12
Chapter Twelve
Marina
I know I’m not supposed to be down here in the basement. Daddy’s rules. The only thing I’m ever allowed to do is take the immediate left at the bottom of the stairs into the wine room so that I can fetch him a bottle or three.
It seems to amuse him to send me down to a place where stepping through the wrong door could get me grounded for a week. It amuses him more that my mother hates this habit. “She’s fifteen and you’re treating her like your sommelier, James. What are you thinking?”
Daddy is a prick. Nobody in my family would be surprised to hear that. But I’m the only one who actually says it.
Sometimes I have a problem filtering the things that come out of my mouth—as my current grounding proves once again. One of my friends from self-defense class is a
