AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I cross the room, searching for more snacks. Oh, goodie. There are my candy-coated chocolates. Guaranteed not to melt in your hand. Perfect for road trips.
Or, in this case, solo runs through the Connecticut woods.
I find a few more essentials as I continue my monologue. “Yes, audience, that’s right. Our Kate Paisley Bachman is a never-been-kissed virgin. The only daughter of Paige and Bronson Bachman, she’s been hidden away behind the walls of the Hamlet. Mafia princess, you say? Yeah, sorta, but not in the way you’re thinking, folks.”
Our family feeds off corruption, stealing from the rich then redistributing the wealth to the poor through various non-profits we use to clean our dirty, stolen money. We live by our own code of ethics, we don’t run drugs, we work to stop human trafficking. We have strong political contacts all over the place.
Once you’re a Bachman, you’re a Bachman for life. My dad was the first of the children born into the family.
And I’m his only daughter.
“Though overprotected and sheltered, this hasn’t stopped our young yet very active bachelorette from having many interests, though of course, from the safety of her home. Playing basketball in the driveway with her older brothers, Thomas and Henry. Writing songs, singing said songs to herself in the shower, followed by hours of reading scandalous material. College, you ask? Paisley was accepted into NYU, but when her father insisted her ‘real’ college experience would come with five—that’s right, folks, five—personal bodyguards, our bachelorette, who hates any and all public attention, decided online education at home was better suited for her lifestyle.”
If I’m being honest with myself about college, I didn’t really want to leave our heavenly Hamlet anyway. I’m kinda a homebody. Everything and everyone I need are here.
“Starting online college at seventeen, she’s already got a bachelor’s degree in psychology, because even picture-perfect Bachmans have mental health issues.” I pause, a memory rushing up like a tidal wave in my chest. “Turns out we all do, don’t we?”
Even a young woman with beautiful clothes, all the designer toys, and every resource in the world can experience pain, heartache, that crushing sadness that makes you wonder if it’s worth going on…
I shake my head, blinking back the tears that threaten to come.
I can be a huge help to the family. They need an insider, someone they can trust, to counsel them. And that person needs to be educated, knowledgeable, and professional.
It needs to be me.
My next step in helping the family—well, after solidifying our connections through sacrificing myself into an arranged marriage—is pursuing my doctorate in psychology.
Which my husband-to-be must support.
The top thing on Paisley’s Demands, a lilac sheet of stationary I handed my father when he first started searching for my groom, was that I wanted a man who would encourage my further education. I will not have a man knocking me up and tying an apron around my waist.
If I am to take the name Russo, it will one day have the magic three letters PhD attached to it.
Number two on my list: support my desire to work, even if we would one day—waaaay in the future—have a family.
Kids are so on the backburner for me. My mother, having married into the family, wanted me to have a good work ethic so I’ve been a nanny for family members. I know what kind of chaos those little devils can cause. Especially in this family.
We’re taught to be obedient. Well-mannered. But maybe we’re a teensy bit spoiled.
Gummy bears, gummy worms, cookies. Check, check, check. Now for the rest. Tight black biker shorts, black sports bra, hairbrush, spray, and hair ties to secure my long hair back for safety. Nothing loose. Nothing to get tangled. That should do it. I stare inside the overstuffed bag, taking stock of the contents.
Hmm… it’s a little too full. I pull the gummy worms out. I’ll carry them in my hand. A sugar rush never hurt anyone.
That’s better.
I zip the backpack up, throwing it over my shoulder as I hear the crunch of tires over the driveway. A cold chill trips up my spine at the sound. Sneaking out this early is tricky.
Perching a massive pair of Givenchy black-framed sunglasses on my head, I tiptoe to the window, my voice lowering to a raspy whisper. “Ladies and gentlemen, the bodyguard who has been chosen to escort our young bride-to-be on her whirlwind travel tour, concluding with her meeting her groom face-to-face for the first time… has now arrived.” I stare down at the stone drive, needing one glance before I go.
I slip the glasses over my eyes, peering. The driver’s side door of the sleek black Mercedes opens. I wait for the massive, muscular man to come into view. Paolo Bachman. One of the newer recruits in the family.
Everyone calls him Savage.
I have no idea why.
Nor do I care.
Not much, at least. The man, by nature, is intriguing. It’s hard to not wonder about men like him.
