Page 22 of Bound in Debt
“He told me you were being difficult. Childish, even.” Her brows arch and she looks down her nose at me. “I can assure you, Victoria…this is in your best interest as well as Liam’s. You can make him into a good man. He seems to like you well enough.”
“That’s not enough for me. I caught him with another girl at a party he invited me to, in front of all our friends. I’d say that’s blatant disrespect. Not affection.”
Marissa takes a step forward and doesn’t hide the fact that she’s pissed. “Men are pigs, Victoria. Nobody gets a fairytale ending. Men just want as much pussy as they can get their grubby hands on. So, do what any smart woman would do and use him back. Liam has a good name. A name that will be yours. Your children will have all the best opportunities, every advantage. Together, you and my son will be able to conquer anything.”
She’s giving Liam far too much credit.
He isn’t the brightest crayon in the box, for one.
And, two, I’m not going to settle.
For anyone.
I don’t care about my mother’s threats. I will not be forced to become another shackled socialite.
“What are you planning for tonight?” I ask because, obviously, I’m in the dark here. “I’d like to be prepared.”
“Your mother didn’t tell you?” I shake my head, refusing to back down and daring Marissa to do exactly what my mother does.
Ignore everything I want, everything I say.
“We’re announcing your engagement tonight.”
I nearly bite my tongue to hold back a sharp retort, bowing my head in false submission. A quick clapback may make me feel better, but silence is what will get Marissa out of the room.
“Get dressed,” she orders as she makes her exit. “We’ll be waiting downstairs. I expect you to pick something appropriate and smile like you mean it. Convince our guests you’re looking forward to becoming a Moretti.”
You’re going to be waiting a long time.
I pause and listen for the click of the door closing before curling my hands into tight fists. How fucking dare they assume that I’ll just bow down and follow their orders like a lapdog when this is my life? My mother should want more for me. She should wish for me to be loved and cared for by a man who won’t shove his tongue down someone else’s throat at the reception.
I contemplate following orders long enough to get through the party and bide my time until I find another way forward. But I’m not publicly getting engaged tonight.
I’m not getting engaged at all.
Pacing the room, I try to think of a plan for my escape. The stairs are off limits since I’m sure my mom or Marissa will be waiting at the bottom.
Which leaves the bedroom window.
Striding toward it, I peer outside. There aren’t any trees within reach, but there is a drainpipe.
Shit.
Would I rather break my neck or get engaged to Liam Moretti?
Break my neck.
Shoving the window up and open, I pop the screen out easily enough and almost have a heart attack at how high I am and how thin the drainpipe is.
There’s no way I’m James Bond-ing down a drain pipe.
Dead end.
My pulse races, each second that ticks by bringing me that much closer to getting caught. Neither my mom nor Marissa seem inclined to wait patiently for my return to the party.
Desperate, I look to the side and see that the next window over has a strong-looking tree growing right alongside it. Quickly, I slip out of Marissa’s bedroom, down the hall, and into the room next door. I don’t bother turning on the lights, using the moon’s silvery light to guide me around the furniture.
I repeat the process of opening and de-screening the window, glad to see I can easily grab a tree limb from the windowsill. As I trust all my weight to the branch, I climb out while holding my breath, praying I don’t fall. Pressing myself against the trunk, I realize that I can’t put the screen back in place from the outside. I reassure myself that someone would have figured things out even if I had closed the window up perfectly.
