The First Rule by Nicole S. Goodin

25

Darcy

“Let’sget another shot of you with your son and daughter-in-law, Mr. Steele.” The event photographer ushers us together.

I find myself stuck in between Jacob and Conrad Steele, both of them have a hand gently resting on me, and it takes every last bit of my control not to gag at the unwanted contact.

There are some pretty heinous places on this earth, but right now I’d consider visiting most of them if it meant I could leave this elaborately decorated ball room.

“Smile, Darcy.” Jacob scolds me between gritted teeth of his own fake smile. “Miserable bitch isn’t the look we’re going for.”

Ever since that night at the awards ceremony – the night that Ryan and Rebel won an award, Jacob has been even more unbearable. He’s completely dropped the act of playing nice for my sake. It’s all about public appearances. For the most part, he entirely ignores my presence, but when he does acknowledge me at home, his tone is harsh and his words nasty. When we’re out, he plays his role of ‘loving fiancé’ with all the skills of an Oscar-winning performer.

I can’t believe I ever thought I loved this man – that I ever agreed to marry him. I was a total idiot. I was blind to his manipulation. I wanted to see the good in him, and I clung to the crumbs he fed me to keep me hooked. I was played, and I swear on the life of my unborn child, I’ll never fall for his shit again. No matter how long he keeps me locked up and under his control.

I plaster a fake smile on my face, one that is likely to look more like a grimace, but it’s the best I can do.

I’m no actress and being able to look happy right now would be exactly that – acting.

We ‘smile’ for a few more clicks of the shutter and then finally they let go of me.

It’s a small reprieve, but at least I feel like I can breathe again without their slimy, unwanted touch on my skin.

Jacob gets called over by some business associates. He makes a show of sweeping some hair off my face and whispering in my ear, “behave yourself”, before leaving me alone to go and speak with them. Having his breath at my ear makes my skin crawl.

“I know you don’t understand business the way we do, but you’re making a good choice here. A smart choice.”

A choice? I’m not making a fucking choice at all. I’m being forced to do this.

Rage surges through me, but I restrain it as I turn slowly to face the tree that the apple didn’t fall far from.

I don’t reply as Conrad stands before me, appraising me from head to toe.

“Pregnancy suits you.”

“Thank you,” I murmur. I would have much rather told him to fuck off, but there are several little old ladies and their even older, considerably more powerful husbands, only a few feet away from us. Speaking my mind wouldn’t serve me well right now.

“The two of you could really build an empire. Imagine the privileged life your children could lead if you’d just accept this for what it is.”

Privileged life.What a complete joke. This man has obviously heavily subscribed to the view that money equals happiness.

He couldn’t be more wrong.

“Child,” I correct him. “Singular.”

He chuckles, pausing to sip his drink before he answers me.

“Maybe just one for now, but more will follow, sweet Darcy, you mark my words.”

A chill races down my spine. There is no way in hell that I’d ever willingly have another child with Jacob as the father. No way in hell, but that’s the issue here. I’m not doing any of this willingly. I’m being forced – held at hypothetical gunpoint.

The truth is, I have no idea how far Jacob will go… what he’d do to get what he wants.

I feel bile rise up my throat and my hand instinctively flies to my mouth. I’m going to vomit – absolutely no doubt about it.

“I’m leaving,” I choke out.

I rush towards the exit. I don’t miss the comment about pregnancy sickness from one of the women as I flee the scene, my hand still covering my mouth in a feeble attempt to stop the vomit I know is threatening.

I make it out the front door and into the nearby, perfectly trimmed hedges before I empty the contents of my stomach.

I feel Jacob behind me, he’s explaining to some concerned bystander that I’m pregnant, and his hand is resting on the small of my back, but I block him out. This display isn’t for me, or for comfort, it’s for prying eyes.

I can’t keep doing this. I won’t. I don’t know when or how, but one of these days, I’m going to get myself out of this mess and get as far away from this man as I can.

I rub my hand across my stomach and make a promise to my baby, that this will not be our life.