Page 4 of Taken By Him

Off to the right of my father stands a man. A familiar man.

Dominik Staszek.

My heart trips over itself when I recognize him. He’s aged, but haven’t we all. The years have made him fiercer, at least in appearance. Where he seemed serious before, he looks downright dangerous now.

His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his trousers. His hair is slicked back from his face. He scans my appearance, as though taking stock of me. How much have I changed in the six years we haven’t seen each other? The years that I’ve almost forgotten about him.

There’s no point for him anymore.

Not since the accident.

My throat dries as the tension in the room builds.

“Kasia.” My father finally breaks the silence. “I thought you’d be home earlier.” Anyone who doesn’t know Marcin Garska would think he sounds casual, but I know my father. He’s annoyed.

“I was downtown at the graduation party, like you...suggested. I didn’t realize you needed me home at a specific time.” My eyes wander from my father to the serious man still glaring at me. I avoid his pale eyes and try to assess him in the same manner he did me. He’s wearing a dark gray suit with a black button-down shirt. No tie and the top button is undone. Every bit of his clothing fits him like it was made specifically for him.

“You remember Dominik Staszek.” My father points to him but doesn’t stand up. And Dominik makes no move toward me. No extended hand or a smile. Just a simple nod of acknowledgement.

I was never formally introduced to Dominik. Other than the meeting where I posed as my sister, I have never spoken to him. A sadness showers me with the memory.

I swallow hard. Something’s out of sorts here. Diana isn’t here. She was killed along with our mother in a horrible crash long before she was forced to join hands with him. Dominik shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t need to be here.

“Yes, I remember,” I say, rolling my shoulders back and standing as tall as my spine will allow. Look determined, confident, no matter how much your insides are crumbling.

“Let’s get to the matter at hand,” my father announces. “The arrangement made with Joseph Staszek and his son Dominik stands.”

“What? Why?” I ask, focusing my attention on my father. I can feel Dominik’s stare on me, spreading warmth over my skin.

“It’s what was decided,” my father says.

“But...how? I mean, the arrangement was for—” I hesitate at her name. “Diana isn’t here to keep to the arrangement.” I tense my body, willing myself not to show how much her name still affects me.

“I’m well aware of that,” my father snaps at me, and a heavy wave of guilt rushes over me. “But an agreement was made. You’ll honor it.” My father looks right into my eyes, not an ounce of empathy crossing over his features.

“It’s been years, four years past the agreement,” I say quickly. Surely that has to mean something. He broke the deal by not coming four years ago.

“You’ll have to forgive me for not coming sooner.” Dominik finally speaks, his voice low, controlled.

I glance at him, then refocus on my dad. If I ignore him, maybe he’ll go away.

“This isn’t making any sense. You told me if I stayed, if I went to college and did exactly as you instructed, I would be able to choose for myself. I’ve graduated. I’m free. You said I could move—”

“Enough!” My father’s eyes widen with his outburst. His lips curl inward, and I can make out the vein in his neck throbbing. This conversation isn’t appropriate in front of Dominik, but he’s brought this on himself. He should have told me sooner. He should have given me a chance to talk to him in private about this.

I look to Dominik. The man appears utterly bored. He could be staring at paint dry for all I can see on his expression.

“I don’t understand,” I say softer, unable to tear my gaze away from Dominik.

“What’s not to understand? You’re marrying Dominik. Simple as that.” My father taps his hands on his desk and gets to his feet. He’s made his decision.

There’s a sound behind me. I turn just as Marcowski opens the office doors. The meeting is over. I’ve been informed and now I’m to just accept it. I’m not supposed to ask questions.

But I have so many.

“Go upstairs and pack a bag. Enough for a week.” My father points at the open door. “I’ll have the rest of your things sent to you in a few days.”

This gets my attention, and I face my father. “Bag? Why?” Although the sick feeling in my stomach tells me I already know the answer.

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