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“Es muy estupido,” I growled under my breath in Spanish.
Dad scoffed. “I may not have taken the same fancy-ass private language lessons as you, kid, but I can interpret that one.”
Without another word, he stuck his head out of the bedroom door and called out to the staff, ordering them to come back in. The pair obeyed, heading right into my closet once more.
“We need enough for a whole month,” he said. “And she’s going to an island, so make sure there’s swimwear, sundresses, all that shit.”
“Where’s this island?” I asked. The more the men yanked my clothes out of the closet, going through my belongings without heed or concern for my privacy, the more helpless I felt. “If I’m going somewhere for a whole month, then I want to know where it is.”
Dad snorted, as if amused by the way I was trying to demand something.
“It’s somewhere in the Virgin Islands; that’s all I know. The place is this guy’s palace in the sea. You’re flying there at noon to the nearest major airport, then taking a helicopter the rest of the way.”
Tears formed in my eyes, one trickling out and darting down my cheek.
“What about Marta? Please…” More tears came, accompanied by a few weak sobs. “Please, can she come too?”
Dad rolled his eyes again. “No, Marta’s not coming. And stop crying, you’re a goddamn grown woman. Cut that shit out right now.”
Something about being spoken to like that as the staff packed my belongings stirred something in me and I couldn’t take it any longer. I tried never to talk back to Dad—too many hard lessons knowing what it got me. In that moment, however, I couldn’t hold back.
“I hate this!” I yelled. “You can’t do this to me! I’m not some… some damn show horse you can do with what you please!”
Dad’s rage was instant and intense. His eyes flashed with pure anger as I spoke, and he cut across the long length of my room with surprising speed. One hand went to my upper arm, grabbing me hard enough to hurt. The other hand went up into the air, raised as if he were about to strike me.
Dad had only hit me twice. The first time was when I fought him about going to a normal high school; the other, when I demanded to go to college. I’d lost both of those arguments, of course, walking away each time with a red mark on my cheek. As Dad stood over me, I was certain that it would be the third occasion. My father didn’t care for defiance, didn’t care for me raising my voice to him.
To my surprise, he didn’t hit me. Instead, he held his hand aloft for several moments, finally shoving me backward onto the bed. The staff did nothing, continuing their work, making a concerted effort not to notice what was happening. Dad paid them well to play dumb.
Dad shook his head, running his hand through his hair. “You’re no good to me with a fucked-up face hours before he’s going to see you.”
Dad raised his finger toward me. “I’ll tell you this much. This Logan guy, he’s not going to take any shit from you. Bet you he’ll knock you on your ass the first time you try. And… there’s one more thing, too.”
I moved slowly off the bed, my heart still racing from what had just happened. I plucked a few tissues from the box on my nightstand, dabbing my eyes and doing my best to work through the sadness and the fear.
“One more thing?” I asked.
Dad nodded. “That’s right. While you’re there, you’re not to let him touch you.”
“Touch me how?”
He snorted. “You might be naïve, but you know damn well what I mean. Logan Stone isn’t totouchyou, he’s not to get between those virgin thighs of yours.” A shudder of disgust ran through me at the way he spoke. Not wanting to incur his wrath again, I kept my mouth shut.
A tight expression of hard anger formed on his face. He stepped slowly, menacingly toward me.
“I mean it. You’re only good to me pure, kid.”
I felt sick to my stomach as more tears formed. I held them back and kept my mouth shut, not wanting to give Dad the satisfaction of knowing how his words affected me.
“One day I’ll give you to yourtruehusband. And when I do, you’re going to be untouched for him, just like I’ve been training you to be.”
I wasn’t just scared and sick, I wasangry.
“I won’t marry anyone you choose for me. I’d rather die.”
He snorted again. “You have no choice in the matter.” The look in his eyes as he spoke was mad, menacing, evil. I was certain that he meant it.
“You’ve got forty-five minutes to finish packing. Either you help and have some say in what you take with you, or you let the staff do it. Either way, you’re going—even if I have to drag you out by your hair.”
