Where the Sun Hides (Seasons of Betrayal #1)(16)

Violet pulled down the visor and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Embarrassment bubbled through her as she took in her messy, disheveled appearance. Her makeup was smeared, she needed a f*cking toothbrush, and her hair looked like it had been put through more than one round of …

She shook her head, wanting to get away from all that.

As quickly as she could, with nothing but her fingertips to work with, she tried to soothe the waves of her hair enough to be presentable and wipe the bits of smeared makeup away from under her eyes and around her mouth. It didn't help all that much.

Fuck Carmine for not letting her make her face and hair more presentable.

Maybe she finally understood her father’s goal when he demanded she feel the shame she had caused him by her reckless actions. It still pissed her off.

Getting out of the car, Violet hugged her bomber jacket a little tighter to keep out the chill of the wind. She kept her head down as she walked across the large driveway and up the intricate marble entryway of her parents’ four-level, two-wing mansion.

The front door was already open.

Inviting, almost.

Violet just wanted to turn around and bolt.

The cold air forced her inside where she knew was warm. Violet was greeted by a long, empty hallway that led into spiral staircase wrapping around the entrance of the mansion. The stairs separated off into one of two wings. She thought for sure that her father would be waiting to meet her, but not even her mother was there.

And her brother had already disappeared.

Violet took her time to remove her shoes and coat, before putting them away in the large closet with the rest of the outerwear. She walked slowly through the ground level of the mansion, finding the large kitchen and dining room empty, as well as the entertainment room and living room.

If her father wasn’t waiting for her in one of those rooms, then she knew exactly where he was.

His office.

That didn’t bode well for her at all.

Violet decided not to put seeing her father off for any longer than was necessary. It was only drawing out the inevitable bitch-fest he was sure to level on her. Better to get it done and over with so she could get back to her condo and sleep this awful day off.

It was only when Violet was up onto the third floor of the second wing and standing outside of the large oak doors that led into her father’s office did she realize how much trouble she was really in.

His office was closed.

Which meant closed to her.

Alberto, in all of her twenty-one years, had never once closed his office doors to her when he called upon Violet for something. A thick lump lodged in her throat as she stared at the doors, knowing what her father wanted her to do.

Knock.

Wait.

Enter only at his will and direction.

Not like she was his daughter, who could come in any time and was always welcome, but instead, like one of his men who had to be deemed worthy enough to be seen.

It was like a punch to her gut.

Violet had always been her father’s little girl, even when she was an unruly child. Alberto often proclaimed her to be his favorite between his two children, even if he did so in a joking manner. He spoiled her with anything and everything she asked for.

He had never shunned her.

Not like this.

Violet took a deep breath, hoping it would calm her nerves. She again smoothed out her hair and swiped her thumbs under her eyes. Stepping forward, she raised her hand and knocked on the oak doors hard enough that she knew it would be heard within.

Silence answered her knock.

She didn’t knock again. Instead, she waited like she knew her father expected her to do. Her back straightened a little more as minutes ticked by, and tears started to well in the corners of her eyes when yet another couple minutes passed in total silence.

Alberto’s message was clear: she was not worthy of his time or attention, not yet.

Her father’s lesson was being learned, if the shame compounding in her heart was any indication.

By the time the doors finally opened to expose her mother, Andrea, standing behind them, Violet had been left waiting for fifteen long minutes.

Yeah, she had counted.

“Ma,” she greeted quietly.

Andrea raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow as she took in her daughter’s appearance. Wearing one of her signature blue dresses that she personally designed, her mother was the picture of beauty and grace. If only Andrea’s inner self reflected what she portrayed on the outside. Violet refused to let her mother’s silent disapproval add to the shame she was already feeling.

“Violet,” Andrea said smoothly. “Your father is waiting inside.”

Not saying anything else, Andrea moved gracefully out of the office, leaving the doors opened behind her. She didn’t even glance over her shoulder back at Violet as she glided down the hallway toward her own private office.

Violet hesitated at the entrance of her father’s office, unsure and wary in her heart.

Alberto quickly remedied that when he boomed, “Do not keep me waiting a second longer, Violet.”

She took the three steps needed to enter the office, trying to hold her head high at the same time. Inside, she found her father sitting behind the large, cherry oak desk that dominated the room. He sat in his high-back, black leather office chair. Behind him, a painting of her grandfather rested proudly. In the painting, Alberto Sr. drank from a glass of cognac, barely an emotion on his face, as he stared the person painting him down.