downstairs and my food was already turning cold when I sat at the dining table. I was always twirling the fork on the food and didn't pay any attention at all to everyone else at the table.

It wasn't until the third time I caught myself doing it, when I heard Lena's voice in my head, 'You fidget when you lie, Isabelle' and I forced myself to stop and grab my wine glass instead.

My mom was talking about the venue; how she had met Dorian, the flowers, the centerpieces, and something about ivory versus cream and why the difference was so important.

Dorian was engaged in listening or at least he was making a good attempt at it. His hand was lying on the table close to hers, so close that when she pointed at him, she touched her fingers at his, and she smiled without stopping her sentence and I looked at my plate.

The issue was not even that I saw them together. The problem was that, each time he moved, took his glass, twisted his chair, heads turned, my eyes were unintentionally drawn to him, like a hook, which was completely unavoidable. It was the worst and most humiliating experience of my life.

Literally no one knew what was going on in me. I took a sip of wine.

"Isabelle, what's your choice? Ivory or cream?" She said, as mom and Dorian were both looking at me.

"Ivory," I recommended. "It looks better in pictures."

My mum was delighted with a smile and as Dorian, kept his glance at me for a second longer than absolutely necessary before looking back at his glass.

Then I instinctively and immediately made my fork perpendicular again.

:

Until midnight, I held out.

After the meal, the house was quiet. It was more like a torture of a whole hour for me. My mother softly kissed Dorian on the cheek as she neared the bedroom door.

My eyes were wide open in the dark as I lay on top of my covers counting the ceiling's imperfections.

I was not sleeping because it was obvious to me that sleep was not going to happen.

At 12:15 a.m. I finally gave up, put on the cardigan which was hanging behind my desk chair, and went down the hall barefoot, doing my best to convince myself that I was going to the kitchen for water.

That was my story, actually.

Even before I got to the bottom steps on my way to the kitchen, I could smell the whiskey.

On a normal day, I would never have thought that any of us should be awake at such a time.

Though, the moment I entered the kitchen, I saw him sitting there.

By the window, he was sitting in a comfortable armchair with a table next to him and the lamp lighting just enough to see a figure of a man. In his right hand, he held a half, empty glass, approximately.

The top two or three buttons of his shirt were undone, and the tattoo that originated from somewhere below his shirt, and his collar was sticking up his neck, a dark, intricate design that I had traced the outline of without even realizing that I was doing it.

He didn't seem to be in any way taken aback by my appearance. "You couldn't sleep? " He inquired.

"No," I replied, not really wanting to go into the question.

Stupid me, I should have just gone to the kitchen, gotten the water I was coming for, and then gotten the hell out of there. But that didn't happen.

I lingered, sitting at the far end of the couch with my legs folded in front of me. Secretly, I even hated myself a little bit for that. I could barely hear anything in the whole house except for the presence of the two of us.

There wasn't a sound inside the house at all. From the outside, a car passed by slowly, its headlights illuminating the ceiling for a few seconds.

"You spent half of dinner just looking down at your plate," he accused.

"I was eating."

"You weren't eating, you were just playing around with your food," he replied while taking a sip slowly. "You didn't eat Isabelle."

"I didn't feel like it. Also, I'm not going to pretend that dinner was a walk in the park," I said, after which he looked at me. Only, not in the same way that he'd stared at me in the bathroom. No uneasiness or hardness, just a calm look.

"Isabelle?"

He said my name softly while his eyes were fixed on my breasts exposed in the elegant night gown.

Still gripping tightly, I held eye contact. "What do you want from me, stepdad?"

"That I should sit there, watch you and my mother, and pretend as if nothing happened?"

"It was a strange night for both of us, Isabelle, "he said, after putting the glass down on the table beside him, with a gesture of leaning forward and setting his elbows on his knees and loosely clasping his hands.

His watch was illuminated by the lamp and the ink markings on his knuckles that I hadn't seen well enough to read.

"I will not discuss what happened that night," he said.

"I just wanted to let you know, I'm not going to use it."

"Alright then."

"But I can't pretend it didn't happen either," he confessed. "That's beyond me."

"It wouldn't have been enough even if you had given me the cardigan. I was cold and had nothing to do with the temperature. I guess it was because of your presence."

"You should be able to do that," I replied. "Aren't you going to marry my mother?"

He got up, took his glass, and halted in front with one hand holding the cup and the other right beside his body and his other hand firmly grabbed my wrist.

Then he released me.

"Isabelle, sweet dreams," he whispered.

He grabbed his cup from the little table and exited the room.

After that, I didn't move for quite some time.

My hand was still on my chest, and my eyes were resting on the light that he had left on.

I mustered enough strength to get on my feet and make my way to the kitchen where I filled a glass with water, drank half of it and stood there at the sink in the dark.

"I hope the presence of the man is not my worst nightmare," I whispered.