Chapter 2 A Life I Never Chose

Rebecca Windsor

“Would you like something to drink, darling?” Clark asks, attempting to take my hand for the third time since we arrived at the party.

“No, thank you,” I reply, running my fingers through my ponytail to keep him from touching me.

The place is packed, and my parents gave me satisfied smiles when they saw me arrive with my fiancé.

Clark has always done exactly what my father wanted, and his presence had never bothered me.

Until now.

Ever since we got into the car, something hasn’t stopped nagging at the back of my mind.

The absence of a certain masculine energy in him.

Something proactive. Protective. Something that goes beyond simply obeying other people’s orders.

And, God, Mary was right about his smell.

My fiancé smells like disinfectant, and now that I’m aware of it, it’s almost unbearable.

After entering the party with him and greeting my parents, I haven’t been able to touch him again.

Mary and Harper were called over by their mother to meet two young men, and from the little I overheard, their marriages are already being arranged.

That’s common in our world.

Men decide our destinies.

We women, submissive as we are, accept every order.

They provide.

We give them children and take care of the family.

That’s the way it has always been.

We’re traditional.

That’s what growing up in the Mafia means.

Everyone has a clearly defined role, and it has never bothered me.

But the moment I see my friends smiling at their potential suitors, something tightens inside my chest.

Because I have never smiled at my fiancé that way.

I have never looked at him with that kind of interest.

And suddenly, my rebellious side awakens inside me, irritated by the fact that I’m standing here alone with Clark—a man I clearly know almost nothing about, a man who seems to want nothing to know about me beyond what our marriage can offer him…

And a man with ridiculously small hands.

And who smells like disinfectant.

God.

I think my stomach is turning.

“Rebecca, is something wrong? You’re acting strange.”

A waiter passes by with a tray, and I immediately grab a glass of sparkling wine, making Clark frown.

Probably because I rejected his offer of a drink only moments ago.

“The planets are aligned. Maybe that’s it,” I say, lifting the glass to my lips to avoid having to talk to him.

And to distract my nose with the smell of something else.

Clark watches me with a deep crease between his brows, and all I do is look away and return my attention to my friends.

They’re laughing with the young men, apparently around our age, sons of men who are friends with our fathers.

Even Harper seems happy, and that fills my heart with joy.

I love seeing them happy.

Clark grips my elbow firmly, and I have to count to ten in my head to keep myself from losing control.

Small hands.

Small hands.

Small hands.

God!

This man’s hands are practically the same size as mine.

Discreetly, I manage to pull away from him.

“It’s not appropriate for you to touch me. We’re not married yet,” I say in my sweetest voice.

He nods and doesn’t try to touch me again.

“You’re right, darling. We’ll have plenty of time to touch each other.”

His words only make me more uncomfortable.

Desperate, to be more precise.

Romance novels talk endlessly about the enchantment of being in love, about the almost urgent desire to be close to someone.

But there’s a feeling even more overwhelming than passion:

Repulsion.

That burning need to get away…

And the suffocating obligation to stay.

Clark takes a step forward without touching me, as though he wants to occupy the little air remaining between us.

His cologne becomes stronger, and in that exact moment, I realize that I truly hate his smell.

And I hate even more every sensation he manages to provoke in me without even putting a hand on me.

“I can’t wait until we’re married. I want to kiss you all night,” he whispers beside my ear, crossing the line for the first time when it comes to what should be acceptable to say before marriage.

But apparently, today is an unusual day.

And, well…

Apparently, he really isn’t gay.

Which does absolutely nothing to lessen my lack of interest in him.

An interest that, apparently, has disappeared rather abruptly.

I force a smile and make a mental note to ask Mary later when the planets will stop being aligned.

I need everything to go back to the way it was.

“I need some air,” I tell him, finishing my drink in one gulp before placing the empty glass on another waiter’s tray.

“I’ll come with you.”

I immediately shake my head.

“No,” I reply, far more rigidly than necessary.

Thankfully, my voice isn’t loud because attracting attention is the last thing I want right now.

My father is busy, and I want to keep it that way.

“It wouldn’t be appropriate,” I repeat my excuse when I notice the reluctance on his face. “Give me a few minutes, okay? You can go talk business. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Rebecca…”

“We have our whole lives to be together, don’t we?”

I offer him my best argument, and finally, I see his expression soften.

“Don’t be long.”

I barely wait for him to finish before discreetly slipping away along the edges of the ballroom.

Everyone is distracted, and no one pays me any attention, giving me the perfect opportunity to reach the terrace without answering more questions or coming up with more excuses.

It’s snowing outside, so I discreetly take my coat from an employee at the mansion’s entrance and step out onto the terrace alone.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize there’s no one there.

“Thank God…” I murmur to myself, resting my hands on the stone railing.

The cold night air wraps around me, calming the growing heat beneath my skin.

I slowly exhale, trying to ignore the bitter taste of the sparkling wine in my mouth.

Or the scent of disinfectant that still clings stubbornly to my nostrils.

The garden is partially illuminated, reflecting the soft glow of Christmas lights strung through the trees.

The wind shakes the branches, and for a moment, I feel like I can breathe again.

I descend two steps and walk between the shadows, moving even farther away from the ballroom.

I just want silence.

I just want…

Space.

I enter what looks like a maze of flowers and trees, and I don’t stop walking until I spot a bench in the middle of the garden.

Without thinking twice, I sit down, take a deep breath, and look up at the sky as I finally acknowledge the truth.

My life is about to take a direction I don’t want.

A direction I don’t even have the right to have an opinion about.

Mary said magical things happen at Christmas.

Maybe that’s true for ordinary people.

For girls who didn’t grow up surrounded by the Mafia.

But that isn’t my life.

And the truth has never hurt this much.

“I had so many dreams. So many plans…”

I whisper the words, feeling my throat burn with the tears I’m struggling to hold back.

I take off my coat and expose my skin to the freezing air, as if the pain of the cold could be easier to bear than the ache tearing through my chest.

What I feel is almost like mourning.

Like losing something precious and valuable forever.

Hope.

And there is nothing I can do to change it.

So, feeling sadness consume me and taking advantage of the fact that I’m alone in the garden, I squeeze my eyes shut and cry silently.

Because I know I won’t have much time.

Soon, I’ll have to return to the ballroom.

Return to the role that has already been chosen for me.