This was my doing. I had the opportunity to flee and start over, and I should have taken it.
“You should shower and get dressed. He’ll be here for dinner, and you never know, you might actually like him,” Vance says.
He’s good with people and knows how to win the hearts of many ladies.
But he can’t convince me to play ball in his court.
“Here’s an idea. Why don’t you go in my place?” I quip.
“Snarky isn’t your color,” Vance shoots back.
I give a mild shrug and stretch my arms. “I’m not going to dinner with some guy Papa sets me up with.” There is no chance that he can convince me. Besides, I’m not hungry. I haven’t been in quite some time.
The thought of food and having to play nice with some male stranger rattles me and turns my stomach.
Or maybe it’s the pregnancy or that stupid fever Dante told me I that I was infected with.
Either way, any second, I’m about to be sick.
I leap from the bed and tear across the room for the connecting bathroom. I slam the door shut, hit the fan, and lift the lid.
I pray Vance doesn’t follow me or ask questions. He can believe it’s food poisoning or nerves. I don’t give a shit which he falls for, but I’m not entertaining one of Papa’s clients.
“You can’t hide in there forever,” Vance shouts at me and knocks on the door.
“Yes, I can. Go away!”
Quietness follows for several drawn-out minutes. Maybe he hears me vomiting, or he decided to give me some space. I doubt he will cut me any slack.
He’ll be back.
I finish in the bathroom and stumble back to bed, lying above the freshly made covers. The sheets are tucked tight, and I yank the comforter hard to climb beneath it. I don’t care that the curtains are open and it’s the middle of the afternoon.
I’m exhausted.
I doze off. I’m not sure for how long when I hear the heavy lead of shoes stomping a path up the stairs, down the hall, and toward my room.
It’s loud enough to wake the dead.
Fuck.
Papa rips my door open, the handle breaking off in his hand.
It didn’t take much honestly. The screws were loose, and the handle was cheap and needed repair.
“I don’t care whether you want to join Romano for dinner or not. You will accompany him and be dressed appropriately. If you can’t handle that, I will have Vance bathe you, dress you, and I will escort you as a chaperone.”
“You won’t send Vance as my chaperone?”
Papa’s answer is dry. There’s no smile or glint in his eye. “No,” he says.
I’ve disappointed him. It’s obvious, and I wouldn’t care except if I’m going to stay here, then I need to find a way to convince him to let me be.
Do I tell him about the baby? Is that my ticket to escape his madness? He wants to marry me off.
Why? For his empire or some other reason that I can’t even comprehend?
His ideas have always been antiquated. I never thought much of it until I went away to college. It’s too bad I came home. That was the biggest mistake of my life.