“They’re not hobbies. And I don’t want those things for me, Mama,” I say, rushing to her side as she adjusts her bouquet. “At least not now. I want to focus on my career and become a designer.”
She shakes her head and waves her hand dismissively. “Work over marriage?” The words drip with incredulity “No, you’ll find some non-profit work to do that will make your husband look good, just as I did for your father. You’ll see it’s a rewarding life, just as I did.”
I doubt that, so I try again. “I don’t—”
“Now, we’re having a guest tonight; go and help your sisters set the table.”
“I really want this, Mama,” I tell her, unwilling to back down now that I have her attention. “I already have a job lined up. And as for marriage, I’m not in any rush. After I establish my career, maybe I’ll find the right man, someone I can actually love.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
My head whips around when my father’s deep voice cuts through the room. I turn to find him standing by the entrance, watching us with those sharp brown eyes. “P- Papa, how long have you been standing there?"
“Long enough to hear your foolish thoughts. No daughter of mine is going to work at some middling design house," he says, stepping into the room. He’s a large man with a thin mustache and a mop of white hair combed back. “Your mother is right. Now is the time to think about starting a family.”
“But I’m not even dating anyone. I haven’t met the man I want to marry!”
“You’re about to,” he says, glancing at his elegant watch. “In fact, he should be arriving any moment now.”
My brows furrow as I search his face. “What? Who is coming?” I ask, my eyes darting from his face to Mom’s as horror grips me, twisting my insides. Surely, they don’t mean— “Mama, what is he talking about?”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,cara,” she says with a sigh. “Your father and I thought it was best for you to get married now that you’ve finally finished school. We’ve chosen a husband for you.”
“A husband?” I gasp, choking on air. Shock floods my system and the word—husband—hangs in the air like a death sentence. My ears start ringing as I stare at my parents, waiting for them to tell me they don’t actually mean to sell me off to some stranger, like it’s the Dark Ages. “But I don’t want a husband! Not like this!”
“Your father and I had an arranged marriage and look at the lovely marriage we’ve had and the beautiful family we’ve created.”
Lovely marriage?
I almost laugh. Twenty-five years of marriage and four daughters later but not a single word of affection shared between them. I’ve never seen my father smile at my mother the way he does at his business associates. She lights up more around her friends than she does around him. He’s never bought her flowers outside of their anniversary. They’re practically strangers living in the same house. They don’t even share the same bed or sleep in the same room—haven’t for years. And they want that for me?
They act more like business partners than lovers. As a child, I was confused why I’d never seen my parents kiss or profess their love to each other and was often told that there were more important things to a relationship than love. As Igrew older, I realized that what my mother meant was social status and wealth.
The very things I want to leave behind.
I don’t need to be tied to some wealthy man with the same cold, empty marriage my parents have, but before I can voice my thoughts, the doorbell rings. My father's face lights up with that ruthless gleam he gets every time he's about to close a business deal. And that thought sends lead settling into my stomach.
A business deal. That’s what this is—what I have been reduced to.
“It seems my future son-in-law has arrived,” he says, pinning me with a look that orders me to behave. Not that he needs to remind me.
The truth is, I don’t need the warning. I’ve had manners drilled into my head from when I was a little girl. I couldn’t cause a scene even if I wanted to. A proper and obedient little doll, they’ve carved me into. But I refuse to accept this. To marry some strange man. As soon as he leaves, I’m going to pack my bags and stay with a friend until my apartment is ready. They can’t force me down that aisle.
I brush the wrinkles from my dress and fold my hands in front of me at the sound of footsteps. The house butler, Thornton, appears first. “Mr. and Mrs. Marino, your guest has arrived.”
Then he moves aside, and the air in the room shifts as a tall, dark figure steps in.
The man fills the doorway, a dark silhouette against the light, and the first thing that slams into me is the sheer force of his presence. He’s tall, impossibly so, and the black suit he wears fits him like a second skin, clinging to the sculpted linesof his broad shoulders and chest. The black shirt beneath is unbuttoned at the collar just enough to hint at the ink peeking from underneath.
His hair is jet black, slicked back perfectly, and contrasts beautifully with his olive complexion, drawing all the focus to that face. All granite and steel.
Wait. I know that face!
I've seen it on gossip sites and at the events my parents dragged me to before I left for college in Switzerland. No, I definitely know that handsome face—I’ve just never seen it up close. Not like this.
His eyes… they’re almost black, intense and they seem to pierce right through me. I look away, my heart pounding as I focus on anything but that face and those eyes. He has a shadow of beard, perfectly trimmed, that frames a strong jawline.
He’s beautiful…
