Page 23 of Pretty Little Threats

“Please,” I say again, blinking back tears.Please don’t break your promise. Please don’t break my heart. Please don’t twist the knife in my back. Say you’re sorry. Say it was a bad idea.

For once, think about me over the business.

I’m your daughter.

Pick me.

“Rosie,” he says, decision made. “You will be CEO one day, and with that title comes responsibility.”

Every word is a hammer against my heart. Fissures spider web across the organ, cracking glass that’s beyond repair.

“You’re marrying Eric, and that’s the end of it.”

The final blow shatters me. I fight to keep the tears at bay, but my throat clogs. Heat crawls over my skin. A heavy weight settles over my chest, and I press my fingers into my shirt, trying to find my breath, but I’m suffocating. When I try to speak, all that comes out is a small, wounded sound.

The final cry of a dying animal.

Dad watches this all, expression shuttered, save for the disgust curling his lips. “Get yourself together, Rosalynn. People are watching.” And then he leaves me with the broken pieces of a promise he never intended to keep.

seven

ROSE

After that confrontation,I spent four days at Cassia’s, evading my dad and work. Her 2,500 square foot, open-concept loft is all monochromatic simplicity. The brick walls have been painted white. The rugs covering the tiled floor are sweeps of black, slate, and white. The kitchen cabinets are dark gray with snowy marble countertops. The appliances are stainless steel. The paintings on the wall and the furniture are all devoid of color, which is perfect for my gloomy mood.

Aside from catching her up with everything that’s gone down, we’ve spent the rest of our time talking, avoiding all things to do with my dad or Dare. But I can’t keep pretending like my life isn’t suddenly on fire.

My phone vibrates across the onyx coffee table. Although the scowl that’s taken up residence on my face has given me a headache, I can’t seem to stop glaring. Not even when Cassia spins away from her computer screens and gives my device a pointed look.

We both watch it rattle across the sleek table until it goes to voicemail. Dad has left a few messages, but I’ve only been able to listen to one, where he insisted we meet to figure out the prenuptial agreements before we meet with Eric next week. I haven’t been able to bring myself to listen to the rest, but judging by the transcriptions, he isn’t going to let up.

Cassia’s frost-blue eyes rove over my face. Her cinnamon red hair is piled on top of her head, in a messy bun I could never pull off, and even in her comfy clothes, she looks put together. I, on the other hand, look like a complete mess without makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes.

“Are you okay?” She takes a sip of her wine.

“Not really.” Grabbing my glass from the coffee table, I drink the last drops. The buzz in my stomach isn’t as soothing as I hoped. “I know I keep saying it, but he broke his promise and it hurts.” I study my hands, fighting tears and the flush that threatens to crawl up my neck. Crying in front of other people isn’t something I’m used to, and while I feel safe with Cassia, it’s still hard to let them fall.

“Of course, it hurts,” Cassia says quickly. “He’s your dad, and it’s not like he promised to take you for ice cream and forgot. Arranging a marriage for you when he specifically said he wouldn’t is really messed up.”

It’s nice to have my feelings validated instead of ridiculed. “Thanks, Cassia.” I swipe at my damp cheeks.

Grabbing the wine bottle, she refills my glass before topping hers off. “Do you want me to beat him up?” She always knows what to say to make me laugh, even when I’m feeling terrible.

Chuckling, I shake my head and run a hand through my hair. “A shakedown isn’t a bad idea, but I think the onlyway out of the arrangement is to find a better solution to the problem he’s trying to solve.”

“Which is finding a way to get Dare out of the company?”

I nod. “Yup.”

“Maybe I should beat him up instead?” Cassia asks.

I laugh and give her five-foot-two frame a once-over. She may be short, but she’s tough. If anyone can scare Dare, it might be her.

I grin. “I freaking love you.”

“Aw, I love you too, Rosie Posie.”

“Not the nickname.” I groan.

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