Twisted Desires He may never be mine

"Why won't you open the gates?"

Even with the air-conditioning on, the heat outside was becoming unbearable. The car window was already rolled down, letting the scorching heat rush in. My patience was wearing thin. I understood my father's reluctance to see me, but he could at least allow me inside. "Sorry, Miss, but we've been instructed to keep the gates closed unless told otherwise."

"Ughhh!" I exclaimed, frustration boiling inside me like a volcano. "Come on, Dad! You can't just shut me out like this and then avoid me."

Damn it! How does one even escape a situation like this? Google doesn't provide answers for these kinds of dilemmas. If only life were that simple.

I leaned back in the car seat and slowly rolled up the window. I pondered for a good minute on whom I was going to call.

"Calling Aunt won't solve anything; I've burdened her enough," I shook my head. "What I need to do is call Dad. Yes," I reached for my bag on the passenger seat and retrieved my phone. "I'll just ask him to let me in."

You'd think I'd gotten the message by now, but if Dad wants to be stubborn, I don't mind proving that I'm his daughter.

"What do you want, Isabelle?" he said coldly.

"Hi, Dad. It's good to finally hear from you."

"I don't have time for this; speak."

I rolled my eyes. "Come on, a little exchange of pleasantries won't hurt anyone, will it," I said, forcing a smile. "But since you're so eager to hear from me, why don't you let me in so we can chat over tea and biscuits?"

"There'll be plenty of biscuits and snacks at your wedding reception. If you're craving biscuits so badly, just pick a date." He reiterated, confirming my suspicions.

It was as if he could see my smile. Dad couldn't let me be happy, even for a moment. "You know, for someone born in Paris, you'd think you understood the meaning of marriage," I said through clenched teeth.

"And one would think that you, knowing who you're speaking to, would be more respectful." He replied.

Darn it! He really is my father, isn't he? "Dad, please, don't do this. Don't force me to marry that man," I pleaded. Sure, you'd expect me to be defiant, but marriage? I might as well jump off a cliff. "I don't even know his name or what he looks like. Don't you want lovely grandchildren?"

"As I've told you before, you don't need to worry about those things. Just pick a date and show up at the wedding."

"But I—"