Page 1 of Wicked Union

1

ARIA

Marry a man ten years older than me to save my family's businesses and bring peace? I wouldn't be doing this unless I believed it was the only way.

I stand outside the dining room door listening to my father speak. I know he means well, but he's overselling me. I'm not going to be someone's model wife and soften their rough edges, least of all a man who's probably slept with more women in the past year than men I've dated my whole life. I scowl and press my ear to the pocket door, hoping to hear something worth listening to. I'm not happy, but I have no choice.

"Yes, well, Tito needs a good feminine influence to soften those rough edges, if you know what I mean." The older man, Mr. Donatello Ramiro, chuckles, and I hear the effects of the brandy they’re drinking on his words.

My father invited this man into our home only after I agreed to the arrangement. Melody is much too young to be married off to a man so old, so the obvious choice is me. I don't relish the idea, but marrying for love in this family is out of the question. Mom says the day I was born, I became a bargaining chip for myfather to ensure his legacy stays alive and well. With the money struggles we've had lately, it became apparent to everyone that it was time to start bargaining.

"So you understand my situation." My father's voice is grave, full of solemn emotion. I know he loves me so much, and he hates what this is doing to me. It's not so cut and dry as some folks may like to think. I'm not just a pawn. I have my father's heart. But I've been raised with loyalty and honor in my blood. It was my idea.

"I do, and I'm sorry to hear how you're struggling. Our Families have cohabited Los Angeles for so long. It's such a shame to hear how your businesses are shutting down. Strange, the way a global health crisis can really cripple an economy." Mr. Ramiro does sound sympathetic, and he's right. We've lived side by side in peace with the Ramiros for a long time, though Father's influence has always been dwarfed by the larger family. We coexist by diversifying, offering services and goods not already supplied.

"So, the deal is a good one? You receive my daughter's hand in marriage and forty percent of the decision-making power in our business. Of course, the latter is for a period of ten years while we get back on our feet. And we receive your financial backing as we rebuild."

My heart squeezes inside my chest as I think of it—marrying a man I don't even know, let alone love. I always dreamed of my wedding day as being special and romantic. I hoped to have a horse-drawn carriage, white roses, and a honeymoon for the ages. This will be a simple ceremony followed by a polite dinner and probably first-time introductions. If I'm lucky, they'll let me see a photograph of the man before I have to walk down the aisle.

"It's a reasonable deal. I believe we should have our lawyers look into things in more detail, but my son will do as I say. I've taught him right. He will respect your daughter, and maybe as you have with your wife, this will grow to mutual respect, and someday, to love."

Mr. Ramiro speaks as if he knows what I’m going through, what emotions I'm wrestling with. How will I ever grow to respect a man who will never have an inborn sense of loyalty to me? I'm not going to be the center of his life, a woman he adores and worships. I will be a tool to produce offspring for his name. Though my father says he will write into the agreement that my firstborn son will be in line for his throne first, not the Ramiro throne. I'm not sure that matters much. Jasper will take my father's place long before any child I birth is old enough to think about it.

"Then we have an arrangement?" I hear my father's chair squeak, and I cringe. I know they're shaking hands even though I can't see them. And a handshake in this family may as well be a blood oath. I press my eyes shut and will the tears not to begin yet. I'm doing this for my family. I have to remind myself over and over. It will be okay.

There is some mumbling on the other side of the door before it slides open and Mr. Ramiro walks out. He stops in front of me and looks at me with a very stern expression. His eyes rake up and down my body, and suddenly, my loose-fitting T-shirt and blue jeans don't feel like they cover me enough. He's a handsome enough man, though aging and sickly looking. If his son takes after him, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. But my heart aches just seeing the way he ogles me.

"Bellissimo pezzo di culo che sei." He cups my cheek and pats it, and I cringe. I'm not a beautiful piece of ass, not to him or to anyone else. He can take his backward compliment and shove it.

But I answer respectfully, "Grazie per la visita." I'm not grateful, though, not even a little thankful he's visiting. I'm raging inside, warring against my own stupid idea that to save my family from closing any more of our line of restaurants and bowling alleys, an arranged marriage would suffice. Believe me, I thought about this long and hard before even suggesting it. When Dad shut the fourth restaurant this year, I knew I had to say something.

The man shuffles down the hallway with his smoker's cough and wobbling gait, and I cover my face and sigh. This is really happening. I'm really obliged to marry a man I've never even heard of, let alone met.

"You may come in now,mio caro." Father's tone is rigid as usual, but I'm used to it. I know his love for me runs so deep, he will call this all off the instant I show any trace of distaste for it. Which is why I rub the emotion off my forehead and down out of my cheeks.

I love him. I'm doing this for our family. He is my world, and if this is what I must do to save us, then my life is not my own. It's the right thing to do.

My little pep-talk bolsters some of my courage, and I put a smile on my face and walk into the dining room. He's seated at the table with a glass of brandy in front of himself. The decanter is over halfway empty, which just goes to show how much Mr. Ramiro indulged this afternoon. He gestures at the empty seat, and I sit quietly. It's still warm from the previous occupant, reminding me of how my privacy and the sanctity of my body will be invaded in this entire thing.

"Papa…" I start, but I'm not sure how to even continue. I see the pain in his eyes. He hates this more than I do. We've had long talks about this topic many times. There were even a few times when we discussed specific men whom I may marry, but those never came to fruition. One way or another, he worked out the situation without need for this arrangement to happen.

As it turns out, I'm twenty-nine and still single, though I had one serious boyfriend I thought I might marry. Jasper chased him away when it got too serious and pointed out how awful the man was. I was grateful but heartbroken at the same time. Now, things are different, and like it or not, this is what is required of me. I know Jasper has his thoughts about this new man too, but he hasn’t shared them with me yet. Only our father.

"You shouldn't stand and listen to me discuss business,Bella. You will only begin to feel like an object, and I never want you to think of yourself as an object. You know I love you more than that."

He reaches for me and places his hand where only moments ago, Mr. Ramiro's hand touched and made me bristle. But I lean into the warmth of his palm and sigh. Times like this are few and far between, and I will miss them when they're gone.

"I'll never think that of you, Papa. I know this is what has to happen. I'm here to serve you." I pat his hand and smile at him, but the tears glisten in my eyes. I just don't know if he's observant enough to see them.

"It's not too late to stop this." He rubs his thumb over my cheekbone, and his forehead creases.

"It's okay, Papa." I remove his hand from my cheek and clasp it between my hands and smile. "Mr. Ramiro is a good man. Hisfamily is faithful to him and loyal. He does good business. I'm sure his son is just as good. I'm sure I will be in good hands. And it will mean that you don't lose this house or our pride… your dignity." The unlikely alliance is inevitable. If we're proactive, we will retain ownership of our assets. If we wait, they will take it by force, anyway. In this way, I can save my father and mother a lot of heartache. And who knows? Maybe it won't be so bad.

"I love you, Aria. You know that, right?"

I turn into his palm and kiss it, then lay his hand on the table. I have to get out of here before I break down crying. "I know you do, Papa. I'm going to go plan my wedding with Melody. She has a knack for selecting flowers."

I stand and leave without asking permission to exit, and he says nothing. It's like he can see the pain in my eyes and knows I have to leave to cry. I pass silently through the halls, ascending the stairs before the first tear streaks down my cheek, but it isn't sadness I feel. It's anger. I'm not angry with my father. I'm angry with the world, with the situation, with how helpless I feel in this mess.

---