Page 71 of Bad Boy Neighbor

Amelda, our seamstress, works around me, impatiently running her thread against the expensive laced fabric my mother insisted I wear. The fabric was imported from Italy, handcrafted and worth a fortune.

As I stand on the podium—the final dress fitting before the wedding tomorrow—my eyes hastily wander to the tall golden mirror perched in front of me.

The structure of my cheekbones appears gaunt, somewhat aging me beyond my years. My skin has become a pasty white, no longer sun-kissed by the California sun.

My mother was quick to castigate me for allowing my appearance to fade away before the most important day of my life. She called in her emergency beauty crew—the team attempting to work miracles on my tired body. No matter what they forced upon me, it was unable to remove the dark circles carved beneath my eyes from the insomnia which has depleted me.

My frame, once fit and curvaceous in the right places, has lost its shape. From the top of the princess-cut bodice, below my collarbone, my chest is visibly bony. The reflection, a small fragment of the hell I have been battling inside me, reminded me of what the last six months has become.

I walked back into my prison, succumbed to the guilt my family had placed upon me the second I walked back through the door the night after Oliver took all of me.

It’s as if a spell had been cast over me—my feelings, my thoughts, everything controlled by my father. The moment he laid eyes on me, I knew it was over between Oliver and me. There would be no turning back.

Father sat quietly behind his table, ignoring my presence as my mother stood by my side. The stale stench of cigar smoke lingered inside the room. The olive-green walls surrounded by dark brown shelves housing ancient literature feels like it’s closing in on me.

“You have disgraced our family, Gabriella,” he bellowed, refusing to look at me. “You have humiliated the King family name.”

“Father,” I pleaded, desperate for him to understand. “I didn’t mean to. Oliver is… I promise you will love him just like I do.”

“Love?” he ridiculed, followed by a turbulent laugh. “You think love matters? He is not the right fit for our family. Don’t be ridiculous!”

The echo of his yelling bounced in the room, my mother fanning herself as she often did when my father was mad. His eyes were narrowed. Rigid. Cold. Hard. Anger was a silent hunter looming in the night ready to strike when you least expected it. But I did expect it and don’t know why I thought this would be any different. I love Oliver. I thought I could make Father see that.

“There is a proper protocol for this family. I gave into your childish whims and allowed you time in California, assuming you would learn your responsibilities and what is asked of you,” he reminded, in the same arctic tone. “Instead, you have embarrassed us, spending time with some boy from Australia. We are pureblood American! You have disgraced us, our heritage. You have continually brought shame to this family from the moment you were born.”

My lips began to tremble, the fight to control my destiny vanishing in a fleeting moment. He never argued with his fists, but his words packed a powerful punch. Father’s words always had an air of finality to them, and no matter how hard I rallied against them, nothing would change his mind.

“Now, you will listen to me. You will marry Nicholas. You will move into the King residence once you’re married. You will relieve your mother of her duties and take on her charitable roles. I will, once again, ensure that this scandal does not break to the press. This is damaging to my reputation.”

“Your reputation?” I cried. “What about what I want? I don’t want to marry Nicholas. He’s not good for me. And I don’t want to follow in mother’s footsteps. I deserve more!”

He stands from his chair, slamming his fist on the desk. “You deserve nothing!”

“I deserve a life,” I plead, wiping the tears away from my cheeks. “I deserve to make my own decisions.”

“Things could have turned out a lot different for you, Gabriella. Why don’t you ask your mother?” The bitter resentment carried in his voice. I didn’t want to ask any more questions. “Now, you walk out of this room because tomorrow morning, we have breakfast with Nicholas. Your engagement is to be announced and a wedding date set.”

“I can’t do this,” I sobbed openly.

My father turned to face me, his cold and heartless stare boring into me. “You will do this. You know why? Because without this family, you are nothing. No place to live, no money to survive. And trust me when I say, your betrayal to us will pay a very heavy price. I will make sure your Australian friend will suffer the consequences of your actions.”

The nightmare replays over and over until I shut my eyes and try to forget that night. Forget the night I was pulled back into the dungeon, a slave to my family’s responsibilities to society.

Linda, my mother’s hairstylist, shoves her iPad in front of me, requesting I look at the endless pictures of styles because my wild hair will be a nightmare to tame. My mother got her two cents in, telling me how awful I was as a child and why she let the nannies take care of it.

I don’t expect anything less.

I smiled, nodded my head, and went back to staring at the mirror like a ghost.

This drags on for what feels like hours. My sisters join me, my eldest pregnant with baby number two, reiterating how poor timing this was to get married during her third trimester. Of course, it’s all about her and nothing to do with me. Father already pushed the wedding back three months from its original date. That, in itself, was a scandal.

“So, tonight Nicholas is going on his infamous bachelor party,” Clara snickers. “The Playboy King’s last hurrah.”

For as long as I could remember growing up, Clara and Antoinette bullied me into thinking the worse about situations and people. God forbid they look in their own backyards and see their husbands are not so perfect either.

Things between Nicholas and I are amicable. We reached a mutual agreement about our impending marriage—as long as I don’t hinder his political career, he doesn’t care what I do.

My sisters planned a girls’night out. I’m not stupid. Nicholas had dropped hints that their night involved many rather questionable bars in town, but given his new job, my father warned him to be on his best behavior.

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