Page 226 of Damaged Mogul
My mouth drops open.
“It will be the wedding all of New York talks about.”
That sets me off. “I’m not getting married to thatman.”
“You don’t even know him.” My father frowns. “He’s a good guy.”
“He’s malleable. That’s why you approve of him.”
“Dario and I both grew up poor and made something of ourselves. Now that we’ve gained a certain amount of success, we want to make sure it’s passed on to the next generation, and the one after that. The fastest way to increase your wealth is to marry into a wealthy family. Giuseppe understands that. He’s willing to put the interest of his family first. He isn’t selfish.”
But I am?
“Good for him. I’m not dating him. Forget about marrying him.”
My father’s nostrils flare.
His glacial blue eyes are glaring at me, but I hold his stare. I refuse to cower.
I shove more bread in my mouth because I’m this close from being sick again. And I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with this bug that’s creating havoc on my body, but everything to do with this ridiculous arranged marriage idea.
“It’s time for you to pull your weight in this family, Lily.” His voice is as cold as ice when he says that. I’m surprised I don’t see his frosty breath in the air.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I’ve provided you with a charmed life. The best schools. A wardrobe full of designer clothes. A collection of red sole shoes.”
I tear off another piece of bread, chewing on it as if I’m mad at it.
“You have an enviable collection of jewelry, even though you insist on wearing that thing all the time.” He points at my medallion. “It lacks the sophistication of the pieces I’ve offered you.” That’s like a slap in the face. “When you were in Paris you lived in a multimillion-dollar apartment in one of the bestarrondissements. You live in an enviable zip code in New York. You have a Black American Express card at your disposal and you don’t even have to worry about paying the balance.”
“Things, Father. Those are all things.” I’m fuming.
“Things most people will never have.”
I stuff more bread in my mouth, storing the morsels between my cheeks like a chipmunk.
“After your mother’s death, you could’ve ended up in the system. Foster kids have it rough. Instead, you’ve been living in the lap of luxury.”
His words have the same effect as a catastrophic earthquake.
I masticate like a cow and swallow. “Why would I have ended up as a foster kid?” He forced me here to insult me? He could’ve done it by phone or text. This conversation is beyond aggravating. “You’re my father. When a parent dies, the other parent steps up to the plate.”
“And I did. And now, it’s payback time.”
I blink.
“If you were to become Mrs. DeMaro, it would help further the family not only financially, but also in the political arena. Dario knows the right people.”
All this vomiting must’ve affected my hearing. “Heading a PR company isn’t my dream career.” My hand cups my medallion. “I went along with your grand plan because I was hoping you’d accept me. I won’t prostitute myself for the good of the family––a family that would prefer I never existed––”
“Prostitute is a strong word. It’s a marriage––”
“If I was stupid enough to marry Giuseppe, I bet it still wouldn’t be enough to earn your respect or your love.”
My father lifts both of his brows, his attention fixed on me, his posture stiffening.
I keep offloading what’s on my chest. “This craziness stops here. Iwon’t do it.” I shake my head. “If you want to form an alliance with the DeMaros, ask one of your sons to marry Dario’s daughter.”
