Page 12 of Ruined Vows

“We’ll take it,” Isaak says before I can get a word out.

“Excellent,” the concierge says. “I’ll need a card on file for incidentals.”

Isaak stares at me expectantly, and I want to punch him. We don’t even know what kind of room it is. I glare at him, feeling such fury in my chest.

“Sir? A card.”

Of course because this is a backward, good-ole-boy place, the concierge assumeshe’llbe the one paying. Story of my life. At least itusedto be. It’s only with a small bit of satisfaction that I whip out my credit card and slap it down on the counter.

I’m not letting men rule my future. Yes, I’ve got anunderstandingwith Drew. Because there’s no way I’m entering the kind of marriage my mother has. Carol turned into a little domestic tyrant because it was the only avenue she felt was open to her—obsessing over her children and living through us was the only ambition she was allowed.

Although, theoretically she could’ve done anything she wanted. The inheritance comes through her side of the family. Like me, she inherited when she married and got access to all the money. But then she just, like, decorated her house and bought fancy clothes to go to parties with my dad. I’m not sure if they ever even loved each other or Dad just considered her another good merger. He’s twenty years older than mom and knew marrying into her family would give him more power and access.

Not me. I’m getting the hell out of this fucked up little cycle of control and enforced domesticity.

Yes, I’ll marry who mom says I have to, but only so I can get my inheritance and have my absurdly expensive college paid for. I’ll leave college with my Ph.D. debt-free, and then my life can be my own.

Because I’mneverhaving kids, and I’ll never be the good little housewife she was. I’m going to do something important with my life that actuallyhelpspeople. Something meaningful like building outreach centers to support mental health in underprivileged North Texas communities.

I’m going to be the opposite of my society-obsessed mother and money-driven father. I want to do good work and I… I want to be happy. I don’t care how naïve or full send into fantasy land that sounds.

Drew understands. He’s just as determined as me never to turn into his parents. We swore it from the time we were kids after learning they’d already arranged our nuptials.

Family is complex but I’ve found a path through the landmines. I can get everything I want and manage not to piss anyone off too badly. I’m adept at it by now.

And I don’t care if some jarhead with more muscles than sense can’t understand that. He doesn’t know me, my family, or my situation.

“Excellent. So that will be one queen bed on the fifth floor.” The concierge hands Isaak the key cards, only further pissing me off. Didn’t he see thatIwas the one who paid?

“Elevator is that way.” He points. “There’s late-night dining for about twenty more minutes, but you’ll want to get your order in as soon as you get up to the room. Service starts again at seven a.m., and there’s a variety of other dining and bar options available in the hotel. A booklet on your bedside table will explain everything. Enjoy your stay.”

Wait, did he say one queen bed? I was so busy being pissed off I’m only catching up now.

“Wait—” I start to say, but Isaak interrupts.

“Thanks so much, sir.” Isaak takes the key cards. “Appreciate your service.”

Then Isaak is wheeling the suitcase away from the desk toward the elevator. I chase after him. “What do you think you’re doing?” I squeak as soon as I reach him. “We should try a different hotel. I’m not sleeping in the same room as you.”

“You heard him. Everything’s booked. We can put a pillow wall down the center of the bed.”

A high-pitched noise comes out of my throat. “That’s cute, buddy. You’re sleeping on the floor!”

He laughs in my face as he punches the elevator up button. “I don’t think so, dumplin’. Did enough of that in Afghanistan. I bet they got real nice mattresses here.” He stretches his back. “I’m thirty-six, remember? I’m an old man.”

Thirty-sex. Thirty-sex. Thirty-sex. Thirty-sex. Thirty?—

He steps on the elevator, and I have no choice but to follow him. “I am not sleeping in a bed with you! AndI’mnot sleeping on the floor. I’m payingyou, remember?”

“Ohh,” he laughs. “That’s what it’s always gonna come back down to, ain’t it? Forget the fact that I spent seven years busting my ass to serve this country. The help sleeps on the floor, is that it?”

“No. Themansleeps on the floor.”

His eyebrows about hit his hairline. “What happened to all your mighty progressive ideals now? I thought you didn’t like traditional cultural values.”

My mouth drops open, and I’ve never felt more like committing violence in my life. Usually, I’m the epitome of calm. I don’t let myself get upset or angry. I mean, for Christ’s sake, I haven’t even shed a single tear infiveyears.

I surround myself with books. I meditate. I do yoga. The highlight of my day is watching Jeopardy before bed. Sure, lately, there have been the outings toCarnal, but that’s been more excitement than I can generally handle.

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