Page 3 of Reckless Promises

Gen nods, but her unease doesn’t leave her face.

“Love you millions,” I tell her.

“Love you billions.”

Fire burns in my eyes as I fight back the tears, but I don’t let them fall. They sear as I watch Gen disappear through the crowd. She’s still innocent, wearing her heart on her sleeve—the opposite of my mother and me. I’ve sheltered her as much as I can, but that will change with me gone.

While Gen had me, I was raised with the full force of Mom. Molding me to be what she viewed as the perfect Bardot woman. Training me like a pet.

She knew this day would come for me just like it did for her. And I suppose her way of showing love was teaching me how to survive it without killing myself.

Or worse, turning out like Tante Cherise. They locked her up ten years ago after her husband shared her with his entire staff. He said she was hysterical and quickly moved on with a younger bride who doesn’t fight back.

Mom hasn’t seen her sister in a decade. Which is why, while most girls are rocked to sleep with bedtime stories, my mother offered me reality.

Be quiet, do as you’re told, and behave. Or things will get worse.

Mom watches Genevieve wipe her eyes before she reaches my father’s table. There’s still hope burning bright in my sister. And all I can do is silently pray I figure this out before Dad gets the chance to break her as well.

When Gen takes a seat at Dad’s table, Mom turns back to me. Her lips press tightly, and her expression has hardened.

“You know what to do, Odette.” She nods, wetting her lips. “You know what to expect.”

Unfortunately.

But I keep that to myself and nod my head. “You trained me well.”

She frowns but it’s the truth. I’ve been property since the moment I was born. A bargaining chip for my father to use someday. Women in our family don’t mean anything more than the worth they bring when they come of age. And luckily for him, I’ll bring a lot.

Glancing over my mom’s shoulder, I watch Sascha lean closer to my dad to whisper something as he tips his chin up at the girl onstage. He wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, before raking his dark red hair off his face.

Everything about that man—from his sharp nose to his vile tongue—makes my skin itch.

Dad chuckles at whatever Sascha said, and my stomach sours.

“There are worse options.” Mom’s gaze follows mine as she takes the sides of my arms, forcing my attention back to her. “Sascha will take care of you. He has a lovely compound and a wonderful staff. Things could be worse.”

“I know.” Not that it makes this better.

Sascha might have more money than half the men on the East Coast, but he treats women worse than he treats his dogs. Which isn’t saying much.

A woman stops at my side, wearing an understated, plain black dress. Her blonde hair is pulled up in a tightbun at the top of her head, and her gaze is cold and distant.

“Odette Bardot?” the woman asks me, and I nod. “Good. You’re next.”

She marks off something on the tablet in her hands, before walking onstage and stopping at a podium on the other side.

This is it.

I blink at Mom, trying to clear the tears from my eyes because I refuse to let these men see it. And she nods in approval, stepping back.

I’ll be who she taught me to be. For her.

For myself.

My father beat many things out of her over the years—fight, motivation, free will—but he’s yet to erase her heart. And staring into her eyes, all I can hope is that I manage the same, no matter what comes of this.

“Odette Bardot.” The woman on stage calls my name and my stomach plummets.

---