Page 6 of Alliance

But the sight of him there, looking at me as if I’m a meal to be devoured, makes my stomach uneasy.

Davis LaFontaine. The man who was supposed to marry my older sister. After one date with him, she swung her legs over the iron bars of her balcony and fell to her death.

I think about it more often than I’d like to admit. He looks the same as he did that night, when he walked through her bedroom, looked over the side of the balcony and scoffed. I saw the look on his face; he wasn’t saddened by her death at all, looking like the whole ordeal was nothing more than an inconvenience to him.

“Davis,” I repeat, letting him wrap his smooth hand around mine. Instead of shaking it, he pulls me to him, wrapping the other arm around my waist and hugging me. His hold feels suffocating, and my hand begins to get clammy within his grip.

“Pleased to meet you,” he tells me as he releases his hold on me.

The transaction feels slimy, knowing what he’s here for. I wonder what it’s like for him, a man ten years my senior, conspiring with my parents to marry me. I wonder if he thinks I’m willing. What would he say if he heard me voice my true feelings?

Something tells me he doesn’t care what I think.

“Let’s head to the dining room,” my mother says in a chipper tone, sending another wave of nausea to my gut. My mother is generally not a chipper person; sly and cunning are more suited descriptions for Carlotta Romano. Anything else is an act, and that means she has an angle. “I made brunch.”

My stomach growls in response to the mention of food, and Davis snorts a soft laugh next to me. I haven’t eaten since before Grandpapa’s funeral yesterday, long before all the liquor I swallowed. My stomach is protesting, begging for something with more substance.

“Sorry,” I mutter as we head for the table. Davis brings a hand to the small of my back to lead me there, like this isn’t the home I’ve lived in for twenty years.

Once we’re seated, his gaze turns to my father, a smile growing on his handsome face. He looks pleased, which only means that this transaction is moving to the next phase.

That heaviness returns to my gut, making my starving stomach too sick to eat. Davis piles my mother’s southern brunch onto his plate. Fried chicken, biscuits, and gravy—a morning meal fit for southern royalty. I skip the chicken and gravy, opting for half a biscuit and a small scoop of eggs. He looks pleased when he eyes the food on my plate.

The problem with men in my family, in this town even, is that they see women as objects to own.

Little dolls that dress nicely and look good on your arm. They require upkeep, healthy diets, and plenty of exercise. Like a dog that needs caring for. But if you give them enough shiny objects and green money, they’ll shut up and be quiet.

I’ve never cared much for shiny things.

“So, Davis, tell us about your work.” There’s a large, forced grin spread across my mother’s cheeks. She doesn’t care much for small talk, and seeing as I’m not contributing to the conversation, she’s forcing practiced topics to try to make Davis and I bond.

The more excitable I am, the easier this whole ordeal will be.

Using my fork, I push the eggs around on my plate and pretend to listen to Davis talk. He sounds like every other southern politician. A slight Louisiana drawl to his voice, using large words and pretty phrases to distract from what’s underneath.

Dark eyes find me as he slices through the meat on his plate. “So, Lana,” he drawls, “your father said you’re enrolled at Tulane, what are you studying there?”

I’m taken aback when he directs his question to me. “Yeah,” I mumble, “uh, English.”

He hums a low sound while tapping his finger against his glass. “Interesting,” he says, “won’t have much use for it, huh?”

His statement hits me like a ton of bricks. I can’t come up with a response with his eyes set on me before he moves on, turning back to my father as if he’s suddenly bored with me. I have to catch my breath and straighten myself out.

I spare a glance at his handsome face; he’s charming enough, but underneath the surface there’s something dangerous, I’m sure of it.

Beyond his silver eyes and well-made exterior, there’s something shady about Davis LaFontaine.

Davis pats his stomach after he eats, grinning widely at my mother and complimenting her food. My mother didn’t cook a thing on the table, but she takes the compliments anyway.

“Can I have a moment with Lana before we make things official?” Davis asks with a smile. He doesn’t direct his words to me, instead he looks to my father for permission.

The whole thing makes me feel like there’s an invisible leash wrapped around my neck and my father is handing the reins over to the new owner. Dad smiles at Davis, clapping a hand on his shoulder in a show of solidarity.

With a hand pressed to my lower back, Davis leads me into the formal living room. The space is decorated for Christmas, a large ten-foot tree stands in front of the picture windows, adorned with gold ornaments and red ribbons. Growing up, Lily and I loved Christmas. The house was always decorated perfectly, presents sat under the tree, and the entire family came together. Now, I feel a chill run over my skin at the thought. No Lily. No Grandpapa. No family. I rub the goosebumps away with the palms of my hands. If Davis notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

“So, Lana,” he says my name with a chilling smirk plastered on his face. “It feels like you’re not interested in me, hmm?” It’s a weirdly phrased question, paired with his silver eyes throwing daggers at me.

In an attempt to gain some space between us, my feet step back, but Davis is quicker than me. He captures my arm in his hand and pulls my body closer to him, holding me hostage in his grip.

---