Page 28 of Their Princess

“I’m pretty sure she’ll never get your nose out of those romantasy books.”

“Oh! Did I tell you about the last one I read.”

I smiled. “No, but another time.” I would love to humor her, but I couldn’t get lost in fictional banter at the moment. “As for other friends, does Mamà realize how petty the bitches in that private school are? Or the other Mafia princesses?”

“I know, right?” Caterina laughed.

I chuckled too, the weight shifting ever so slightly off my chest. It was always good to talk to her and get lost in the simplicity of our sisterhood. Sometimes it was hard to believe we were six years apart.

“Anyway,” started Caterina, “enough about me. My life hasn’t changed really.”

Ouch! I wish I could tell her how jealous I was.

“What about you, Lina?” She was the only person in the world who called me that, and I loved her even more for it. “Tell me everything.” She was far too excited for my impending death sentence... er, marriage.

I was being dramatic. I wouldn’t die. Not right away, anyway. I had to endure some torture with becoming part of this MC first. Not physically—I hoped—only mentally and emotionally, starting with this fucking bedroom.

Then, I had to figure out a way to manage my fiancé’s loose cannon proclivity. And hopefully, I could keep clear of the cartel after Sas.

What could go wrong? So many things, I hated to admit.

“Sooo, what’s he like?” asked Caterina after only a second of me pausing.

“Who?” I asked.

“Your future husband.”

I sighed loudly.

“That good?” joked Caterina, snickering. “Maybe I should?—”

“Hush, Cat. He’s not old enough for you,” I muttered and then pushed into a seated position. “He’s a biker. Leather. Jeans. Beer. Tattoos. Fat fucking heads.”

“C’mon, Lina, there’s something to be said about bikers,” ventured Caterina, a husky note in her tone.

I waited, deep down hating my younger sister for this. Hating how she would’ve happily handed herself over had she been legal age. Papà might’ve considered her at her current age of sixteen if it hadn’t been for our mother.

“Lina, you still there?” asked Caterina.

I was definitely considering hanging up on her. After—of course—I told her to focus on school and not boys. No men either. She should’ve been thinking about college and degrees and future jobs. I had a fucking university degree and would never get to use it.

Fucking yay for me. I mentally waved my hands in the air.

“Yeah,” I answered, letting that thought disappear to the back of my mind.

“So, like, bikers are really protective of their girls,” said Caterina in her chipper tone. Unfortunately, it wasn’t forced like she was trying to cheer me up.

“I think you mean controlling,” I said. “Over their girls. They call them ‘old ladies’ or ‘bunnies.’ Tell me, which one am I?”

“Why can’t you be both?”

I rolled my eyes, wishing I could be as flippant about it as her. “Because I don’t want to be.”

“I’m not sure you have a choice.”

“This is my life,” I spat. “I can at least make that choice. Take back my life and get out of this. One way or another.”

1 Figuratively, son of a bitch. Literally, son of a whore.

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