Chapter 3 Unwilling Bride

Cherry POV

I remain silent, but it only seems to fuel his anger.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" He steps forward, hand raised threateningly.

Mom emerges from the parlor. "Arthur, please. She's just nervous about the engagement. She needed some fresh air." Mom places herself between us.

Dad's hand drops, but his eyes don't soften. "Fresh air? At this hour? She's out playing while we're planning her future! No sense of duty." He jabs a finger at me over Mom's shoulder. "The Salvatores won't appreciate a girl who lacks proper social graces. If they reject you, we're finished. Now get inside. Mary and Teyana are discussing how you should present yourself tomorrow."

He storms off.

Mom turns to me, her hands gently cupping my face. "Are you alright, sweetie? Did anything happen tonight?"

For a split second, I nearly confess everything, but I swallow it back down. Mom's face is already lined with worry, dark circles under her eyes that match the fading bruise on her wrist. She carries enough burdens without mine.

"I'm fine, Mom." I force a smile.

Mom's marriage to Dad was arranged, too. She once told me that her brother's company needed emergency capital, and she was the price. Dad never loved her—not once in eighteen years. He barely tolerates her existence while flaunting his affair with Sharon, his assistant, who even bore him a daughter. Mom endures it all with a quiet dignity that breaks my heart daily.

What's worse is that my mother's family won't stand up for us. Now that Dad's company is struggling, they're even more eager to sacrifice me to preserve their comfortable lives.

Mom squeezes my hand. "Your uncle's company needs another injection. He's asked Teyana for help. She went to Mary but..." She sighs. "They're both planning to take it out on you, I'm afraid."

The injustice of it all bubbles up inside me. "We could leave," I whisper fiercely. "Just you and me, Mom. We don't need them."

Mom's fingers press against my lips. "If we leave now, your uncle's company will collapse. Forty years of your grandfather's work, gone." Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears. "Just a little longer, okay?"

I lean close to her ear. "When I graduate from college and get a job, I'm taking you away from here. I promise." I feel her fingers tighten around mine in silent agreement.

"What are you two whispering about out there?" Dad's voice booms from inside. "Get in here now!"

Mom and I enter the living room like prisoners approaching the dock. My grandmother, Mary, sits regally on our Louis XIV sofa, while my maternal grandmother, Teyana, occupies the wingback chair beside her. Their faces could freeze Hell over twice.

"Look at you," Mary says the moment I step into view. "Hair like you just crawled out of a stable. Is this how you plan to present yourself tomorrow?"

Teyana clicks her tongue. "And where did you get that dress? It's far too snug."

"You'll need to be up at six tomorrow," Mary continues. "We need extra time for etiquette training before the dinner."

I want to argue that I know which fork to use and how to sit properly—I've been trained like a show pony my entire life—but one look at Mom's face stops me. "Yes, Grandmother."

Later, in my bedroom, I stare at the ceiling, surrounded by luxury that feels more like a prison than privilege. It's never felt like home.

College starts soon, and I had hoped living on campus would give me some freedom. But will my future husband even let me continue my education? Or will I end up like Mom, trapped in a loveless marriage, my dreams slowly suffocating?

And I can't stop thinking about Nick. Maybe he'd help me escape this arranged marriage by exposing my impurity. But the thought leaves a bitter taste. Nick might be handsome, but he's probably at least a decade older than me. For all I know, he could be married. Seeking his help would just make me exactly what I despise.

With sudden resolve, I tear Nick's business card into pieces, watching them flutter into the trash can like confetti for dreams I'll never have.

Morning comes with Mary's sharp knocking. "Up! Now!"

What follows is a day-long boot camp on how to be the perfect Miller bride. My back is straightened with painful jabs, my posture corrected with wooden rulers.

"No, no! Back straight, chin parallel to the floor!" Mary snaps, swatting at my legs when I misstep during waltz practice.

Teyana fills the gaps with horror stories about the Salvatores. "They chop off wives' hands and feet if they disobey," she says casually. "Italian tradition."

I can't help myself. "Is that what you're hoping for? That they'll dismember me if I embarrass you?"

The slap comes fast, stinging my cheek. Mom steps between us, receiving Mary's second blow across her shoulder.

"This is your fault, Brittany," Mary hisses. "You've raised an insolent child."

I try to defend Mom, but Teyana pulls me aside. "Ah-ah, don't even think about it. Get over here and keep practicing."

Guilt washes over me. My momentary defiance has only resulted in Mom being punished. Again.

Hours later, after failing to execute a perfect waltz turn, Grandmother Mary strikes my thigh hard with a ruler. "Not the hands or face," she explains clinically. "They would show."

I bite my lip and force myself not to fight back, knowing any resistance would only result in more punishment for Mom.

As evening approaches, Dad appears briefly. "I've got to handle something. Get ready and go ahead to the venue. I'll meet you there." He leaves without waiting for a response.

Mary and Teyana usher me upstairs to prepare. "You're lucky you have my coloring," Mary remarks as they dress me like a doll. "At least you won't look completely common."

Standing before the mirror in a wine gown, I see not myself but a perfectly crafted trading piece. My hair is swept into an elegant updo, my makeup emphasizes features I didn't know I had, and diamonds—on loan from the family vault—glitter at my ears and throat.

"Adequate," Mary pronounces, which from her is high praise.

At the venue, I'm abandoned immediately upon arrival. With no appetite after a day of stress and no lunch, I find myself growing dizzy. I make my way to the dessert table, hoping something sweet might steady me.

As I reach for a small pastry, a circle of young women in designer gowns surrounds me.

"Is it true your family's going bankrupt?" one asks with faux sympathy. "So desperate to climb into the Salvatores."

Another leans in. "I heard the man you're marrying sleeps with anything that moves. Good luck."

I open my mouth to respond, but suddenly the entire room falls silent. The atmosphere shifts like air before a thunderstorm.

I look up, following everyone's gaze toward the main entrance.

Nick walks in, commanding attention without effort. People part before him like waves breaking against stone.

My heart stops, then races.

What is he doing here?