But to me… he’s just my dad.
The same man who taught me to ride a bike.
The man who made Sunday pasta from scratch and sang old love songs off-key while stirring the sauce.
While I’ve seen a lot of his men being violent toward their wives, girlfriends, and children, he never has.
He loved our mother. He loved us.
He would never hurt us. And he would never let anyone else try.
Knowing what this means, I open the dossier.
Each man is undeniably handsome. The kind of polished, powerful, and attractive that comes with a legacy and curated bloodline. They all come from families my father knows and trusts. Good stock, as he’d say.
Beyond their appearances, they’re all accomplished, too.
A hedge fund manager in New York.
A consultant here in Chicago.
A movie producer in Los Angeles.
A CIA agent.
An architect.
I look up at him, a little dazed.
“Did I do good?” he asks.
I lift a shoulder. “I mean… on paper, they seem okay.”
“Okay?” he snorts. “They’re all very ambitious. Smart. I know you’d want someone smart.”
It sort of melts my heart a tiny bit, knowing he picked wise men for his smart daughter. That’s cute.
“Thanks for not picking a bunch of goons,” I say.
He grins. “I would never let you marry a goon. You’re too good for that. Besides, we need intelligent children in this family. Marry a goon, and it’s fifty-fifty you get a dumb baby. We already have your dumb brothers. We need more smart kids like you.”
I roll my eyes and laugh, but inside, my stomach clenches.
I’m twenty-two. I don’t really want to get married, let alone have babies. At least not anytime soon, and definitely not to someone I don’t love.
And I don’t know these men. How could I ever really get to know them under such pretenses?
I know they want to impress me. They want to impress my father. This is ridiculous; I can’t believe Maria fell in love under these circumstances.
Still, I can tell my dad really thought about what I might like in a man, which is weird, but whatever. I agree to at least have a conversation with each of them.
“Great!” he exclaims, literally clapping his hands. “One or two of them will be here for the Commission meeting, so that will work out wonderfully.”
I can’t really muster any genuine enthusiasm, so I just make a noise that I hope he thinks is positive.
“You mentioned your second,” he says, changing the subject. “Do you want me to pull some people together that you can interview?”
I look up sharply, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”
