Page 21 of The Heiress

“Principessa,” my father says, sitting back behind his desk, “as I told Cristiano, I’m sure this is a huge shock for you. Rest assured that your mother and I have vetted him to the furthest extent possible. We wouldn’t pick a husband who we weren’t convinced would do you justice as a husband and the father of your children.”

Oh, now he’s the father of my children? How nice of him to assume such things for my womb. “Daddy, I…”

“Now listen to me.” Great. He’s got serious father voice. “It’s not only about you, Daisy. It’s about this family. As you know, try as we might, your mother and I were never able to have children aside from you.”

That’s code for “we never had a son.” The prodigal son that would continue the family line and name.

“Cristiano comes from a good family. He’s been trained his whole life to run companies like ours. His older brother will inherit his family’s business. He’s a choice candidate for cominghere and taking over for me when I’m gone. The best way to do that is by marrying into the family… which is where you come in.”

Right. So instead of raising me to inherit the company, some nobody man gets to sweep in and pluck my pussy and my inheritance. What year is this again?

“He’s also very generously offered to take on the DeMonte name so it can stay in the family. We’ll be adopting him through your marriage, essentially.”

How nice of him!

“You’ll get used to the idea in time, Daisy. Meanwhile, the press will grow tired of saying all these terrible things about you. I know you enjoy being in the papers. Hopefully, you can go back to being their fashion princess, especially with a high-profile wedding in a few years.”

He thinks this is going to make me feel better. He really, truly thinks that, doesn’t he?

I came in here fuming in rage, having known that my father did something like this, but not wanting to admit it to myself. Now I feel… defeated. Not only is my father fucking with my fate, but in the process, he may have made me lose Lorde, the only woman I’ve given enough shits about in recent years to count as a real potential girlfriend. Whatever that means. God, I’m glad Daddy never found out the truth about Lorde. He probably thinks she insulted me and I unleashed my family rage. Hence the slap. The truth? I want to… love her, I guess.

“Marcello!” My mother’s voice breaks through the door. So does she, holding a tablet opened toThe Daily Social’s real-time blog. “It’s Daisy!”

She notices my presence. My father notices the tablet. I notice that I never drank my water. Seems like a good time as any to have my drink. I’m gonna need it.

Chapter 11

Daisy

I’m used to being on a team of one. It helps that I learned to live on my own as soon as I started college and decided I should have an apartment to reflect my new adult life. (That and it made it so much easier to bring people home to sleep with, paps aside.) But I must admit that I feel even more defeated than before.

Let’s start with the media. Daddy was right about one thing. The press no longer cares about my dalliances with Lorde. They’re all about delving into who Cristiano is. It’s safe to say they are 100% on board with him as my fiancé. Going on about what a handsome couple we are… even though they have to splice photos of us together since we’ve only met for five minutes!

The press is so heavy on the announcement of our “engagement” that I daresay even Ashleigh was fooled for a while. Lorde? She must be fooled, because no matter how manytimes I call her and no matter how many messages I leave saying it’s all a lie, that I had no say in it, she won’t return my calls. I guess you could say that the tables have been turned, I’m getting a taste of my own medicine, etc. etc. clichés.

Finally, there is my family.

My father raged in ways I had never seen before. Not only did he not know who Lorde was (and when he looked her up, he raged harder) but seeing us in such a passionate kiss sent off every sensor that declared his little virginal girl was hardlysuch. You know, one of my main selling points to a prospective husband, besides being pretty and rich.

Not to mention the very non-Vatican-approved same-sexness of it all. That might be worse. I don’t know. Nobody will tell me anything.

He won’t look me in the eye anymore. My mother dared to take me aside and have a “talk” with me. Did you know that boys will fuck anything that moves? That by “giving away my precious pearl” I am turning into a useless oyster? Where do people get these disgusting analogies? I’m surprised she didn’t compare me to toilet paper or a gym towel.

That was when I had to ask if she had taken a close look at Lorde or any of the articles written abouther.Yes,her.Because despite Lorde’s shaggy shoulder-length hair and the fact she very evidently has tits when wearing crop tops and a leather jacket – and carries apurse,God, Mom – certain people in my family didn’t glean that Lorde Sheen is a woman. Yes, a woman. One issued with a vagina, no less. Dear Daisy DeMonte has been making out with and fingering a “veritable” woman, as my mother was once described in an old tabloid introducing her to American high society.

So, that started a whole new fight. My mother has been so sheltered her whole life that all she knew about queerness was what she sees in more conservative news. And most ofthe news she watches is Italian because she cares more about what goes on in the Old Country than here where she holds dual citizenship. To her, gay people are sad, sick humans who need the right prayers and a good home-cooked meal to set them straight. (Literally.) She can’t even wrap her head around bisexuality. I think she understands being transgender more than bisexuality. Because, if you haven’t figured out my mother yet, she’s very “you’re either this or that.” Since I turned out to be a pretty princess-type femme, I must be straight. That’s how it works in her mind.

I flat-out told her that I had been with women already. I even used the word “fuck” to drive the point home. She then proceeded to fake a stroke.

When Daddy decides to start talking to me again a few days later – he claims he had to take time off to attend a big wedding, but I know he was too busy fuming – it’s to pester me about Cristiano. Don’t I understand how good he is for me? Do I mistrust his and Mama’s judgment? Why don’t I go out on a date with him? One date. Since I’m such a big girl, he won’t insist on a chaperone. Gee, Daddy, how sweet of you.

This persists for several days. I don’t even get to enjoy the fireworks on the Fourth of July because he’s blowing up my phone, saying Cristiano is in town again and that I “owe” him my time because he came out to get to know me.

Fine, Daddy. If this will get you off my back for a while, I’ll go on a date with Cristiano. One date. It’s not like Lorde is returning my calls anyway, and Ashleigh swears she doesn’t know anything. The one I would much rather be with is done with me. I’m starting to accept this.

It was a fling. I’m not saying anything about Cristiano, but I’ll at least humor my dad for one night. It kinda helps that he off-the-cuff threatens to cut off my trust fund if I don’t go on a single date.

Flash forward to a somber Friday night. I say somber because I’m cooped up in some Italian restaurant with Cristiano, who has managed to spend the first half hour of our “date” talking all about himself and his family. Not once has he asked about me. About my schooling. What I like. What my ambitions for the future are. The only times I’m allowed to speak are in carefully placed intervals where I am expected to agree with him or stroke his ego.“Yeah, your parents sound cool.” “Oh, you studied abroad at Oxford? Wow.” “I had no idea a family from Florence could make that much money.” “Oh, is that what that scent is? I thought it smelled good.”Barf.

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