I straighten to my full height and cross my arms over my chest. I seriously can’t believe his line of thinking. “You’re forcing me to sacrifice five years of my life for a green card? Why don’t you marry him, then? It’s legal in this state, you know.”
At my taunting, a vein pops in the center of my father’s forehead. His eyes narrow and I can see him struggling to hold himself back.
“Think of it this way. You get the satisfaction of helping a foreigner in need.” And then the corners of his eyes crinkle as an odd smile crosses his face. “And I get a son-in-law who has connections to the Brunos. Not such a bad deal after all, is it?”
Ah. There it is. The Brunos. And at the mention of the familiar name, I realize once and for all: there’s no way I’m getting out of this. See, the Brunos are an old mob family—and my father has been known to tap into the Bank of Mob from time to time.
What’s left of my heart drops clear to my feet. I feel empty inside. Just so…tired. I nearly sink down in the chair behind me, but I force myself to keep my composure.
“So you owe them money.” It’s a statement that comes out of me completely deadpan, like air from a deflating tire.
Dad points a finger at me and his eyes narrow. Whatever he’s about to say never comes out, though, as my younger sister Frankie quietly walks into the room. She glances at Clayton as she passes him, giving him a wide berth, and heads toward me.
“What do you want?” Dad barks.
Frankie ignores him and motions me closer so she can whisper in my ear. “Livvie’s crying. I can’t make her stop.”
I close my eyes for just a moment, trying to find some strength. I have to. I have to be strong for my sisters.
Taking out my cell, I unlock it and open our youngest sister’s favorite app. It’s this horse game where the player can choose the breed of horse, the obstacles course, and even switch out the rider’s outfits. It’s a little mindless, but that’s kind of the point. Livvie needs a distraction. She’s currently riding that line between preadolescent and full-fledged teenager, and lately her emotions have been…a tad unpredictable.
It’s extra hard because even though Frankie and I are only a couple years apart, we’re very different—and I’m the one who’s been playing the mom role for as long as I can remember. Ever since our mother left and our dad devolved into a drinking, gambling piece of shit, I’ve taken care of my sisters. Frankie does her best, of course, but she doesn’t know how to handle Livvie the way I do. At the same time, it’s a lot of responsibility for me to take care of them both. A fresh wave of anxiety hits me as I remember that this marriage thing means I’ll soon be leaving them behind.
Handing my phone to Frankie, I say, “Let her play her game for a bit. I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”
Frankie nods, giving Clayton a serious once-over on her way out. I give him a once-over, too. He’s still hot. Too hot. Damn him.
He’s just standing there with his arms crossed, pulling that damn shirt tight across his delicious shoulders. He’s stoic, almost like he’s guarding the room, watching over me. Protecting me? The back of my neck tingles. I imagine those muscular arms wrapping around my father’s neck if he tried to threaten me. It’s a nice daydream, maybe because I’ve never had anybody come to my defense before. Sure, my sisters would try to protect me in a heartbeat, the same that I would for them. But this is different. This guy looks like the kind who’d split heads for me.
“Are we all done here, or did you want to voice your concerns to upper management?” Dad asks sarcastically.
“We’re done. For now,” I answer, spinning on my heel and storming for the door.
Clayton’s still standing there, his stony face betraying nothing.
“Wait for me outside, would you?” I say to him. “I want to talk to you. I just need a few minutes.”
Clayton nods and steps aside as I brush past him and make my way down the hall. I don’t go to Livvie right away, even though I want to—I’m sure she’ll be entertained at least temporarily by the game, and besides, Frankie needs to start stepping up now that I’m going to be out of the picture. Instead, I lock myself in the guest bathroom and lean against the door.
Fuck.I can feel my brain reaching a kind of uncomfortable acceptance of the situation I’m in. My dad’s gambling is out of control. It never gets better, it just gets worse and worse. I’ve seen the bank statements he leaves laying around. Seen the notices from the utility companies about discontinuing service if we don’t pay what’s past due. Noticed the dwindling groceries and basic supplies. We’re basically broke and sinking fast.
I wish Mom hadn’t left. I used to daydream about coming home from school one day and finding her here. Arms open and welcoming, falling to her knees in the front hall to wrap me up in the kind of perfect, reassuring hug I remember from when I was little. She’d tell me to pack a bag, get my sisters, and round up our dog Penelope. Then we’d all pile into Mom’s car and drive off into the sunset. Happily ever after.
What an idiot I was.
I need to get it together. If not for me, for my sisters. God, I still have to make sure their homework is done, pack their lunches for tomorrow, and get a few loads of laundry going. See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. There’s no way I can get married and leave my sisters here to fend for themselves. But maybe…maybe Clayton and I can come to some kind of agreement that would benefit all of us. Because if there’s a chance that a marriage to him could offer some protection, some stability and security for my sisters, then I owe it to them to explore the option.
The problem is, I don’t know Clayton. Atall. The longest boyfriend I ever had lasted a few months, but it ultimately ended because he was frustrated that I could never hang out with him outside of school—I had too much going on at home with Dad and my sisters and all my responsibilities. So yeah, my experience level with guys is basically zero. I’ve never had a fight with a man. I’ve never had to negotiate about housework or figure out how to handle money stuff or a budget. I’ve never had to make anyone dinner—at least not anybody with expectations beyond Kraft Mac and Cheese.
But…Ihavemanaged the family winery, overseen production and the growing season when my father’s been too drunk to do it himself. I’ve hired and fired vineyard employees. I’ve worked with an accountant to make sure things like taxes and payroll and basic bookkeeping were taken care of. And I’ve ordered the staff pizza more than once. I think if I can manage to keep a hundred-year-old winery producing salable wine and turning a profit, I can probably negotiate for a better situation for me and my sisters than what we’re in right now.
There are a lot of things I’ve wanted in my life that I’ve never had. And one of those things is protection. The other is love. Or at least something that looks like love.
So I guess that settles it.
I walk outside with my head held high. Clayton is waiting for me like I asked, casually leaning against his car, hands in his pockets as if he has all the time in the world. My footfalls sound loud on the gravel, and I realize I’m breathing heavily.
“Okay,” I say firmly. “I’ll entertain this whole arranged marriage thing. But I have a few stipulations.”
