Fallacies of Fidelity

"No, thank you," I hissed to the man who tried to help me carry my back pack.

I never realized how little I had in West Africa until the moment when I had to pack it all. The back pack held my clothes and even some memorabilia from the little village in Ghana. I guess some people might bring souvenirs for their family but I knew the Haddock's would care less for whatever I would bring home. I may still be their daughter, but my parents would not be proud of me for bringing something into their house that would be "filthy." And God knows my little sister would squeal at the thought of something that had even been in Africa's atmosphere.

No, the things in my bag were pictures of the children or little trinkets the kids had made me. Things that were irreplaceable in my book.

I maneuvered myself to where pompous looking drivers were holding signs that said different names. One of them being: Julia Haddock. That's me. I sighed because people were already starting to whisper as I came up and took the sign out of the driver's hand to hide it.

I heard some woman mutter, "She's back, the billionaire's daughter." I absolutely hated when people referred to me as "the billionaire's daughter." You would think going to Africa for almost a decade would change people's view on you. Nope, say the word "billionaire" and it's all for naught.

"Can we go?" I asked the driver, with a slight whine in my voice. He nodded and directed me outside and into the very vehicle I told my parents not to pick me up in. The white limo stood out in the field of cars. My eyes could make out the sight of a group of paparazzi running to me from twenty feet away. I groaned, hauling myself in after brushing off the driver from carrying my bag. It was a flipping back pack for God's sake, "Where are we heading, umm," I stopped short for not knowing his name.

"You may call me Parker." He started to pull out which left a lot of angry paparazzi in the dust.

"Right, where are we going, Parker?"

"Your parent's thought it best to take you to the Haddock mansion to settle in."

"Of course they did," I muttered, leaning back into the leather seating. The first thing I wanted to do now that I was back was to go to the nearest McDonald's, but I suppose I could wait.

I was missing Africa already. That place was better than being surrounded by a bunch of arrogant assholes who only cared about money. Aka my family. I'd been surrounded by rich people my whole life and barely realized it until I was 16. The one thing I did learn was: they were all the same and I wanted nothing to do with them.

In my anger obsessed thoughts, I blanked out on arriving back to my childhood home and accidentally let Parker open the door for me, "I can open my door on my own, thanks," I said to him before I shut the car door. He nodded politely. I knew I really couldn't be hard on the guy because it was actually his job to open doors and treat me like a queen. I even felt a little bad because he looked older than 60. He gestured me to the mansion and I sighed before trudging up the steps, the same familiar steps that I used to laugh and play on when I was a kid. Although this time, the trip up held no laughter to lighten my mood.

"Oh darling!" my mother shrieked as she threw her arms around me softly. I rolled my eyes. She was just acting proper because my father was nearby. If we were alone, my mom would have crushed me with a hug and had me tell her everything she has missed, "It has been far too long! Please never leave us again!" That was about when I pushed her off me.

"Mom stop," I said.

"My lovely Julia," my father took my face in his hands while he attempted to look emotional.

"Yes, I'm here. Now would you please tell me why you forced me from Africa." Getting the letter in the mail from the President of Ghana telling me that I was basically being forced from the country, practically had the name "HADDOCK" written all over it. Of course the letter also said I could come back to the country whenever I wanted to, but that it was essential for me to go back to America right then and there. I went to go plop on the white couch but my parents both ran over to make me stop, "What is it?"

"You've had a long flight," my father said.

"Yes, and we know you haven't had a change in clothes in a long while," my mom tried to finish.

"Or even a proper bath," my father muttered.

"So if you go to your room, you will find a change of clothes and some essentials," before my mother even finished the sentence I was walking up to the room.

I don't even know how long I was in the shower but I couldn't miss the unmistakable handwriting of my mother on a sign that said, "SHAVE." With a grand sigh, I did as I was told. My hands washed my hair several times feeling fresh and clean for the first time in a long time. I missed the soft sensation of clean skin. As I was basking in the feeling, the crashing thought that people from Ghana could never feel this overwhelmed me. I shook it off the thought before heading out of the shower and to the closet that was stocked with new clothes. All of them were tight showy dresses that made me gag. I settled on a dull pink colored dress that hit my mid thigh and I was thankful for taking my mother's advice by shaving. The back of the dress bothered me to no end because it had all sorts of straps that showed my whole back.

I hated it.

The only shoes that were available to me were high heels. I felt like I was betraying myself by succumbing to the luxury's of being a billionaire's daughter. Well that is if you call heels and dresses "luxury." I wanted to change back into my own clothes and call it good but, the sound of my mom calling my name told me I didn't have time. Pulling my hair into a high ponytail, I went downstairs to where my parents were drinking wine and lounging on the couch.

"Oh yes, that's much better!" my mother exclaimed. My father agreed.

"Down to business. Why am I here?" I sank into the white love seat and ignored the urge to spread my legs and prop them on the cushions.

"Well it's the matter of... Your sister Mila has gotten a bit..." my mother was having trouble putting together a proper sentence.

"Use your words," I teased.

"Your sister has gotten spoiled." My father said blatantly.

"Calvin!" My mom smacked him.

"It's true!"

"And I wonder how she got that way?" I accused them.

"Well we raised you the same way we raised her and you turned out perfectly well except for the bit about you moving." my mother said.

"Moving to Africa is what changed me mom!" I stood up and threw my hands in the air, "It made me see how different things are for people who don't have what we have!"

"And that's why you waste our money?" my father said with venom in his tone.

"Waste?!" I shouted in disbelief, "That money has saved thousands of children's lives by giving them vaccines!" He looked like he was going to say something else but I just shook my head, "If only you could see what I saw everyday I was there." My fingers pinched the bridge of my nose as flashes of sick kids and adults filled my mind. Seeing people like that absolutely broke me. Hell, seeing people like that made me wish I could take their place so they would no longer suffer.

"We'll make you a deal...?" my mother's statement resonated as a question. With a shake of my head to clear my mind, I looked up at her. There, underneath her mask that was held up in the presence of my father, I could see a flash of my old mother. That familiar twinkle in her eye that told me she had a plan.

"And what is that?" I questioned.

"Ira," my father warned. Although my mom's plans were always wonderful to me, my father wasn't such a big fan of them.

"If you help us with Mila... then you can take us to where you were living so we can see." She finally said.

"IRA," my father roared in protest.

"Done," I nodded, "Both of you must come, Mila too." If I had any chance of making my family act like normal human beings instead of self-centered prats, then I'm in.

"Alright," she agreed.

"I am head of this house hold and I say --" My father went to stand up.

"Calvin calm down, you can spare a week. Besides, it's only if she changes Mila," the challenging tone was evident in my mother's words and I raised my eyebrows.

"I can do it."

"Just don't get distracted." she said.

"Me? Distracted? Please, mother you take me for the wrong sort of gal," I laughed.



"A what?"

"A welcome home party!" My mom squeaked.

"But I don't want any sort of welco--"

"The guests should be arriving soon," my father checked his wrist watch, "Where is Mila?" he creased his eyebrows.

Just then the door, flung open and revealed my dark haired sister. She had glossy curls that were shaped in perfection. Her clothes were all designer, no doubt. A white smile crept onto her impeccably clear face. She tripped over her platformed heels and fell into my arms, before looking up at me "Julia!!" Her face wrinkled in confusion, "It's been what, three years?"

"Try seven, sis," I groaned to get her to her feet.

"Seven?" she looked confused as she pouted her bottom lip that was colored in bright red.

The ding dong of the doorbell rang and my parents started to get frazzled, "Take her upstairs! Get her dressed, we don't want guests seeing her like this!" As I looked between my parents and my sister, I realized this wasn't the first time my sister has come home tipsy. What the hell happened when I left?

Swinging Mila's arm over my shoulder, I hauled her up the stairs and into her room. The interior was a vomit worthy shade of pink, red and purple, "You do know Valentine's day was a few months ago right?" I joked, Mila moaned in response. "Hey, Mila are you umm... drunk?" I asked my 18 year old sister.

"What's it to you?" she coughed.

"Oh my God, Mila you're underage that why!" I looked at her with wide eyes. I mean sure, I had my first alcoholic drink at 14 but that was just a glass of wine at a dinner party. It was obvious Mila had more than just a glass.

"So? I've come home drunk before," before she could say more, she ran to the trash can to empty her stomach out. A twinge of sympathy hit me as her body rejected the alcohol. All I could do was hold her hair back and rub circles on her back.

"Come on, you. We have a party to go to." I said as I took her to her private bathroom.

"I don't want to go," she whined when I wiped her mouth with a cloth and handed her her toothbrush.

"That makes two of us," I smirked. For the next thirty minutes I was putting her hair up into a nice braided up-do that I had learned from the mothers back in the village I was staying at. The look really suited Mila. She didn't talk much which left me to yap, "Oh and then this one time we had celebrities come to the village to cheer up the children. It was really cool to see people who had money like we do sharing their time to be there."

"What are you doing?" she asked suddenly.

"I'm attempting to make your make up look natural."

"No, I mean what are you doing here, back in New York?" she looked at me through the mirror.

Caught.

I had to lie. My teeth came over my lip and I bit it. Her eyes burned holes onto my face. I just knew if she found out the real reason, Mila would be very very angry. I simply can't handle anger with people. I mean what do you do in a situation like that? I sort of end up either yelling back saying terrible things that I would later regret or I would curl up in a fetal position. Take your pick.

"Julie?" Mila brought me back by using my childhood name. It was a name only she used with me. I'm sure my mom would have came up with a nickname for me if my father hadn't always been around. So this name really hit my heart hard.

"Right, sorry. I guess I figured it was time to come back. I mean it's been so long and... I ... I missed you Mila." The last part wasn't a lie. I did miss my family, no matter how annoying and self-absorbed they can be. I missed that comfortable atmosphere when I used to be 10 and when Mila was only 5. That was back when father would set aside time for us. Family nights is what they were. The memory was so dim that it surprised me when I remembered it.

"Well I didn't miss you."

"What?" I looked wide eyed at her.

"Maybe just a little bit but... you left me, Julie. I was only 11. You know, I remember the day you left." She laughed humorlessly as she walked and shoved her feet in a pair of heels. "I didn't want you to go but you said you were only going to be gone for a week." I watched her as she slipped on a scandalous white dress and zipped the side. She turned her head back as her eyes met mine, "That was the longest week of my fucking life," she finished in a monotone. With that, she strutted to the door and disappeared. Suddenly the thought of changing my sister became and actual challenge.

"Dammit," I sighed. My legs carried me out of her room and into the long, dim hallway that was above all the guests. I could hear them chatter and I was glad they couldn't see me up here. My eyes peered over the banister and looked down at the crowd. Our whole house was packed full of rich millionaires and billionaires as they all shuffled on the marble floor. My mom spotted me and waved me down. With a huff, I tried to look elegant walking down the stairs. People clapped and looked happy to see me but I knew they were only here to talk stocks with my father. I sort of lost count of how many hands I shook, everyone looked the same. I knew my smile was fake but then again, so was theirs.

"We'd like to welcome back our daughter, Julia from her return from Eastern Africa." My father boomed.

I snapped my head to him and glared before mouthing, "West."

"I'm sorry, I meant from Western Africa." he continued on saying how proud he was that I had returned and blah blah blah I wasn't about to listen to this bullshit for another minute. I made my way through the crowd, back upstairs and walked down the long hallway that led onto the balcony. I could practically feel the confused stares as I went away. The night was a little chilly but I didn't mind.

I sighed before leaning on the banister.

It was actually peaceful for about two seconds but that was before I heard a cough. My head spun to the direction of the sound. A dark figure appeared not three feet from me, "Sorry, but I was here first," the deep voice rumbled.

"Excuse me?" I replied, shocked.

"I was here first."

"Were you?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I was. If you would be so kind as to leave, then that would be completely wonderful," the figure came closer until I could finally see him in the moonlight. True, he was gorgeous. But I've seen too many guys like him. His hair was dark, but I couldn't quite tell the exactly color because of how dark it was. On another note, I couldn't see his eyes which made me uncomfortable. Reading people based on their eyes was a talent I prided myself on. As of now, he irritated me because I couldn't take in his appearance fully. All I could tell is that he had to be another half a foot taller than me. Hell, he could easily throw me off my own balcony.

"Sorry, bud." I finally answered him, "But no can do, I like it up here."

"Do you know who you are talking to?" he hissed, taking a dangerously close step towards me.

"Do you?" I asked.

"Uh," his eyebrows knit together.

"Well, then I guess you better realize who you are talking to before you bring out the big guns," I patted his arms as I brushed past him. If the view was really important to him, he could have it. I wasn't about to argue over a balcony that I could come back later to see.

The hallway brought little light but it also brought warmth, to which I was grateful for.

"Wait!" The same voice called. I turned and could see the guy standing at the doorway to the balcony, "My name's Alec Barnett," I could faintly see him grin like I should know his name.

"And?" I smirked playfully. I had truly missed being rude to people who thought they were the big cheese.

"Well what's your name?" he asked.

"My business." I started walking away but the sound of the pattering of feet made me turn my head to the figure next to me.

"'My Business' I don't think I've ever heard that name before."

I actually laughed, "Oh if you think you're going to get my name then you are grievously wronged."

"Oh my, bringing out the vocabulary," he chuckled.

I turned around and started walking backwards as I spoke, "Those aren't quite large words. And it's the perks of graduating at 16." I shrugged before turning around just in time to walk down the stairs with the guy trailing behind me. Alex, was his name? Alex Barnacle? Oh, no it was Alec. Alec Barnacle.

"16? Wow, you must be a genius!" he said with sarcasm dripping in his voice.

"If you qualify general education of the American society as 'genius'... then yes, I suppose I am a genius," I grinned before turning around to Alec who was laughing with a shinning smile. We had reached the bottom of the stairs now, but the light was much brighter here.

His hair was a golden brown that was gracefully tousled as it shimmered in the light. His stylist probably perfected it to look flawlessly messy. Now, I'm not all that big of a fan of mustaches but his upper lip looked rough, like he had simply forgotten to shave. It was pretty well... yeah, I admit that it was hot. Even his sharp jaw had gruff that lined the sides of his face. He looked incredibly dapper in a suit and tie. The tie was loose and the top two buttons were undone so I could see his neck muscles when he swallowed. My eyes trailed to his, which were finally revealed. They were a soft hazel color that almost crossed into a green shade. I couldn't stop staring into them. The color had been previously unknown to me before now. They were lovely to say the least but underneath the soft exterior of his irises, I could sense an underlying motif that made me pull back from my friendly act.

In a split second, I didn't trust this Alec guy anymore.

"Well, I must be off." I tried to turn but his long rough fingers grabbed my arm with a soft contrast. He spun me around so I was facing him.

"I never caught your name," he smirked while his eyebrow lifted. I could see him trying to hold back a smile.

"I never threw it," I shrugged off his touch before walking away from him.