Ruined by LP Lovell

and George are so into casual sex, or was in Lilly’s case.
     
    My phone rings just as I’m walking through the front door. As if my day wasn’t bad enough already, it’s my father. I take a deep breath. I never speak to my dad unless I have to. He only ever calls me if it’s necessary.
    I swipe my finger over the green button. “Hello.”
    “Molly.” Just the sound of his voice makes me shrink slightly. I despise my father, and everything he stands for, yet I’m terrified of disappointing him. Even though everything I do disappoints him. Figures I would be one of those girls with classic daddy issues.
    “Dad. How are you?” I ask politely.
    He doesn’t answer my question. “I’m in London next week for a business trip. I want us to meet for dinner.” I haven’t spoken to my father for five months, and when I do, he treats me like an appointment to be fitted in amongst his business dealings.
    “Okay.”
    “Good. I’ll email you the details.” He says quickly before he hangs up. I stare at the phone for a minute, fighting the usual feelings of inadequacy that always arise whenever I speak to him.
    My father has always been a selfish man, totally driven by money and success. People’s measure of success varies dramatically, and my father’s idea of success is not the same as mine. He and my mother could not be any more different if they tried. He met her twenty five years ago, in New York. He was an investment broker. She was a model. It’s the usual story; rich man meets a foreign beauty. My mother is half Swedish, half Russian, and stunningly beautiful. She’s also kind, and selfless. She’s the best person I know. For a long time, my father adored her, worshipped her beauty, gravitated towards her inner grace, as everyone else did. Until one day he didn’t any more.
    Ten years ago, he started having an affair. He found a new, younger version of my mother. She kicked him out. I was thirteen at the time. Old enough to understand everything. Old enough to resent my father for discarding the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. He left her with nothing. Even after everything he did to her, my mother insisted I have a relationship with him, insisted that I not resent him for his actions. She told me that the heart wants what the heart wants, and I had no right to judge him for that.
    I do judge him, because he’s a selfish bastard.
    He still supported me, financially at least. He paid for my education, funded my Cambridge degree. He even insists on paying for my flat, and my mum insists I let him, because she hates the idea of me living in a rough area.
    He doesn’t care about me though. I’m a continual disappointment to him. I studied journalism, when he wanted me to study business. I moved in with George and Lilly, both of whom he disapproves of. He says I’m too much like my mother, too free. I shouldn’t care what he thinks, but I do, and a visit from him only ever ends one way. Me feeling like shit.
    Poor Alex is going to get the crap end of the deal tonight.
    I meet him at a little Italian restaurant around the corner from my flat at eight. He’s looking sharp. Really sharp. A pale blue shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and is tailored perfectly to his narrow hips. He’s wearing jeans that are doing him a world of favours. I manage to arrange my face into some semblance of a smile. It’s not without effort. Anything involving my father seems to have the ability to send me running for the vodka, or at least it would if I didn’t still feel so bloody rough from Saturday night.
    “Hey.” He flashes me a perfect smile.
    “Hey.”
    He reaches for me, pulling me in and brushing his lips across my cheek. He’s clean shaven, but a day’s worth of growth scratches lightly across my skin.
    “You look lovely as always.” He comments. I glance down at myself. I’m wearing a loose off the shoulder grey jumper, black skinny jeans and flat over the knee boots. Compared to him I look