Page 45 of Bound in Debt
My mother shifts in her floral chair, a small furrow pinching at the center of her forehead. I hope the chair is as uncomfortable a seat as it suddenly seems. She deserves to be bitten on the ass bigtime for auctioning off her only daughter and arranging a marriage I want nothing to do with.
Thank God I’m not in love with either of the Moretti men. My mother is doing a terrible job of selling me on this marriage shit.
“I can call the lawyer and ask him to draw up a contract,” I volunteer because her silence is all the answer I need. “May I have his number?” I can see her lips twist, preparing to respond, and I hurry to add, “And then maybe I can run some ideas by you for the wedding colors. Unless you had a palette already in mind?” Dante is just going to have to get over me skipping his class tomorrow.
“No,” she murmurs, still focused on my plan to contact the family lawyer. “I don’t.”
“Wonderful.” I finally reach for my own tea. I loathe the drink, but I can choke it down if it will please the woman who gave birth to me today. For now, keeping her happy has to be a top priority of mine.
“There’s another piece to your trust that I may have failed to mention in the past,” my mother declares.
My blood turns to ice in my veins. “Oh?” I murmur softly, suddenly nervous to learn what other strings she’s managed to tie to my future.
“An heir.”
What. The. Fuck?
I nearly choke on my tea and can’t quite hide an unlady-like sputter as I jerk my attention back up to my mother’s face. Her eyes are narrowed slightly and I feel like a bug under a microscope as she studies my every reaction.
“An heir? Of course.”
Of fucking course not.
Kids are cool, but my feelings on the matter start and end there. I’m not looking to produce any children of my own. Not for the foreseeable future or any time after.
“A quarter of your trust will be released to you within thirty days of your marriage,” she elaborates. “The moment you’re pregnant, you’ll have access to another quarter. The rest will be released when the baby is born.”
I can feel rage building in my core, a level of animosity I’ve never felt before now directed at my own mother. The woman who was supposed to raise and protect me from the world. The one who should be encouraging me to find a wonderful man to love instead of ordering me to fall in line with a marriage of convenience.
Unfortunately for my blood pressure, she continues speaking. “God forbid, if you lose the baby and there are health issues…” she pauses delicately, “well, if another pregnancy would put your life in danger, the rest will become yours at that point. If not, you’ll receive the rest after you successfully deliver a child.”
I hate her.
I really do.
Not only has she made sure I’ll be chained to a husband I never wanted, but I’m supposed to bring a child into this world simply because she commands it?
“Whose brilliant idea was this?” I hedge, knowing goddamn well it was hers. My father may be a prick, but he’s generally an absent one and this has my mother’s Machiavellian flair written all over it. The soundtrack of my childhood is her voice reminding me that the Waldorf name must continue. Telling me that I’ll have beautiful children and live the most magnificent life.
Funnily enough, she failed to mention she’d be picking the groom and dictating when I would reproduce.
“I fail to see why that matters,” my mother replies, taking another sip of her tea. “But, considering there will eventually be children, I don’t see why we cannot arrange a prenup if you’d like one. To secure you and your children’s future. We want you to be comfortable, of course.”
Of course.
The only thing she wants is for her only daughter to fulfill the same dated, nineteenth-century duties she’s built her life around. To carry on some bastardized vision of a family legacy.
I can’t do this.
The mob threatening me and breathing down my neck is bad enough. But it may be worth letting them take me out if it means I don’t have to deal with all my mother’s shit.
This isn’t how my life was supposed to go.
I’m supposed to go to Paris, where I can live my dreams and fall in love under the sparkling Eiffel Tower. My passion and hard work were meant to lead to a life filled with more than a legal union with a man I don’t love to save myself from problems I never asked for.
“You look pale, dear. Maybe you should go splash some water on your face, freshen up a bit.”
Mindlessly, I rise from the couch and grab my clutch, abandoning the disgusting tea. Giving me an excuse to catch my breath is the only act of kindness she’s offered me since all this nonsense about marrying Liam began. As I make my way down the hall, I can’t help but think that the trust won’t do anything for Dante and I. Not with all the strings my mother attached to it.
