Chapter 3

"Princess, we're having a guest for dinner. Wear a dress please."

"Yes, ma'am," I say, rolling my eyes while arranging a vase of flowers. "Is it Genie or Barbara from the Junior League?"

"No, one of your father's friends."

I walk out the front door and look for a package that should have arrived. My favorite author released a new book a few days ago, and I one-clicked it. There's no package, so I check the tracking on my phone which says, delivered.

"Mama? Henry? Did either of you bring a package inside?"

My mom takes the chicken out of the fridge she's been brining—it's the secret to her fried chicken. This guest must be special; we usually only get it on Easter, Father's Day, and Thanksgiving. Her fried chicken is better than the Colonel's.

"Oh, I laid it on the sun porch while I was watering the plants."

The sunroom is off the formal living room, which is just for show. Such a waste of space, but it's pretty. I open the French doors, finding the package on the end table by my favorite plant in the house—the spider plant.

I tear through the black bubble package to find a brand-new paperback of a sports romance. The first page I turn to is the dedication. Sometimes, this author is funny, and other times, she writes something sentimental. This one reads:

Don't judge a book by its cover… or a man.

Looks can be deceiving.

I let out a little squeal and run up to my room. "This will be so good," I mumble. I already know this guy will be rough and crass but underneath, there'll be a guy with a heart of gold or hopefully platinum. Platinum is rarer.

Lost in the book, my mom knocks on my door. "Your hair isn't fixed."

It's still knotted up on top of my head after lying out in the sun. "Sorry, Mama. I'll jump in the shower now."

"He'll be here in an hour."

"Then I'll make a grand entrance like every woman should. Right, Mama?"

She grins, having taught me well, and her heels click down the steps.

I'm not the same girl anymore. College taught me that people accept me without makeup and fancy clothes. Not that I don't love those things, I do. I just don't understand why I need to dress up for my father's friend.

There. Plenty of time.

My walk-in closet is larger than most bedrooms. White drawers and shelves line the walls with several natural straw bins. I grab my light-blue espadrille sandals that cross over my ankle and tie in the back—the finishing touch to my white eyelet sundress.

I do feel better when I'm "fixed" as Mama says. I descend the steps and overhear my parents talking. Judging by the tone of Daddy's voice, it's a serious conversation. I sneak around by the butler's pantry. We don't have a butler. Peeking around the corner, their backs are to me, so it still sounds muffled.

"Arranged marriage? That's ridiculous." Mama's voice is strained.

"Have I ever steered you wrong, Judy? Haven't I given you and the kids everything? I need this, please don't fight me on it," Daddy says as he turns her to face him.

He kisses her softly until she relents, "Okay. But you know Tessa is an adult."

"An adult living in our house."

What? Me? They're talking about me.

As I stand frozen in the hallway, the words spoken by my parents hit me like a truck going twice the speed limit.

They've arranged a marriage for me.

My heart feels like it's being ripped out of my chest as I struggle to grasp the reality of what they're saying. The thought of being forced into a lifelong commitment with someone I don't know, someone I didn't choose, is suffocating. How can they make such a monumental decision about my life without even consulting me? Tears blur my vision as I try to come to terms with the betrayal I feel. The future I had dreamt of suddenly feels like a distant fantasy, slipping away.

I collapse, hitting the hardwood floor. Scrambling to get onto my feet, my parents scurry from the kitchen.

"Are you okay?" Mama asks.

"I… I… don't know. Are you arranging a marriage for me?" I choke out.

Mama's shoulders drop. Daddy gently grabs my biceps. "Princess, it will be in name only. No intimacy… just a piece of paper."

Seriously?

Wait. I said that in my head. Now, I need to force the words out my mouth, but I don't say it quite the same way. "You can't be fucking serious."

"Language," Mama scorns.

She's worried about a curse word when Daddy wants to marry me off to some business associate.

"I'm not marrying anyone. I'll move out. I'll leave," I declare, my voice shaking with a mix of fear and defiance.

Daddy's tone turns stern, his words cutting through my resolve. "You are going to do what I say to do. I don't think you want to know what it's like not to have money for a phone, living expenses, food, clothes, bar hopping." The weight of his ultimatum crushes me, leaving me feeling trapped and helpless.

"Why?" I ask, pleading and hoping for a shred of empathy or understanding.

"This is a business deal. Nothing else. We'll get the marriage dissolved in less than a year, but it will solidify your inheritance and your brother's."

"I'm not marrying some old fart. Please, Daddy. I don't understand. I'm not a piece of property," I beg, tears streaming down my cheeks unchecked. The desperation in my voice is met with a hug from my father, a fleeting moment of normalcy in the storm raging within me. Mama's gentle touch on my back offers a sense of comfort, but the gravity of their decision weighs heavily on my heart, and I slip from their hold, falling to my knees, continuing to beg them to find another way.

I stare at Daddy's shiny leather loafers until he walks away. Mama kneels beside me. "Princess, let's get your face cleaned up." She sighs deeply. "I promise this is name only, and you won't share a bed. You'll have your happily ever after, just not yet. I promise."

My head raises slowly and with lionlike courage, I look her in the eye. "Oh, I'm going to have sex with him. I don't care how fat and ugly he is. You and Daddy are going to have nightmares about what I do with this old man."

I pick myself off the floor with a scowl on my face and blow out of the room.

I clean the mascara from my face and tell myself I'll find a way to get out of this. Not tonight, but I will. One thing college has taught me, that I would have never truly known, is I am strong.

Minutes later, the doorbell rings, and it's showtime.

I pull the veil of the perfect daughter over my face and gracefully descend the stairs. Voices come from the living room we never use. When I enter, two backs face me—Daddy's and the man that must be desperate. He's dressed in black dress pants that pull tight across his ass. I have to admit; the old man has a nice ass.

Daddy keeps talking, and the man nods occasionally. I close my eyes, praying for an intervention.

I decide to help Mama in the kitchen instead of interrupting Daddy's monologue about how this man will love having me on his arm.

Mama gives me a quick embrace. "You look beautiful, as always."

It takes a monumental amount of strength to smile, but I do. Right now, I need to keep my parents happy, so they don't see what's coming. She hands me two glasses of sweet tea and gestures to the living room.

Keeping up appearances is key right now, so I plaster a smile on my face and play the part of the obedient daughter. With a deep breath, I enter the room with confidence.

"Anyone as thirsty as me?" I ask, striding towards my father and the man they've chosen for me. Handing Daddy a glass, I maintain the facade of compliance, silently promising myself that this charade won't last forever.

"Thanks, Princess." I give him a slight nod, so he knows I'll be his good little girl and play along. "Tessa, this is Beckett."

"Nice to meet you, Beckett," I say, drawing out each syllable, and hand him the other glass with feigned politeness. I scan his torso covered by a light-gray dress shirt that fits his body like a glove, and then I lift my head, until our eyes meet. My heart beats out of control when his blue eyes dig deep into my psyche, mesmerizing me with his eyes. Recognition flashes through my mind of the biker at the bar.

"Thank you." His response is measured, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression as he thanks me and takes a sip.

Despite my inner turmoil, a cynical glint dances in my eyes as I address my father. "I want to show Beckett the gardens. We'll be back," I declare, the words dripping with false enthusiasm and determination, and Daddy's grin widens.

My body buzzes with excitement I didn't think possible just minutes ago. Does he remember me? I place my hand around Beckett's elbow, and he flinches at my touch but gives me a slight, close-lipped smile.

Beckett follows a step behind me as we reach the stone path. The heat from his gaze burns my bare shoulders. My emotions are all over the place. Anger. Resignation. And something that feels a lot like desire.

The boxwood maze entrance flanks us. Standing at seven feet tall, we're out of the prying view of my parents. I spin quickly, and he bumps into me. My palms land on his chest, and he holds me with one hand on the small of my back.

Breathe.

I forget to breathe. He's all consuming, starting with his eyes and his hard body beneath my hands. "Do you remember me?"

He nods and loosens his grip on my back until his hand falls to his side.

"I should have thanked you properly for putting that jerk in his place," I say, sliding my hands around his neck. He's still not touching me, just looking into my eyes. Pressing onto my toes, I stretch my neck, teasing and erasing the distance between our mouths. He unhooks my hands and forces them down.

"No need."

I ask, "What are you getting out of this arrangement?"

"Nothing a little girl needs to know," he says with a sharp tone that contradicts his intense stare blazing a path to my core.

"I'm twenty-two." I jut my hip out, crossing my arms. "I'm not an immature child. I can help us get out of this. What are you getting out of this arrangement?"

He smirks and leans in close, his warm breath tickling my ear. "You'll have to wait and see."

And just like that, the air crackles with tension, leaving me hanging on the edge of anticipation. Who is this mysterious guy, and what does he want from me?