Bought Mafia Bride by Mae Doyle

Before

It’s a perfect hot July day, the sun beating down warming my skin, but instead of running around the yard with the rest of the kids, I’m up in a tree, my arms wrapped around it, trying to hide from the thing that I just heard.

It can’t be true. Closing my eyes, I try to breath deep enough to keep from throwing up, but panic rises in my chest and I suck in a gulp of air. It’s my tenth birthday party and I’m supposed to be down on the grass, eating cake and throwing darts with the rest of my friends, but I can’t make myself move from the tree.

The bark eats into my skin but I still don’t want to let it go. It hurts, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as badly as what I heard my father saying when I was snooping around the giant pile of presents sitting in the sunroom. I was pretty sure that there was going to be a puppy in there, or maybe a kitten, but I’ve wanted a dog for a year.

And after mom died, my therapist told my dad that an animal that I could take care of on my own would help with the healing process. I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I don’t really care as long as the end result is a wiggly little puppy I can call my own.

I thought that I’d be able to poke around and find some clue, like a leash or a food bowl, but instead I heard my dad talking to his friends.

They’re all big men, towering over their wives and their kids, and always have a perpetual scowl on their faces, like someone has pissed them off just enough to put them in a bad mood. Shifting position a little on the branch, I look down at the yard.

The other kids are all hanging out and talking. At ten we’re supposed to be able to hold conversations with adults and not play in the dirt, but I still want to run around and laugh. I don’t want to grow up as quickly as my dad wants me to. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he just wanted me to be a bit mature.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he only needed me to act a little older than I am when he has to take me to parties or when he needs me to be by myself at home so that he can handle something with work.

But that’s not all he wants.

I shiver again, and I want to drop from the tree and run into the house, but I don’t want to risk anyone seeing me. All it would take is my dad seeing me trying to escape my party and then I’d have to explain what I heard.

I’d have to explain that I know that he’s selling me off to the highest bidder. That he’s picked my husband for me and that I’m not going to have a choice but to walk down the aisle to meet him in a few years.

Eight.

Eight years. That’s how long I have until I’m going to zip myself into a white dress and hand myself over from my father to a man I’ve never met.

No, that’s not true. I may not have met him, but I’ve seen him from a distance. I’ve seen the man that my father wants me to marry. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he were my age and we were able to grow up together. I’d have to get to know him, and I don’t know that he’d be someone I could ever love, but it would still be better than it is.

I’ve seen him. I’ve seen the hard way he looks at me, back before I knew that I was going to be his wife. I’ve seen how he drinks whiskey like it runs through his veins. He’s older than me, and terrifying, and now that I know that I’m going to belong to him, I don’t ever want to come down from this tree.

I don’t want anyone to see me up here, but I also don’t want to ever look at him or my dad again.

I’ll just sit up here until my body hurts too much for me to stay, then I’ll have to make a run for it. It’s my only choice.