The Kiss Thief(33)
A few days ago, I’d sighed and complained to the garden around me that I needed more pots and a new watering can. The day after, new ones were waiting for me in the shed. She could be nosy, but she was definitely not as bad as my husband-to-be. “He even expressed his support to my pursuing a career. Now I just need to figure out what I want to do. I’m thinking a lawyer or maybe a cop.” That last touch was laying it on thick. My father hated lawyers and cops more than he hated child molesters and atheists. With illogic rage that burned in his blood.
I’d been my parents’ puppet for so long, clipping the strings felt scary and forbidden. I wore long skirts and dresses I absolutely detested because they liked them. Attended Sunday mass regularly even though other church girls usually disliked me for having better clothes and nicer shoes. I even refrained from kissing boys to appease my strict folks. And what good did it do to me? My father sold me off to a senator. And my mother, despite her deep pain and disappointment, was helpless against him. But that did not stop her from discouraging me to pursue the same route as her.
She didn’t want me to study and get a job.
She wanted me to be as stranded as she was.
“Is this a joke?” My father choked on his drink on the other line. “No daughter of mine will work,” he spat.
“Your future son-in-law doesn’t seem to share the sentiment,” I singsonged, momentarily putting my hatred toward Wolfe aside.
“Francesca, you have the breeding, the beauty, and the wealth. You were not born to work, Vita Mia. You’re rich in your own right and more so since you’re marrying a Keaton,” Mama cried out. I didn’t even know the Keatons were a thing before all this. I’d never bothered to ask anyone, least of all my future husband, since money was the last thing on my mind.
“I’m going to college. Unless…” It was a crazy idea, but it made sense. A cunning smile touched my lips, and my eyes met Ms. Sterling’s from across the garden. She gave me a barely noticeable nod.
“What?” my father snarled.
“Unless you tell me why you gave Wolfe my hand. Then I’d consider not going.” Mainly because then I’d have the full picture. I very much doubted I could change my fate at this point, but I wanted to know what he’d gotten me into to see if I could dig my way out.
My father snorted, his glacial tenor stabbing at my nerves. “I do not discuss my business with women, much less my own daughter.”
“What’s wrong with being a woman, Papa?”
You sure acted like a pussy the day you gave me to Wolfe Keaton.
“We play different roles,” he clipped.
“And mine is to make babies and look pretty?”
“Yours is to continue the legacy of your family and leave the hardworking jobs to people who need them.”
“This sounds a lot like you don’t respect me as an equal,” I hissed, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder and stabbing the trowel in the mud and wiping my forehead simultaneously.
“That’s because you’re not my equal, my dear Frankie.”
The line went dead on the other side.
I planted twenty pots of flowers that day. Then went to my room, took a shower, and started filling out my application to Northwestern. Political Science and Legal Studies, I decided, would be my major. In all fairness, I always thought gardening was my calling, but since my father infuriated me to no end, sticking my major in his face was worth going through years and years of studying something I doubted would interest me much. I was Petty McPetson, but I was gaining an education, and it felt good.
I hunched over my oak desk when something in the air changed. I didn’t have to lift my head to know what it was.
My fiancé was here to check on his prisoner bride.
“You have your first dress fitting tomorrow. Go to bed.”
From my peripheral, I could see he was not wearing a suit. A white V-neck shirt that highlighted his tan, lean but muscled body and dark denim that clung low on his narrow hips. He looked nothing like a senator, acted nothing like a politician, and the fact I couldn’t box him this way or the other unsettled me.
“I’m filling out my application to Northwestern,” I replied, feeling heat coating my face and neck again. Why did it feel like he dipped me in liquid fire every time his eyes were on me? And how could I make it stop?
“You’re wasting your time.”
My head snapped up, and I granted him the eye contact he’d been looking for.
“You promised,” I growled.
“And I shall deliver.” He pushed off my doorframe and stepped into my room, sauntering toward me. “You don’t need to fill out an application. My people have already taken care of that. You’re about to become a Keaton.”
“Are Keatons too precious to fill out their own college applications?” I could barely keep myself from snapping at him.
He plucked the documents from my desk, balled and slam-dunked them in the trash can by my desk. “It means you could’ve drawn dicks in all shapes and sizes on the document, and you’d still get in.”
I shot up from my chair, putting some much-needed distance between us. I couldn’t risk another kiss. My lips still stung every time I thought of his rejection.
“How dare you!” I thundered.
“You seem to be asking this question a lot. Care to change your tune a little?” He shoved one hand into the front pocket of his jeans and picked up my cell phone on my desk, scrolling through it with his thumb with easy monotony. My parents forbade me from having a passcode. When my mom gave me back my phone, protecting my privacy was low on my to-do list, seeing as the majority of it had already been taken anyway.