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But this is what’s asked of me.
I’ve been waiting. I’ve prepared myself.
Not that this turn of events iswhat I signed up for, because I sure as hell never signed up. I never had a choice, not really. I’m committed, though. I will do what’s asked of me. Dear old dad’s long game. My game too. More money, more power, maybe the White House, depending on how all the slimy dominoes fall.
I believe in this, in every cell of my wretched body. I know my mission and I will stay true to it.
But where doesshefit in?
I saw it, the day we met. When her uncle introduced us, for a split second, she showed her true feelings. And she was disappointed.
I huff remembering, glad Ric can’t hear me. I sound like a grumpy teen.
But what in the actual fuck?
She would really rather marry a Made man over me? She would prefer some Italian mafia thug who’ll rough her up on his way out the door to the whore house he owns? Some ancient don who has had four wives already?
That’s what it looked like, for half a breath that she didn’t think anyone saw.
Yet, she didn’t tell her uncle to choose someone else. I didn’t think she would. I also didn’t think she’d be so surprised by my cold declarations. She’s confusing. I thought she’d be relieved to drop the act with me. I thought she’d be happy to basically please our families but live our own separate lives.
I guess I was wrong. I was sure if we found some vice to exploit, some past issue to use, maybe I could get her to drop the charade and agree to my terms. But Robbie found nothing.
Partners.
That’s what she said. Me, partners with a mafia princess, high and mighty in her ivory tower - ivory stacked kilos of drugs, cemented by the sweat of slave laborers and sex workers and sealed in the blood of innocents who happen to get anywhere near their operation. So, more like a red tower of doom, really. I can’t stomach the idea of partnering with that. Even as I accept their stained money for the greater good.
I can’t stomach her fake smiles and gracious answers and classy clothes. Classy, but in a way that still hugs her perfect rack, cinches in her hourglass waist above that plump ass and sports a slit so high I almost saw straight through to her black soul when she sat down. Another surprise that evening.
I adjust myself in my slacks. I need to get laid again. Having her as my plus-one has kept me from my usual post-dumbass-press-op-activities with my dates.
It was a bit gross, even for me, to tuck her into her car and walk to the nearest willing, hot female. I suppose I’ll get used to it. What other choice do I have?
Ugh.Not even married yet and already the arrangement is messing with my head…heads, plural.
Speak of the she-devil…
Her father’s compound comes into view. I straighten the front of my shirt and smile at the guards as I climb out of the car. On my way up the steps, I catch Ines hovering in the entry, ecstatic at the arrival of her future son-in-law. Instead of groaning out loud, I give myself my usual internal pep talk.Showtime, you miserable sack of shit!
•••••
“So, do you do anything that doesn’t involve, uh,charity?”She asks me, voice soft and sweet as ever. She’s still smiling politely, this girl, even though the photographers aren’t around right now. As if I didn’t recently tell her that I didn’t like her and her entire world. What the hell is she playing at? I try not to stare as she eats her two scoops of ice cream, vanilla and strawberry. Like a happy little five-year-old princess.Someone, guards, anyone—please shoot me.
“If you are not-so-subtly asking if I go to anything that’s not a publicity stunt,” I grumble through a matching perfect smile. “No, not usually.”
“You’re joking.”
“I don’t have a lot of free time, if I can cover two obligatory tasks at once, like today, why not?” Her face falls.Yes, I just called you an obligatory task.I should feel like a dick. I do, a little bit, but only barely. But she needs to wipe those fake dewey stars from her eyes and get real. With herself, and with me. That’s the only way this will be tolerable. A little girl runs up to us, clearly getting away from her adult counterpart, before Eleanna can respond to me.
“Mister stenadurr!”
“Gracie!” I say, letting her hug my leg. This ice cream social today is for her and the other kids at this facility. I actually love coming here because it reminds me that there are instances where my money and effort actually do some good. We’ve made loads of improvements here in their treatment of wards of the state with medical needs.
“You memberdd!” The girl squeals in her pink frilly dress with a scoop of—called it—vanilla and strawberry swirl. I gently cup her bald little head. A staffer reaches us, exasperated. She thanks us for coming and tells me about the upgrades around the treatment center. Gracie joins in, telling me a million things in hilarious jumbled toddler speak. She holds my hand to lead me around, and I let her. I’m a cold bastard, but I’m not totally heartless. Not toward innocents, that is.
After we’ve seen some new equipment and I’ve made sure they have their latest needs handled, and of course, we’ve had our photo taken a dozen times, we head back. It’s a photogenic walk across the sprawling playground and lawn to my cars. I can feel Eleanna staring at me as we move slowly.
I maintain a polite smirk. “Aren’t mafia princesses taught not to stare?”
