Page 24 of Prized Possession

So, naturally, I did what any self respecting person would do when faced with a loss of control over their own life…I got paralytically drunk and tried to shag a stranger in the middle of my brother’s best friend’s club.

What happened with Marcus afterwards will be seared into my brain for all eternity. The way he crowded my body with his, his possessive edge dominating me in a way I never expected to like. His touch took my breath away, and scared me shitless at the same time.

I’ve had a crush on Marcus Morelli since I was a kid, but I’ve known it was unrequited since that very first day. I smiled at him and he pushed me over. Ever since, he’s made it clear that he only tolerates me because I’m Jake’s little sister, and that’s all he’ll ever see me as.

I’ve watched him grow up, and the more devastatingly handsome he became, the more his ego grew. He knew he was hot, and that girls were throwing themselves at him every chance they got, and he let them. I’ve watched him sleep around, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake.

Though, to be fair, that was always the girl’s own fault. Marcus may be a man whore, but he’s always honest with them. He’s never wanted a relationship, he only offers no-strings attached.

Yet, no matter how clear he makes this, the girls always think they'll be the one to tame the bad boy. Little do they know, he can’t be tamed.

The night before last, in the club, I got a tiny taste of everything I ever wanted with him. I never, in my wildest dreams, thought anything like that would ever happen with Marcus, and when it did, I never wanted it to end. But it did, and I was left aching in the worst way, while wondering if he meant what he said about the deal we made.

What the fuck was I thinking making that deal with him? I have no idea how to get Jacob to stop fucking around.

That’s bollocks. I know exactly why I made the deal with Marcus—I will do anything for even just a fraction of his attention. If he really thinks he can delay my marriage, I’ll work out how to help him with Jake.

I’ve been worried about my brother this past year. He’s been slowly spiralling since he was placed into the heir position at twenty-five. Though, if we’re being honest, he started going off the rails during the last year of high school.

Jake tried to negotiate with Dad, telling him he wasn’t ready, but he didn’t listen. Marcus was ready to rule, which meant Jacob had to be too.

I hate that I’ve been so caught up in my own shit this last year that I missed how bad Jacob has become. I had no idea he was doing heavy drugs, or making enemies of the wrong people. In our world, that sort of behaviour is what gets you killed, and I can’t have that.

Besides, if Jacob isn’t leading the Santoro family, that means our power will pass to Scott when I marry him, and there’s no way I want that dickhead to lead.

Desperate to know what the meeting is about, I make sure I’m ready in good time. As I don’t normally attend these things, I have no idea who will be in attendance, but there will be an expectation for me to present my best self. Which is why I’m dressed up much fancier than I’d normally be on a Sunday lunchtime.

My black pencil skirt sits just above my knees; long enough to be decent, but short enough to show off my legs, which I accentuate by adding four inch black stilettos.

I pair it with a plain white blouse, leaving the top two buttons undone. The sheerness to the fabric means you can see the outline of my lace bra underneath, and the open buttons show off a hint of cleavage.

I look like a secretary, with a hint of sex appeal. After I’ve put on a little make-up, mostly to hide the bags under my eyes and the blemishes my mother is quick to point out, I couldn’t feel less like myself. I look like the perfect Santoro wife, which I guess is exactly what I am.

Fifteen minutes before the time I’m supposed to meet my family, I head downstairs. The meeting is being held in my father’s business wing, which is on the left side of the house.

Unless invited, that wing is off-limits to me. It has a side entrance that Dad’s business associates use, so we don’t have men with guns traipsing through the house at all hours.

Not that I care. My room is on the top floor, the opposite side of the house to his business wing. I used to share a corridor with Jacob, but he has his own apartment now, though his room is still here if he needs it.

I have my own living space and bathroom, so the only time I’m likely to run into family is in the kitchen, the family dining room, the gym, or the indoorpool. Though, even then it’s rare. The house is so fucking massive, we’re like ships passing in the night, and I’ve never complained.

As soon as I reach my Dad’s meeting room, I’m thrown to see the door is closed. In our house, everyone knows you don’t enter a room where the door is closed without knocking first. Before I even get a chance to knock, one of my dad’s security guards walks towards me, clearly having seen me approach on one of the many security cameras littered throughout our house.

“Your father has asked that you wait here until you’re called,” he states with a clipped, professional tone.

I narrow my gaze at him, trying to work out what the hell is going on. “I was told to attend the meeting at twelve. Has it already started?”

“You are here at the right time,” he replies cryptically, his gaze stoic.

I don’t know this guard, but that’s not a big surprise. My family has a lot of staff members, and it’s fucking impossible to know them all, particularly as they rotate around a lot. I may not see this guy again for months.

Some, like my dad’s own personal guard, or the ones who guard me regularly, are familiar faces that I remember, but most all blend into one. I hate having guards that follow me, so one of the agreements I made early on with my dad is that I could have a say in who was on my team, and unless it’s an emergency, I get the same people.

What can I say? I have trust issues, and knowing that the same guards have been with me for a while helps. Though not a great deal, given I should have had a guard detail with me when my life went to shit, and they weren’t there to protect me.

“Could have at least left me a fucking chair to sit on and wait,” I grumble, more to myself than to the guard, as I shuffle from one foot to the other. These shoes may look great, and accentuate my legs and arse in a perfect way, but fuck are they uncomfortable.

At this, he looks a little startled, his gaze flicking around uncomfortably, as though he’s trying to decide whether he should go and get me a chair, or if it’s more important to stay here with me.

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