His face darkens like the moon shadowed by clouds. “You were raised with this expectation. Don’t pretend this is a surprise.” I may get my chestnut-colored hair and height from him, but the cold, thin set of his lips and sense of barely simmering disgust is thankfully, something I didn’t inherit.
“But that was… this is…” I’m not sure what’s coming out of my mouth, nothing useful, I’m sure.
The threat of an arranged marriage had always been a thing that hovered in the back of my mind like a bad smell, but if I didn’t let my thoughts wander in that direction, I could endure the stench. But now the whole steaming mess has been dumped on the floor of this pretty little dressing room.
“I’m not doing this, Dad. This is insane.”
He jerks his head toward the door, his glare never leaving me. “Clear the room.”
Mom bolts up, pulling Lucia with her. Nana takes her time.
“This is a shock, son,” she says sternly. “I told you that throwing her into this was a mistake.”
He doesn’t look at her. “Mother, leave now or I’ll assume you want me to send you to our beach house in the Cayman Islands for an indefinite stay.”
“Actually, that’s sounding very promising,” I blurt out. “Can I take the offer?”
“You can shut the fuck up.” Dad hisses at me. Like an old-school villain, hehissesat me. “Mother, I will have you removed if you do not leave.”
Her glare at him turns into a sympathetic smile for me as she walks out.
The door is barely shut before he shoots across the room and slaps me. My head jerks violently to the left and the sting spreads, burning under my skin.
“You seem to be under the illusion that you have a choice.” He’s speaking coldly, precisely, which means he’s moments away from pulling out his gun and shooting me. “You do not. You will marry Mason MacTavish. You will obey him and be a dutiful wife.”
Obey? Dutiful?
“But your first duty is always to your family, yourrealfamily,” he emphasizes. “After you’re married and settled in your new home, I will tell you what information I require and you will get it for me.”
“That’s the first time you’ve ever hit me,” I say stupidly, still shocked. My mother never spanked us; she was against corporal punishment. My father didn’t pay enough attention to Lucia and me to be interested in discipline.
He slaps my other cheek. “There, now it matches. You’re a blushing bride.” My father’s not broad and muscular, he’s more like a snake. When he strikes, it’s painful and usually fatal. He eyes my face dispassionately. “It won’t swell. I held back. But I’m happy to continue if you don’t shut your disrespectful mouth.”
“Damaging the goods before the wedding?” My laugh is high and a little hysterical. “What if he wants to return me?”
“I’m not talking about strikingyou.”I don’t recognize this man. He’s not my father, as lousy as he was at that. This is the man that I suspect his enemies see before he kills them. “Your mother, however. She deserves discipline for raising such an ungrateful little bitch.”
“Don’t you touch Mom or I swear-”
“You’ll do what?” Dad steps forward, enjoying it when I stumble back. “You’ll do exactly what you’re told. You love your sister, don’t you? I could always switch her out for you. I doubt the MacTavishes care.”
“She’ssixteen!”
“They’re savages, it wouldn’t matter to them,” he says, lifting the wedding dress from the hook on the door and throwing it on the couch in front of me. “You wouldn’t believe the stories about how they handle their marriages. Put on your dress. Cover your cheek with some makeup. One of my daughters is walking down the aisle in-” He checks his Hublot watch, “-in thirty minutes. If you refuse, I’ll find something else to do with you and Lucia will be a child bride.”
He looks at me with distaste. “At least she wouldn’t look like a hippo in the wedding dress.”
I’ve never once crossed my father when he told me to do something. Butthis?Marrying a stranger? While I’m not afraidof getting hit again, he knows I’ll do anything to keep Mom and Lucia safe.
For a moment, my hate for him is choking me, a golf ball sized lump of rage in my throat that I can’t quite swallow.
“Sam…” I say blankly, trying to make all my brain cells get back together from wherever they’ve been scattered. “He’ll walk me down the aisle. Not you.”
He’s thinking about it, if that would lookproperandappropriate.“Very well. You now have twenty-seven minutes.”
My knees fail and I sit heavily on the little couch and also on part of the dress. Who cares if it’s wrinkled? I may as well get married in my shorts and t-shirt. He’s saying something to the guards in the hallway while Mom and Lucia file back in. Nana’s next, tipping my head up and looking at the red marks on my face.
“My son is a lot of things, but I didn’t think he would hit his own child,” she says angrily.
