I grunt, "How old?"
Finally looking up from the folder, he pierces me with his grey eyes, "Twenty-three."
Twenty-three? She's practically a teenager compared to my thirty-six years. All I can picture in my mind is some littlespoiled Daddy's girl whining about her hair and nails with big sunglasses on her face, while she blows a big pink bubble out of her mouth, probably still chewing Hubba Bubba for fucks sake.
My father clears his throat and looks down at a few papers in his hand.
"She's young, yes, but she's a good girl." He flips more paper over. "Smart, and she finished at the top of her class in high school. Graduated early by a year. She has a Bachelor of Arts in History of Art and Design. She's a painter. I guess she studied classic painters."
He looks up at me again, a grin on his face. I'm slightly confused why he appears to be more enthusiastic about her than I will ever be. It's as if he's trying to sell me on her. Why I have no idea. If my father says marry her, then that's what I have to do, no need to sugarcoat the sale.
"She's imaginative and will be beneficial to you Alex. She might even give you some much-needed culture, if that's even possible, that your mother and I were unable to instill in you."
I take the red folder from him and begin to flip through it as if I were genuinely reading it.
Not!
I don't give two shits about some art junkie who will soon be living in my house.
Oh, and I have culture, father. Just not the kind he thinks.
Mine comes from the dark, sordid places ‘Good Girls' never see. The kind of places creatures like me come to be free of the narrow-minded mainstream, of the endless variety of Vanilla piled on their plates by society's rules.
My culture has rules, strict rules.
All the kinds I like, because I enjoy breaking pretty little things that like to be broken. My palms itch and I just want to leave toget started on my plans for tonight. After this meeting, I'll need it. I flip the paper back to the front, scanning to find the name of my future wife.
Isabella Gallo. Christ, she even sounds like an innocent little art freak.
I can't decide which is worse: a daddy's girl popping bubble gum, or a cultivated art geek so straight-laced, the idea of a hard cock will scare her to death.
Maybe the bubble gum girl would be better; it would be easier to train that one. After reading about the only vanilla option of sex for the rest of my life, I'm definitely heading to the club tonight.
My cock jerks at the thought, adjusting myself as I hand the folder back to my father after feigning interest in reading the status of my prospective wife. He yanks it out of my hand.
"Alexander, I know this isn't a surprise. You knew this day would come. I hope that you will try to make this work as best as the two of you can. It is never easy tying oneself to a stranger. I was blessed with your mother. She makes it easy to love."
Love? Is he serious?
I don't fucken think so. I fuck, I dominate! I don't love.
He must read something on my face because the corner of his mouth lifts into a cocky smirk.
"I was like you. I never wanted a wife. My life was the family. I had all I could ever want. Freedom." He spreads his hand wide, implicating the wealth and stature he now has. "A wife to me felt like a weight would be strung around my neck. But your grandfather made the deal. Your Mother and I were married, as is the way."
He claps his hands once again and settles them on the red folder of death.
"And from the first moment, I saw her." He breathes out a slowbreath and settles back in his big leather wingback chair. "My whole body knew she was it. She was what I was looking for in this dark, fucked up world we live in. Oh, it wasn't easy. It took my heart time to catch up with my body. Like anyone would imagine, we faced some challenges. She, however, provided the calm amidst my storms. She is still."
He leans forward, hands on his desk, and chuckles a bit.
"Without her, I don't know how long I would have lasted out there. I was brash and bull-headed and acted without thought. She taught me patience, taught me that sometimes it's better to look before you leap. All the things my father tried to tell me, but I was too bull-headed to listen. All I'm asking is for you to try Alexander." His tone turns serious. "In our line of work, sometimes there are no choices, just decisions that will tip the balance." He leans back again in his chair and looks me in the eye.
"Either for the good or the bad. You understand me, son? "
I just stare at him and I can feel the sweat soaking into my shirt, most likely making a small water stain on the back of my suit jacket. Like, what the hell am I supposed to say?
Fuck you! I like my life. Screw the rules and walk out.
