I am facing down the barrel of a gun.
The trepidation is a ball lodged in my throat.
Three steady stares latched onto me, and all I can do is bite down on the inside of my cheeks as my mind scrambles.
Once I speak this truth, there is no going back.
No matter the direction it takes, there is no return trip to the way it was before.
I fumble it, “Are you really going to sell me off to him?”
Father is still for only a heartbeat before he jerks with a disbelieving scoff. The disdain burns too dark in his eyes before he steals them from me, turning his cheek.
My fingers untangle before my hands slide down the thighs of my trousers, an anxious reaction, fingernails cutting into the cotton threads, as though it’ll ground me.
Mother’s exhale comes soft from her nostrils, and her gaze flickers to Oliver beside me.
Out the corner of my eye, he is shaking his head only slightly, the obviousness of his disbelief flooding the car.
Ok, I definitely didn’t get off to a great start.
My nerves got the better of me, my scrambled brain worked against me, my mouth just pushed words out before they were ready.
Sell me off…
No, not the best wording.
I shove my fumble aside and, chest swelling with a deep inhale, try again. “Am I engaged to Dray?”
Father’s cheek is still turned to me.
His gaze simmers in the dimness of the car, but I see the glisten of leafy hues, the aim of his stare out the window at the passing scenery.
“Father,” I add, soft, “I can’t marry him.”
His profile is sharp, tension bound in his jaw. Slowly, he turns his stare on me—and the fury in it has my own gaze swerving down to my hands clenched on my knees.
My throat bobs.
“Dray…” I start, breathy. “He is…”
Tension has Oliver as stiff as a garden statue on the seat. The burn of his gaze on my face is scalding enough to flush my cheeks, and I can read that stare without even looking directly at it.
He’s telling me to shut the fuck up.
He knows where this is going.
But I have Father’s attention, a stare hooked onto me, one I can’t bring myself to look at.
I watch my fingernails digging into the cotton of my trousers. “Dray is different at Bluestone.”
If the outside noise invaded the car through a cracked window or an open door, none of them would be able to hear my quiet murmur, a voice too subdued, because I know,I knowI shouldn’t be saying any of this.
What other choice do I have?
Accept my fate without a fight and submit to Dray for the rest of my fucking life?
The thought of it rolls through me, a wave of sick.
