Chapter 2 #2
I turn as he opens his mouth to be respectful. “Ciro, you did not tell me your daughter was beautiful.” He licks his lips. “I’m not sure what my son will think or say. But I do know if the offer was on the table for me to marry you, I would.”
I want to vomit right here. Right now, on this fucking floor. I feel like a piece of cattle that is being sold at auction where they are going to cut me up and sell me in pieces. Keeping my face soft and not showing how disgusted I feel all while trying to push down the bile rising from my stomach.
“Isabella, if you are done throwing yourself at your future father-in-law, your fiancé is waiting for you. Stop whoring around.” My father’s hardened voice pulls me from trying to not throw up on his precious marble floor.
A big sigh exits my mouth as I follow my father and Mr. Di Marco into the family room where everyone is waiting for us.
Or well, me. My mother is there chatting with Mrs. Di Marco with wine in their hands.
In contrast to my mother’s blonde hair, that is not natural by any means.
Antonia Di Marco’s is a soft Carmel color with a red tint when the light hits it.
She is thin like my mother but with a little more curves. Her makeup has not one crease.
My sister is off in the corner chatting with our older brother, Joseph.
They are hushing to themselves, and my brother’s lips are formed into a fine line at whatever Lucia is saying to him.
But they both stop talking when I enter the room and both of their expressions soften.
Our brother looks so handsome tonight. One day he will settle down, and I want that for him.
My brother is a spitting image of our father, but with dirty blonde hair compared to our father’s black hair.
I’m standing next to the mantel near my mother when I feel a hand land on my lower back making me jump. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice is hot against my neck, a cold shiver runs down my spine.
He pulls away at my movement, and I spin slowly.
I’m met with the dark green eyes that are lifeless behind them.
I crane my neck up since he is a little taller than me.
His hair is black as my dress with it styled as if he just ran his fingers through it.
My gaze moves from his eyes to the strong jaw that is clean shaven. Ian Di Marco, my new fiancé.
I feel I need a million-degree shower to wash away him looking at me.
He tucks his hands into his pockets with a sly look on his face. “My Isabella, your father left out how beautiful you are when he and my father made the arrangement.” Trailing his gaze from mine, the way he looks my body up and down makes me feel cheap.
I clear my throat. “Thank you.”
He chuckles, and it makes my skin crawl. Removing one hand from his pocket, he reaches up to brush his fingers across my face. “If you’re worried about the wedding night, don’t be. I will be gentle as I take your virgin cunt.”
I blink rapidly, trying to compute the vile words that came out of his mouth.
Losing my virginity to a man I don’t know is not how I pictured it would happen.
I always dreamed it would be with someone who loves me, cares for me, appreciates my body and respects me.
Not anything like the situation I’m in now.
Before I can even respond, he retrieves his hand from my face and reaches into his suit jacket pocket. He pulls out a small black velvet box. A box for a ring. An engagement ring. This nightmare keeps playing with no way for me to wake up from it.
“This ring will show everyone that you’re marrying a Di Marco.” He says as he opens the box.
My mouth is dry, my body is heating up and my stomach is in knots. The voice inside my head screams at me that this is not a good idea and that I can say no. But the other part of me knows what will happen if I do.
The box opens. Sitting inside is a thick gold band with the ugliest piece of jewelry that I have seen.
The ring has no character. It’s huge. A hexagon-shaped diamond in the middle on a thin gold band.
This ring is for someone who wants to make a statement or be noticed.
This ring is not the right one for me but this marriage is not about love.
He takes out the ring, reaches for my hand and slides it on my left ring finger.
No asking. No getting down on one knee. Nothing. Just a business transaction.
My hand feels heavy and all I can do is stare at it when my mother’s voice breaks my trance.
“Ian, darling. I think it’s time to announce your engagement to our guests.
” She beams at him like he set the sun and stars.
“Isabella, you could be more appreciative to Ian for a stunning engagement ring. You could say, ‘thank you,’ or something. This man is such a gentlemen.” The hatred dripping from her voice toward me comes off as more of a warning than anything else.
Putting on the charm, he responds to my mother, “Mrs. Costa, I’m sure she will thank me on her own time with me,” giving her a playful wink and making my mother blush.
Gross.
My feet are still planted where we are standing as I watch my father, mother, the Di Marco’s, my sister, and brother start to leave the room.
I feel his large hand slide into mine making me look at him. “It’s time.”
All I want to do is to go back in time to say no to my parents and leave this life behind. But I know I never would say no to them. Or anyone. Because if I do, I know my father would make sure I would feel the anger and disappointment I would bring to our family.
Listening to my father announce to a room full of people that I have no idea who they are or care to know felt as if I was watching it from across the room.
Physically I was there, but mentally I was not.
The clapping from the crowd brought me back to reality.
Ian’s hand still has mine in a tight grip with my left one hanging or being weighed down by the ring he gave me only moments ago.
Looking around our back patio, I see my mother went all out as she normally does for every single event.
Over the top and unnecessary. The tables have white crisp linen draped over with what appears to be some kind of candelabra in the center of each one and red roses in the middle. This party screams Maria Costa.
Turning to Ian, I say lightly with a small smile, “I’m going to get some water.”
He nods his head as if he is giving me permission. I slip out of his grip and make my way to the bar. I need more than water if I’m going to get through tonight.
Once I approach the bar, I lean my forearms on the top. I try to calm myself down mentally.
The bartender that was hired tonight comes over to me, and I ask, “Can I have a––”
“Two whiskeys, neat,” a deep voice tells the bartender.
My eyes widen at what he just ordered. I have never had really any alcohol except for wine. My mother has always drilled into my head that women are to only drink wine and leave the whiskey to men. Whiskey is not a drink for a lady.
“You look like you could use a drink, well, a stronger one than whatever you were planning on ordering.” The deepness of his voice washes over me making my skin breakout into goosebumps.
Moving my body to face him, my eyes latch onto his chocolate eyes that have a little amber around the center of his iris. “Thank you. And I think you’re right about that.”
Holy shit is this man gorgeous. When he looks at me, it feels like he can see into my soul and what my mind is thinking.
His hair is dark. Dark as the night sky with a few strands on the sides his face, dropping just below his eyebrow.
I watch as he raises one strong hand to run through it.
I cast my gaze to his full lips. He catches me staring and gives me a sly smile which makes me blush.
His black suit does nothing to hide that he is very muscular underneath by the way it clings to his body.
The drinks are placed in front of us, and he moves to grab both glasses.
He hands me one, and we both say cheers before we take a sip.
Bring the glass to my lips, I look over the rim and see he’s watching me.
The liquid hits my tongue first before sliding down my throat.
It burns slightly, but it’s smooth giving me a woodsy taste against my taste. My face contorts.
Keeping the glass in my hand as he finishes his in one sip. I don’t miss the way his throat works as he tips his head back. He licks his lips and just the sight makes me squeeze my legs together.
“Not much of a whiskey drinker?” His deep voice asks me.
I lick my lips of the after taste from the bitterness and I cannot help but watch his gaze track my movements.
“No, that was my first one.” I say lightly.
His full lips pull into a smile. “Glad to have been your first.” His fingers play with the rim of the glass.
I straighten my back as I say, “You can tell a lot about a person on what they choose as their drink of choice.”
“Oh, and how is that?” His voice lowers as he leans in a little closer.
I raise my shoulder and say, “Well, if you’re a beer kind of a guy, then you most likely are chill.
You watch and play a ton of sports.” He nods that he agrees.
“A margarita will give off the vibe that you tend to want to party, have a good time.” He chuckles a little.
Holy shit. Its deep and sends a shiver down my back.
“A gin and tonic, you want to come across that you have your life together, but really, you’re a mess and have no idea what you’re doing in life.
The ones who drink wine, like most of the people here, well women want to seem together.
Proper. Sophisticated. But they are just playing a role.
Acting the part. A ghost of themselves.”
He reaches out to tuck a piece of loose hair behind my ear and asks, “What about the ones who drink whiskey?”
My skin breaks out into goosebumps when he lightly touches me.