Page 3 of The Betrothal

“Isabelle, my dear.” Father drew my eyes, knowing full well that a lecture from my mother would only have the opposite of its desired effect. “It is appropriate. You can do the rounds briefly, and Teddy will be there. Consider it a good opportunity to catch up before the nuptials.” My stomach roiled. “And, as a treat, I have organised a little gift.”

Ester turned to him, outrage ready on her painted lips, her beautiful face screwed up in jealousy.

“Your father has agreed to a girls’ trip before your wedding. Your sister and I, and a couple of your friends, as he sees fit.” Mother beamed at him.

I raised an eyebrow. I was too direct with my father, but I considered it the price he had to pay for what his office stood for.

“Sophie?” I asked, already knowing Mother would flip. She hated my friend, especially because Sophie was another beautiful loophole in our society.

Sophie was married, but she was also the exception to the rule. She and her wife coloured inside the lines, and therefore there was nothing the government could do about her lifestyle and the freedom it afforded her. Unless they chose to expand their sphere of control from maternity to sexuality, and that was a step too far politically, damned right too.

But nonetheless, Mother hated the flexibility that Sophie’s life showed still existed within the system. A hatred that both she and her youngest daughter had in common. They conformed, believing it made them special, but it disgusted me. And the conflicting emotions my family brought out over such a short lunch date made my skin prickle.

“No, Sophie.” Mother pretended she had a say.

Barely a beat passed as I held my breath – I couldn’t do a weekend alone with my mother and sister.

“Fine.” Father shrugged, knowing he couldn’t really object to her on any grounds without my parroting his policies back at him. I liked to think he secretly enjoyed the opportunity to spar with me, although he was extremely selective about when he did. But for today it was one-nil, Isabelle. “I’ll have my assistant share the details with you and authority of movement.”

The smile lifting my lips was brief. Like a gust of wind through a fledgling fire, my small spark of joy was snuffed out because the realisation settled over me. This was little victory in a lifetime of lost freedom.

My reality was that I had no choice in my flat, nor in my birthday party, nor in any of my future. But worst of all those losses was the fact that I had no say in the upcoming downgrade of my life to the enforced family plan.

I had three weeks to the day until my beautiful but cruel fiancé would be installed, like a virus, into my life.

CHAPTER TWO

ISABELLE

Boxes filled the doorway of my flat. It wasn’t large, a one-bedroom with an open-plan lounge, kitchen, and study area. But it was mine, and I was losing it.

I dropped the next box on top of the pile, it landed heavily – the books and manuscripts inside making it heavier than I intended – the box beneath crumpled slightly under the weight.

“Take your anger out on this.” Sophie reached around me, sliding a small glass into my hand. Condensation dampened the outside where I held it, the tumbler cold from the ice.

Sipping the vodka, I turned, leaning back against the offending packing boxes. “I’m totally screwed, Soph.”

Sophie clinked her glass to mine and threw back her drink. She wasn’t a huge fan of vodka, so when she did drink it, she did it as if she were drinking to forget.

“It’s not ideal,” she sighed.

“Thanks, helpful.” My frustration lay heavy over the room, stifling the atmosphere, but Sophie didn’t notice. She was a pragmatist, my bubbling anger not impacting or regulating her words. “Anything helpful to add, maybe some vague positive upside?”

Sophie shook her head. “Iz, you want to know what I think. I’ve told you before, but I’ll repeat myself. For you.”

Nodding, I could predict each word before she started.

“Your best bet is to give him what he wants quickly.” My mouth moved with her next question. “Twins don’t run in the family, do they?”

“Surprisingly, since you last asked, the answer remains no.”

“Then my view, surprisingly, is to punch out a couple of kids as fast as you can. You have absolutely no alternative. The wedding is set.” I nodded. “It has been for how long?”

I grimaced. “Fifteen years.”

“Jesus, Izzy. I still can’t get over how long you’ve dodged this bullet.” I might not actively worship anymore, but the curse still made me scrunch up my face in objection.

“Just lucky, I guess.” My sarcasm went unnoticed.