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CHAPTER1
CRINA
“No. I won’t do it,” I seethe through clenched teeth, glaring at my mother as I pound the dining room table with a knife clenched in my fist.
It’s only a dull thud because the dining room table is made of heavy mahogany. I have a death grip on that knife and I wish I could use it to stab her right this second. That’s how infuriated I am.
I look across the marbled, polished wood of the dinner table. The mirror of the matching hutch makes my mother’s precious Bavarian crystal sparkle and shine like diamonds. It echoes the sheen of crystals dripping from the chandelier above the table.
But the sumptuous décor matters for nothing.
Dinner is ruined.
I could barely get anything past my lips after my parents’ announcement that I am going to marry Marku Popescu in a couple of days. They’re not even waiting until I graduate. I narrow my eyes as I stare down my mother.
Unbelievable.
She blinks back at me innocently.
My father puts out his hands and begs, “Please, Crina, understand, this is for your own good.”
I twist around to face him fully, shoulders hunched forward ready for battle. Jabbing the knife in his direction, I accuse him, “How could you? You of all people?”
The betrayal hurts so badly that it’s hard to breathe. I’d expect something this crazy from my mother. She’s the hysterical one, the one that jumps to conclusions and overreacts to the smallest things. But my father is the steady one. The solid one. My protector.
Until now.
“I told you in confidence,” I reply, a wave of hurt scorching me like hot lava. “I told you because I was worried and maybe a little scared. But I told you with the wild idea that you would keep what I’d said in confidence. I didn’t expect you to inflate this into a huge drama over nothing.” Knife in hand, I fling out my arms as if to demonstrate the enormous mountain they’ve made out of a molehill. Then, I thump the table so hard that the cutlery jumps and clatters.
My mother makes a sound of disgust.
I whip around to her. “Oh my God, Mama, you’re upset over making noise at the dinner table—”
“Scene, not noise,” she interrupts pertly with her nonsensical distinction. She’s eerily calm and it only pushes me further over the edge. She can give as good as she gets, but when she’s disturbingly unemotional like this, I know there’s no budging her. She’s past the theatrics. She’s made up her mind and nothing on God’s green Earth will change it. That strikes fear in my heart.
“Really ironic that you’re worried about noise or a scene or whatever when you’re ruining my life with this insane plan to marry me off to some made man.” Making air quotes, I continue, “You’re supposedly ‘saving’ me, but we both know what this is about. Just admit that you and Aunt Natalia have had this planned since Marku and I were babies.”
Her spine snaps straight, the corners of her mouth plunge down in disapproval. Yeah, she didn’t think I’d remember the oath. She thought it was a cute little story to tell me to demonstrate how Marku and I are meant for each other, when nothing could be further from the truth.
I take in a deep breath and forge on, “This is only an excuse to fulfill that oath, which is insane. We’re not living in the Middle Ages. Welcome to the twenty-first century, where women don’t get promised in marriage as infants.”
Eyes blazing with cold fury, she retorts, “We may be in the twenty-first century, but you know very well that we live by a separate set of rules. It’s what distinguishes us from the rest of the toiling lower classes. It’s what makes us rich and powerful, especially in this new country, where we would be just another struggling immigrant community eking out a living to put food on our table.”
My mother leans forward, placing her elbows on the table. That’s a sign she’s losing her patience because proper etiquette means never dirtying the polished mahogany tabletop with your elbows.
“But there’s an underside to that success.” She pauses for emphasis. “Others want what we have, and they’ll go to any length to get it. Now, we’re not barbarians. We’re not auctioning you off to any random made man. That was for his benefit, not ours.” Okay, I have no idea what she means by that comment, but before I can ask, she goes on, “Aunt Natalia and I intended for you and Marku to be together from the beginning and you clearly need protection at the moment. This is a perfect solution. I don’t see why you’re having a meltdown over it. You would’ve married him eventually.”
Yeah, right, Aunt Natalia and her. I’ve known Aunt Natalia my entire life and there’s no way she came up with this harebrained scheme. This has my mother’s name written all over it. With Marku being my third cousin from a second marriage, he was a viable option. Aunt Natalia is too sweet and loves my mother too much (God knows why) to deny her anything. It’s always been that way.
And the way she assumes that I’d have married the bastard. I look at her incredulously. “We haven’t spoken in years.” Okay, we may have messed around, but there wasn’t much talking happening. And, anyway, that didn’t have to do with anything. I could suck his tongue, or his dick for that matter, and walk away without feeling a thing. That’s why it’s called a hookup.
“I do not need this kind of protection for being followed occasionally. And if I do, then just stick a bodyguard on me for a couple of weeks. But no. Those options are too rational and sane. Instead, the better choice is to thrown me into a rushed marriage. One that can’t wait until I graduate high school like every othermafiegirl!” I glare at my father. “What’s that about, Dan?” I use his first name as a way to demonstrate my deep displeasure with him.
Tortured guilt crosses over his face. He opens his mouth to say something, but my mother interrupts with a soft, “Dan.”
They exchange a look. My head snaps from one to the other.
What? What was that?
