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Chapter Eight
Willow
I seethe as I stare at the four walls around me. I have never felt more stuck in my life or more infuriated. Firstly, this is the twenty-first century, and I am not in some middle eastern country where these kinds of arrangements are still commonplace. Arranged marriages are outdated and plain abusive, if you ask me. But what angers me the most is the fact that my father has never wanted me. I was useless, a secret he had to push away to keep his real family from remembering his transgressions. Yet, suddenly, I am his only hope and expected to just jump in line like he is doing me a favor. If there is one thing being his non-existent daughter has taught me, it is that I don’t want any part of this mafia life.
I stand up and pace the floor, a little frustrated at the fact that this rich man has me in a tiny room in a townhome.
I go straight for the closet and run my fingers over the various fabrics of fancy clothes in there. Apparently, everything had already been prepared for me to be here despite the fact that I didn’t know I was being watched until last minute.
Even if I hate all of this, I can’t deny I would look sexy in some of the dresses I have been provided. I don’t feel guilty at all as I strip down and pull on one of the shimmery ones that comes only to my mid-thigh. It fits me like a glove.
I walk over to the small vanity in the room and find a small brush, running it through my hair and fixing all the knots.
My subconscious knows what I am up to long before I truly do. But with what they had done to me, locked me up like a prisoner basically under the watchful eye of this scheming, lying American guy, it was par for the course.
I finish off the look; makeup, heels, the whole thing. If these kinds of things are going to be placed in front of me, I might as well take advantage of them. Especially if I am stuck under his roof.
I sometimes used to wonder how his "real" children lived. I am no longer envious of them, but I deserve as much as they had.
I go and press my ear to the door that leads out into the main house. I can’t hear much, at least not from my father or Duncan. I hope that they had gone off to do business or maybe passed out. I don’t really care as long as they aren't paying as much attention to me as they had been.
I want out.
Not that I think I will get away with it for long. I doubt that he would let me just disappear; run away. And I don’t exactly have the means. All of my money is tied up in my pastry shop, which I don’t even know if it would be running without me right now. I don’t know what will become of it. But I need a break, and I need to show them that I am not so easy to control. It doesn’t matter what they want, I will continue to be difficult, getting my little victories. Maybe then, they will just get tired of me and find someone else. A distant cousin, a friend, I don’t really give a damn.
It feels a bit silly as I go to the window, moving the curtains out of the way, and slowly slide it open so it won’t alert anyone with a noise. It feels like something a teenager would be doing. Maybe it feels too normal too. After all, most people sneak out because they want to go to a party they shouldn't be at or something, or to see a boy. I am sneaking out because my mafia family is holding my hostage so I can marry some random asshole and take over the family criminal business.
Yeah, totally normal.
Finally, I get it open and breathe a sigh of relief as nothing has changed. The last thought I have before I climb out is that a place like this likely has cameras everywhere, and they will probably catch me that way. I just have to hope that they won’t figure out for a while where I’ve gone.
I luckily come out the side of the building, shutting the window almost all the way as not to get locked out if I am lucky enough not to get caught.
I am a bit spotty with my directions, but I know that an old friend of mine works at a pub nearby. Hopefully, he will be on his shift right now. I needed a good stiff drink and a distraction. Someone to talk to for that matter that isn’t wrapped up in guns, money, drugs, or women.
I finally get out of the line of fancy townhomes and out the gate, getting my bearing just in time for the drizzle to begin. There were only two types of weather here as far as I remembered from the sporadic times I had been here, and those were stifling hot, or raining. It was just something you had to get used to.
I roll my eyes as I make my way to the pub, which is not too far, though I will likely have to take a cab back because it will be more than just this mist when I come out. I can tell by the greyness of the sky above me and the thickness in the air.
I walk in, smiling when I see him in profile, serving someone else up at the bar. I wonder if he will even remember me. I have been so busy with the pastry shop I have lost contact with many of those I used to know while settling into my new life. It was part of growing up.
I approach the bar and slide onto a stool, trying to be as modest as possible in this tight, short dress. It is a beautiful emerald green with sequins that shimmer under the dim lamps of the pub. I know I am drawing more than one pair of eyes, but I ignore it. Not that the thought of having a little fun with one of these guys after a couple of drinks is off the table. It would certainly be a big FU to daddy dearest. But I am not interested in anything more. I like things to happen naturally in their own time. Fate, I guess. Though, I know it is silly to believe in such things. It would also be pretty fucked up that my fate directly involved being the bastard daughter of a mafia king and shoved aside until I was necessary.
He approaches me, my friend, Jackson. He had grown up here. I knew him pretty well. I was the first person he came out to when we were very young. "What can I get you?" he asks, not really looking at me.
I smirk at him. "Got any good rum, Jackson?" He looks up at that and then grins.
"Well, I'll be fucked. I never thought I would see you here again," he says in his thick accent which always got him any guy he wanted, at least for a night. I always thought it was cute myself.
"I would have agreed with you there, but looks like I was needed." I don’t feel like going into any more detail, and Jackson gives me a knowing look. He knows who my father iss. There is no more explanation needed.
"So, you're in need of something strong, then." It wasn’t a question, and I nod.
He passes me a shot and starts making me a mixed drink as well. I knock it back and go for the straw as he passes me the mixed drink. It tastes fruity but is definitely not skimpy on the alcohol.
I wave to him. "Keep them coming." He smiles and goes to help someone else for a moment.
I didn’t know how long it was before he ended up on a stool next to me. I didn’t know after how many drinks either, but by then I had started taking it slow. I didn’t want to get super drunk, just take the edge off. I held my drinks pretty well, though, at least.
