Vow of Hell by Clara Elroy

Ariadne

Five months later

“You need to call it off, Ariadne,” Mom said as she poured some piping hot coffee in two cups. “The longer you wait, the harder you’re going to make this on each other.”

I toyed with my phone, avoiding her gaze like the plague.

I didn’t want to have this conversation. I heard the ticks of an invisible clock hanging over my head, its daunting shadow crowding my every move.

“Why would I break up with my boyfriend? We’re doing great.” I shrugged, wrapping my hands around the mug she placed before me.

Lydia Fleur saw past the bullshit though.

She arched one brown brow in response, shutting me down with a single look. Mom knew me like the back of her hand, could be because I was always attached to her hip as a kid.

That’s the way it was in our family. My sister Irena was a daddy’s girl, and I stuck to mama. In looks too, we were like two drops of water; bushy brows, chestnut locks, heavy lashes shielding dark eyes, and a slight crook on our noses betraying our Greek descent.

“Because you are betrothed to another man. What you’re doing isn’t right. You’re stringing the poor guy along.”

“I am not marrying Saint,” I sing-songed, the sentence flowing past my mouth like water. “Also please stop saying betrothed. This is not medieval England.”

I’d repeated the same tune about a thousand times the past three months, but they still hadn’t drilled that fact into their heads. My grandma could’ve signed whatever papers she wanted, this was my life, and I wouldn’t be forced into doing anything I didn’t want.

“Trust me, there is nothing else I want more than for you to choose your own future, but there is nothing we can do, honey.” Mom took her seat on the opposite side of the kitchen aisle. The afternoon sun sliced through the bow windows, giving us a perfect view of my parent’s garden… well, more like my dad’s garden.

It was the biggest in Astropolis.

He took huge pride in it, planting all kinds of seasonal vegetables and fruits amidst all the sugar maple trees. The grounds were losing their vibrancy by the day as summer made room for fall.

“Now, you know I don’t like bad-mouthing your grandma, even though she has her quirks, but she’s doing this for the best.”

I tried to stop my eyes from rolling. I really did.

Mom loved talking shit about grandma, and I didn’t fault her to a certain extent, so I let her comment slide. Ignorance was bliss sometimes.

“For who’s best? The company? Because she certainly wasn’t thinking of me when she went ahead and signed a seven-figure contract, basically selling me to become richer.”

“Fleur has been going downhill for a while now, she had no choice, and the Astors presented her with a good deal. A merger and a marriage, guaranteeing equal division of all assets.”

“It has been going downhill because they refused to adapt to modern times. Online stores are not just for retail shops. The sooner they realize that the better. Diversity is also key. We’re missing out on huge markets.”

Mom bobbed her head, her chestnut locks falling over her shoulders as she agreed with my statement. “Look at the bright side of things, glukia mou. You can implement all those things you’re talking about. Marry Saint, and you’ll have a bigger say in the company than Grandma Chloe.” She went back to singing her original tune, calling me sweetheart in Greek as if that would butter me up.

At first, I didn’t understand why my mother wasn’t appalled by the news of this sham of a marriage. She was my biggest cheerleader, always encouraging me to follow my dreams and use my voice.

You’re a lion, not a mouse, Ariadne. You are what you exude; bleed power and people will treat you with respect.

I caught on pretty quickly though. Everyone craved what they couldn’t have, and while I looked at my mom like she hung the moon, she was still mortal, and we were all flawed.

Anastasia was forced to be a stay-at-home mom, taking care of my sister and me when all she wanted was to be involved in the business as well. Grandma Chloe never allowed it. It had been more than thirty years since my parents married, but in her eyes, Mom would always be the unwanted, pregnant Greek girl Dad tugged along with him after a wild summer in Mykonos.

Yes, that was how I was conceived.

And I was blessed with listening to that particular story every time the bickering between those two started.

“What do you know, you Greek whore?”

“Well, more than you, you uptight Karen.”

The names they called each other after a full-blown fight one night when I was seven rung in my ears. I wasn’t supposed to have heard them, but who can stop an eavesdropping child?

“Can’t you see that she’s doing the same thing to me that she tried to do with Dad? He was supposed to marry Saint’s mom, but because that didn’t work out, I’m supposed to pay the price?”

Mom’s palms tightened around her ceramic cup at the reminder of the turbulent past. It killed me knowing that she prioritized her power game over myhappiness and her dignity.

“I choose to look at the positive. This isn’t an ideal situation, but it is for the best. You’ll even get to put your fashion degree to use right after you graduate college. Not many young adults have a job lined up for them, especially in your field. Acknowledge your privilege, Ariadne, and stop whining.”

I was way more fortunate than probably ninety-nine percent of the population on this planet, I would admit that. I was grateful for the life I led, but at the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like not to be in the public eye so much.

The media loved young, rich heirs, especially ones that came from families that led the fashion world. They picked apart every little interaction, every uttered word, pulling at the threads until they spun a story so good, they could sell it for millions.

I held back a wince when I thought about what I’d said to Saint four months ago, kicking him down when he was already nine feet underground. I blamed the alcohol running through my system that night for my appalling behavior.

Who was I to dictate his actions?

I avoided him like the plague after secondhand embarrassment settled in the next day while I was hugging the toilet bowl and retching like my guts were on fire. It was an all-around lovely atmosphere as Irena held back my hair.

“Where did your mind wander off to?” Mom snapped me back to the present. “And why are you turning red? Is it an allergic reaction?”

Of course, now that she’d pointed it out, I felt myself turning even redder.

“No.” I shook my head, chugging what was left of the coffee in my cup. “It’s a bit warm here. You know Dad likes to set the thermostat up too high.”

“I didn’t know you were that sensitive to warmth.” She eyed my flaming cheeks with suspicion.

My phone pinged before I could reply, and I thanked the Lord for the distraction. I pulled it up, eyeing the text from Harry, saying he was on his way.

My boyfriend and I met at my college graduation in May. He was there for a family member of his, and we stumbled across each other, had a good laugh, one thing led to another, and we exchanged numbers. We were friends for two months before we started dating in August.

He was nice. Never tried for more until I gave him the green light, but the more time passed, I could tell he was getting impatient. Rough touches, clipped answers, a short fuse, and low tolerance for repeated questions. There was no spark between us, just friendship that grew into fondness, and in a way, a sort of defiance for me.

Harry was my way out.

He was my scapegoat, the one that was supposed to keep me safe from a future I had no say in.

“Bodies change as we grow older, Mama.” I tossed out a half-assed excuse, dropping my phone in my clutch as I pulled my seat back. “Anyway, it was lovely catching up, but I really have to go. I have a date.”

That judgmental frown pulled over her features again, and I averted my gaze, busying myself with pulling my beige pea coat on.

“Is it him?”

“No, it’s Saint,” I drawled, hating how her eyes lightened. “Yes, it’s Harry, my boyfriend, whose name you should know by now, seeing as we’ve been dating for three months.”

“Three months is peanuts. Besides, it won’t go on for much longer.”

“Goodbye, Mom.”

Lydia sighed heavily as if I was the reason for all her wrinkles, and bid me farewell too, dropping in the usual complaint that I was sure every Greek mother had from their child. “One of these days, you need to come over for some cooking lessons, Ariadne. You’re way too thin.”

I was a healthy one hundred and forty-seven pounds, a little overweight for my height, but I humored her, knowing that this was a war I would never win. Besides, cooking lessons meant she’d probably make Moussaka, and saying no to that was blasphemous in my book.

“Will do,” I said, dropping a kiss on her cheek on my way out. “See you in a few days.”

* * *

“Excuse me, I asked for medium, and this might as well be raw.”

I sunk lower in my seat as Harry complained to the waiter. It wasn’t so much about what he’d said that made me uncomfortable. It was about the underlying rudeness in the tone of his voice.

“I’m sorry, sir, we’ll fix that right away,” the flushed guy replied, and from the way his hands shook as he took Harry’s plate, I could tell he was relatively new.

“And make sure it doesn’t happen again. This is a three Michelin star restaurant, for God’s sake, and every other weekend there’s a different problem with your dishes.”

My eyes widened as he went on, hammering the poor worker for a measly mistake. Yes, every other weekend, he had something to complain about. I thought he was picky with his food, but now I was starting to believe he liked being a dick to the staff.

“I-I’m really sorry. I’ll talk to the chef immediately,” the waiter stuttered, the flush spreading to the tips of his ears and disappearing under a mop of auburn hair.

“Actually, I would like to speak to the manager.”

“That’s enough,” I spoke up, and both men turned to me. I hit Harry with a frown before turning to smile apologetically at… Ben, according to his nametag. “That won’t be necessary, Ben. We would appreciate it if you could just tell the chef to cook the steak for a little while longer.”

I clamped down on my jaw when Ben turned to Harry, waiting for confirmation and simultaneously recognizing him as the figure of authority. Much to my relief, Harry nodded, and the waiter left, stringing a line of apologies.

My boyfriend’s usually charming smile was down-turned today, and his sparkly blues were extra frosty as lines creased his forehead, donned by black curls on either side of his temples. He was a sight to behold, especially in a restaurant where the median age of every customer was above fifty. Long straight nose, full dark eyebrows, and a taut body wrapped in a Bellini suit.

Not to forget, one hell of a temper too.

“What was that about?” I asked, noticing we had captured the attention of several other guests.

“What was what, Ari? Don’t I have the right to complain when they get my order wrong?” Long fingers wrapped around the stem of his wine glass as he sloshed the red liquid around before taking a sip.

I held back an annoyed sigh as I glanced around the restaurant once again. Harry insisted on dining here because a buddy of his owned the place. And while the interior didn’t look bad with its checkered floors and arched wooden ceiling, it was a bit outdated. It attracted precisely the same kind of crowd too. Filled to the brim with gossiping married couples who thankfully returned back to their overpriced meals.

“Of course you do.” I continued, some of the intensity seeping out of my voice. “But you don’t have to be rude about it. You all but chewed that boy out. The manager card, really?”

Harry bit down on his lower lip, and I felt his leg shake under the table before he gave a resigned nod. “I’m sorry for being such a dick. Today has been challenging to say the least.”

It seemed like every day was challenging for him.

As soon as the thought entered my head, I felt guilty. People had shitty periods that stretched quite a long time. It was just that except for our initial meetings, I’d only seen flashes of charming, sweet Harry. The mean, broody one was a constant companion, though.

Sighing through my nose, I kept my thoughts to myself, deciding to hear him out.

“I figured that much.” I reached out, threading my fingers with his on the table. “We can talk about it if you want.”

“I’d rather not bore you with the details. A deal at work I’ve been trying to strike for a while didn’t work out, that's it.”

“I’m really sorry.” I squeezed his hand. “It sucks when all your hard work goes down the drain. I remember when I had to redo my final project for design class a few months ago because my partner bailed on me last minute, but guess what?”

His eyes flicked up at my question. “What?”

“The end result was better than the original idea. Don’t worry, babe. This deal might've not gone through, but there will be plenty of others that will.”

A small smile took hold of his lips, and he brought my hand up, kissing the back of it. “You’re right. After all, the people that can resist the charm of Harry Shaw are few and far between.”

A strained laugh bubbled out of my throat in response to his. Harry’s eyes lit up with mirth, and I instantly recognized the direction his mind had taken. Down the valley of my breasts and then further south.

A curl of anxiety festered when I detached as the waiter came back with Harry’s food. I wasn’t asexual. I had needs like most people in the world, but I also didn’t feel completely comfortable performing any of the things he was dreaming of, and probably watched on the regular with a PornHub Premium subscription.

Could be because I was of legal drinking age, and my vagina was still uncharted territory. Could also be that I was overweight, hence my reluctance to show any part of it. No matter what Mama said, I knew my body was not up to par with today’s beauty standards.

We did other stuff, of course. You could only hold off a hungry shark for so long, but my V-card was still very much intact.

“My new bathtub was finally installed yesterday,” Harry said, cutting into his steak with precision. “I got us some Lavender Epsom Salts to inaugurate it properly.”

“Is that so?” I raised a brow, taking a big gulp out of my wine glass to wash down a bite of salmon.

“Yes, installed a TV on the opposite wall too, so you have something to look at while I eat your sweet pu—”

The white wine ended up going down the wrong pipe.

Did I ever mention that in addition to being ridiculously good-looking, Harry also had one of the filthiest mouths ever?

So why was it that it did nothing for me?

A headache split my forehead as I forced the liquid down my throat, holding back my violent coughs, so I didn’t sound like a dying whale.

“Are you okay?” Harry watched me with a wicked grin on his face.

“Just peachy.” Sarcasm dripped off my tone as I calmed down. “How many TVs does your house even have now? I swear there must be one in every room.”

“Movie buff, I can’t really help myself.”

I’d guessed as much already. Our every other conversation contained at least one mention of Quentin Tarantino and Steven Spielberg.

I cleared my throat one more time, playing with the edges of my dark red dress. It was the perfect shade and cut, fit for seduction as it wrapped tightly around my chest and flared out over my stomach, disguising any imperfections.

I wasn't planning on making him wait much longer. At this point in our relationship, sex was expected of me, and I’d run out of excuses, but this time I truly couldn’t go. I had work in the morning.

“Well…” I started, and Harry’s eyes flashed when he caught the dejected sound of my voice. “While that definitely sounds tempting, I’m afraid I can’t come by tonight.”

His jaw locked.

My heart started drumming faster.

Please don’t break up with me. I need a buffer.

My mind betrayed me again, and I chided myself by digging my nails in my palms. Harry was more than just a shield I could use against my marriage from Astor.

He was sexy, bright, and had an amazing career in front of him.

At the age of twenty-eight, he was working his way up the ladder of The Alsford Group, one of the top real estate companies on the east coast. Their CEO had invested the money he’d made from a break-out app, and they’d grown exponentially.

My boyfriend. He is my boyfriend, and I need to start showing up more.

“My father,” I blurted out before he could get a word in. “I’m catching a flight to Milan with my father early tomorrow morning to scout a new supplier overseas. I’m only an intern at the moment, but he insists on showing me the ropes as early as possible.”

Someone call the plumber because the tap won’t shut off.

Gosh, I was acting like a child, having to excuse herself to her elders.

“Is there something you would like to tell me, Ari?”

The smile on my face was turning painful. “No, why would you say that?”

“We’ve been dating for months,” he nudged again, but he wouldn’t catch me slipping up.

“I’m well aware.”

“Three months more specifically, and you’ve only come over a handful of times. Is it me? Is it something I did, or maybe you’re not attracted to me?”

There was a hint of vulnerability in his tone, and my throat closed up as I looked him over.

Gorgeous, bright, sexy.

Don’t ruin this, Ariadne, insecurities be damned.

“Oh my gosh, no. I’m so sorry I ever gave you that perception. You’re amazing, Harry, seriously. The timing has been a little off these past few months, that’s all. A lot has been going on down in the Fleur headquarters, and it’s been keeping me busy.”

Technically, it wasn’t a lie.

Dad insisted on having me around ever since I graduated. Instead of having me work in the design department like I wanted, though. He kept shoving me into all these corporate roles that did nothing to nurture my creativity.

Harry considered my words. I could see the wheels behind his eyes turning, determining whether he believed me or not, but the doe-eyed look on my face left no room for dispute. I might’ve been a virgin, but I wasn’t naive. I knew how to play men. After all, eight years of reading smutty romance books had to leave me with something.

“And when do you get back from Milan?” he grumped, reluctantly accepting my excuse.

“On Saturday. I’ll be gone for a week.”

“All right, but once you get back, you're mine for the whole weekend, deal?” He held out his hand, and despite the knots that twisted my stomach, I placed mine on his.

“Deal.”