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My father’s voice bellows from the first floor. He sounds angry, possibly just annoyed that we need to be in the same room. Shutting off my music, I mumble under my breath about my liege and servitude. Guessing by his short tone, whatever he has to say is not going to make me happy.
The door to Father’s office is open. He is seated behind the large wood desk, his focus on the papers in front of him. Knocking once on the door frame, I wait for his acknowledgment. Once he waves me in, I slump into a chair opposite him.
“Kennedy, please try and remember to always act like a lady. Your behavior reflects upon me, and I won’t have you disgracing the family name.”
Automatically, my spine straightens, years of conditioning taking over. Silently, I berate myself for giving him so much control. Not taking the bait on a long-winded lecture, I try to speed up the conversation, making my tone as pleasant as possible.
“What do you need me for?”
Seeing through my facade, Father admonishes me.
“One of these days, someone is going to curb your attitude. I can’t wait to see it happen.” He takes a moment to calm himself. The twitch of his eye giving him away. Over the years, I have learned all of Father’s tells. That knowledge comes in handy.
“Potential business partners coming in tomorrow morning.”
I don’t react immediately, schooling my features to hide my surprise. While we live in the same house, he never divulges where he is going or whom he is meeting with. Usually, the only reason he tells me is if my attendance is required.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter to myself. Exclaiming the phrase would be more cathartic, but that would lead to yetanotherlecture on the appropriate language for a lady.
Little does he know that when he isn’t around, I curse like a trucker, enjoying every moment of it in a rebellion of sorts.
Looking up into my father’s smug face, he must realize that my mind has sifted through his vague demand. Heaving out a resigned sigh, my tone is defeated.
“What do I need to do?”
Father gets an evil grin on his face. It’s similar to theGrinchwhen he comes up with his evil plan for “The Who’s.”
“Three men from Texas are flying in tomorrow morning. While we have oil wells, fracking is hot in the current market. These men are coming to see our wells and business before committing to the project.”
Confusion set in, still not understanding why this involves me.
“Okaaayyy.”
Father fusses with his already straight tie, a victorious expression on his face, making me wary.
“Each man has a son.” My face starts to flush at his words. Trying to reign in my anger, I ball my hands into fists and count to ten.
When that doesn’t help, I take the bait my father was dangling.
“So, as you and their father are doing business, you are leaving them here for me to entertain? If they need babysitters, why not just leave them at home? How old are these guys?”
“Oh no, darling daughter,” he makes the word daughter sound dirty. “One of their sons will be your husband.”
Shocked, stunned, so many adjectives hang out there to describe my stupor as I stare at my father like he suddenly grew an extra head. They don’t need a babysitter if they are old enough to be married, although he didn’t say exactly how old they are.
Oh God, please tell me they aren’t butt ugly, in their forties, and have beer bellies.
Gross.
As the thought of an arranged marriage sinks in, laughter bubbles to the surface. First, it starts with a small chuckle, turning into a giggle, slowly morphing into a full belly laugh before ending in loud guffaws. All of this caused me to fall out of the chair.
“Are you quite finished? I have an appointment later.”
Unsure and uncaring about his evening plans, I get myself back into the chair, wiping the tears from my eyes and cheeks.
“To make sure your words match what I think they did…”—taking a breath so the laughter doesn’t start again—“you expect me to marry one of three guys, none of whom either of us has ever met before.”
“Four.”
