Chapter 8 #2
Liam Lankshear? Liam? That Liam? There’s just…
There’s no way this is happening.
My mind is a mess of conflicting emotions, fears, and a deep sense of failure. The office feels very small, all of a sudden, and I want to strip out of my clothes and go running down the street screaming my head off.
Dad snaps his fingers aggressively. “Regan. Respond.”
I jump and sit up straight, fingers digging into my thighs. “You want me to get married to a stranger?!”
My voice comes out raspy and harsh. I want to throw up.
“That’s right,” he says, demeanor colder than a Siberian prison. “This must feel overwhelming. I suppose you’ll want to talk it over, but find someone else.” He checks his phone. “I have approximately five more minutes.”
“How? I mean, why? Dad, this can’t… this isn’t…”
“Your future husband has already been chosen by the Whelans themselves. When you do this, it will guarantee our future association and our family’s power.
We will ascend, Regan, do you understand?
You will be at the center of that ascension, in a way, and you will have my…
gratitude.” He says that last word with a distasteful wrinkle of his nose.
“But… an arranged marriage? Like we’re some…
medieval kingdom? I don’t understand, Dad.
Kieren cheated on me, it’s not my fault, and I…
” I can tell I’m losing him. I’m making excuses, begging, stuttering, acting weak, and he hates that more than anything else.
He’ll never respect me if I don’t do something to stand up to him right now, but my brain’s a mushy mess and I can’t think straight.
Liam… it can’t be that Liam…
But I already know it is.
“This isn’t a discussion. We aren’t having a debate. I accept that an arranged marriage is unusual in this day and age, but we are not a normal family. You will do your part as expected. You will obey, Regan. There is no other option.”
All my life, it’s been like this. Go here, Regan, do this, Regan, meet these people and smile and be charming, Regan, or else there will be consequences.
I touch my left knee without thinking and can still feel a knot of scar tissue from my last lesson, back when I was thirteen years old and had the audacity to tell my father I wouldn’t be coming to work at the company as an unpaid intern for the third summer in a row because I wanted to go to camp instead.
My hands shake. Dad watches passively, waiting for me to break down.
I’m sure he has plans within plans for how he’ll handle me if I try to fight him on this.
Most likely involve some kind of pain, whether it’s physical or psychological.
I know, because that’s what he’s done my whole life, and I also know there’s only one way to survive, only one truly meaningful act that will protect me from his vicious wrath.
I bow my head and look at my hands.
“Yes, Dad.” I say the words and they taste like bile. “If that’s what you need, I’ll do it.”
I hate him. I hate myself even more. I despise all the circumstances of my life that have led to this moment, all the little steps, the failures, the beatings, the screaming, the insults and the belittling, all the weakness that he’s instilled into me.
Even in this, at my darkest hour, ruined from Kieren’s betrayal, reeling from meeting Liam, now learning how this absurd arrangement nightmare, even now I fall back on the one thing I know will keep me safe.
Perfection. Obedience.
“Good.” Dad stands abruptly. “You may return to your desk.”
I rise to my feet shakily. “Can I meet him?” I blurt out.
He seems taken aback. “Meet who?”
“My future husband. Can I meet him first? Before…” I can’t even say the words.
“I suppose.” He checks his watch again. “I’ll put it together, but please don’t be difficult about this, Regan. Now, back to your desk.” He sweeps past and leaves his office.
The door stands open. I can’t seem to make my feet move.
I still taste Liam’s mouth on mine, smell his scent on my skin.
He must’ve known the whole time.
Or else this is some kind of sick coincidence. Some kind of joke. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but he used me that night.
And I went back for more.
I turn away, hurry over to my dad’s wastebasket, and puke directly into it. I drop to my knees, sweating and trembling as I vomit, spitting and gasping, before resting my forehead on the cold side of his wooden desk. Fuck, I feel horrible, but the shakes are starting to abate at least.
I try to think through my options. Run away? Go into hiding? Dad will find me, and he will make my life a living hell if that happens. Refuse to marry Liam? There’s no way Dad will accept it.
I’m walking down that aisle whether I do it of my own free will or if Dad has to drag me by the hair with two broken legs and a gun to my head.
At least this way, I can keep trying to protect Luke.
I’ll have standing in the family. Maybe even connections. My brother’s swirling the drain of clan life, and maybe I can use Liam to keep Luke from getting himself killed or sent to prison.
Maybe, if I’m lucky and smart, I can twist this horrible nightmare into something decent.
But I know that’s only post-hoc rationalization.
Mostly, I'm fucked.
I spit into the wastebasket one more time before getting to my feet. Kim’s in the doorway looking at me with real concern. “You okay, sweetheart?”
“Just fine.” I brush damp hair from my forehead and adjust my clothes. “His trashcan’s ruined.”
“No worries, hun. That’s not the first time your old man made someone lose their lunch.” She smiles kindly. “Can I get you something?”
“Got any spare dignity?”
“Fresh out, I’m afraid.”
“Thanks anyway.” I march past her. She looks like she wants to say something more, but lets it go. I’m grateful for that.