Evangeline

Two weeks. It had only been two weeks, but it felt like it had been a year since I’d been brought back from Alaska…but then, at the same time, the two weeks had passed by so fast I’d barely had time to breathe.

Father had made it clear in no uncertain terms that I had to toe the line or he’d cut me off entirely. That meant focusing in on the poli-sci degree and abandoning my art studies. That meant taking the internship he set up for me. That meant, as well, agreeing to let Thomas “court” me, as Father put it. Meaning marry him, or else.

If I wanted to retain any semblance of my life, I had to do what he wanted. And what he wanted, more than anything, was for Thomas to take his place as Father’s right-hand man in everything, be the son he’d always wanted and take over the company, for Thomas to get his seat in Congress so he could perform tactical political machinations behind the scenes on Father’s behalf. My place in all that was to be the trophy wife. The arm candy. The perfect accessory to show around at parties and organize fund-raisers.

You bet your ass I was angry about all that…but my back was to the wall. I’d managed to put Father off for a while, saying I needed some time, but finally he’d sent Teddy to collect me from my dorm room, bringing me to his home office.

Which was where I stood at the current moment: outside his office door, nerves jangling—being summoned to Father’s office wasn’t a good sign. Not at all. I’d only been summoned there once before, when I’d totaled the first car he’d bought me, three months after my sixteenth birthday.

Teddy, towering beside me, knocked on the door, and then when Father called out a stern “Enter,” Teddy pushed open the door and ushered me in.

Father tapped at his slim laptop as I approached his enormous battleship of a desk, and then when I remained standing instead of sitting in one of the leather armchairs, he closed the lid of the laptop and eyed me with dark-eyed scrutiny.

“Evangeline,” he murmured. “Sit.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I have things to do, so say what you want to say and be done with it.”

“You’ll sit, and you’ll listen, and you’ll obey,” he barked.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m neither an employee of yours, nor am I a child. You don’t get to talk to me like that, Dad.”

He quirked an eyebrow back at me: I’d never, ever called him “Dad” in my life. He liked to pretend we were haughty eighteenth-century aristocrats, and I’d just fallen into the habit of calling him “Father.” Me using the more familiar term was a break in tradition, and one I hoped would put across the point that I wasn’t going to stand for his nonsense any longer.

“I am your father, and I’ll speak to you however I wish.”

I crossed my arms over my breasts and glared at him. “If you want this to be…what’s that term your idiotic politics people use…a productive dialogue…then you’ll, you know, enter the fucking twenty-first century and realize you don’t actually get to talk me like that. Speak respectfully or shut the fuck up.”

He rocketed out of his chair, outrage on his face. “Evangeline du Maurier! What in the world has gotten into you?”

“You’re trying to railroad me, and I won’t have it.”

“I’m forcing you to see sense.”

“Maybe I don’t want to see sense, though. What then?”

“I’ve tolerated your pigheadedness long enough,” he bit out, leaning onto his desk, “and now it’s high time you accept the instructions put in front of you by those who have your best interests in mind.”

“The only person who has my best interests in mind is me,” I shot back. “You have your best interests in mind, and Thomas’s. You don’t give a damn about what I want.”

“You don’t even know what you want, nor how to get it. You think you want to do art, and run off and have empty-headed little adventures with barbaric and unsavory roughnecks. You claim you’re not a child, but your actions prove otherwise. I’ve given you rein this long, hoping you’d eventually grow up and see things with a more clear-minded and adult reasoning, but it seems I’m mistaken.” He sat down again, reached into a drawer of his desk, and produced a manila folder. He opened it, spreading out several sheets of paper, twisted them to let me read them, and then let a smirk of triumph steal over his lips.

One glance was enough for me to know what he was presenting me with a trump card, and I sank into the chair. “Dammit.”

“Feeling rather vulgar, today, aren’t you?” He tapped the topmost printout, a copy of my private bank account statement. “I’ve allowed this, thus far. No longer.”

Allowed.

Allowed?

I glanced at him. “You knew?”

He snorted. “Of course I knew, idiot child. You think you can steal money from me and I won’t notice? You weren’t even very clever about it, honestly. It was money I gave you as an allowance, and for the most part you didn’t really even do anything with it, so I let it be. And I kept my knowledge of it to myself, as kind of…ace in the hole, so to speak, in case you ever became rebellious.” His smirk widened into a shit-eating grin. “You don’t get to where I am by being naive or foolish, Evangeline.”

I sighed, leaning back in the chair in defeat. “So…what now?”

He gathered the papers and rested his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers. “I’m good friends with the president of this bank, so I’ve taken control of the account.”

I sat forward, protesting. “I’m an adult and I opened that account myself! You can’t do that!”

“You opened it with funds that were, technically, stolen.”

“I didn’t steal it! You gave it to me as an allowance, and I simply moved it to a different account.”

He sighed. “Evangeline,” he murmured condescendingly, “it’s my money. I gave it to you, and I can take it back at my convenience. Arguing is futile.” He slid one of the printouts to me, which showed that he’d shunted all the funds, except for five thousand dollars, into his own account, and named himself as the primary account holder, with me as a secondary account holder with only provisional access. “This is your new reality, my dear. That’s what I leave you with, and it is all you will get. Unless…”

“Unless what?” I demanded.

He shrugged. “The same terms I laid out when I first retrieved you from the clutches of that…that redneck, in Alaska, of all places.” He tapped his fingertip on the desk as he enumerated each item. “First, you finish your degree at Yale in political science, abdicating all pretension to your artistic frippery. Obviously, once you’ve gotten your degree and you’ve performed the second item I shall be naming shortly, you can pursue art all you wish, on your own time, as your husband allows.

“The second item, then, obviously, is to marry Thomas.” He paused for effect. “Soon. All the arrangements have already been made. The church, the dress, the cake, the invitations to all the proper people, it’s all been taken care of already. All you have to do is show up, say ‘I do’, and become Mrs. Evangeline Haverton, as has always been your destiny.”

“My destiny.” I went faint at his words. “And once I’ve done that, then what?”

“Then you receive your due portion of my estate.”

“My…due portion?” I frowned at him, perplexed.

He nodded. “Yes, your due portion.”

“I’m your only legitimate heir, Dad. Who else is there to receive a portion?”

“That is none of your concern.”

I stared hard at him. “Thomas. You’re giving most of it to Thomas, aren’t you? You’re just giving me a little…dowry, or whatever you want to call it.”

“You’re hardly being reasonable, Evangeline,” he simpered. “You’ll be living in the greatest of luxury. Thomas is wealthy in his own right, as well as being heir to a rather large fortune from Richard. And with some of the deals I have in process, Thomas is poised to become even more wealthy and even more influential. You’ll want for nothing; you’ve never wanted for anything.” He waved a hand in gesticulation. “Think of Thomas, of his looks, his charisma, and his current political influence, and he’s only thirty! He could very well be president in a few years. Think of it! He could, feasibly, become the youngest president in history. Folks on the Hill are already talking about him for the next ticket. And you…you would be his wife. First Lady Evangeline Haverton. How does that sound?”

I sat back, never having realized the scope of Father’s ambition. He wouldn’t be president himself, but…that was never Father’s way—he preferred to machinate in the background. Apply pressure subtly, wielding power from the shadows. He makes Thomas president, and then he’s the puppet-master, with the power of the entire country at his fingertips.

But they needed me, for appearances. If I refused, they’d find someone else suitable, but still…they wanted me as their first and primary choice.

I was their pawn, a puppet. A tool.

I heard a certain gravelly, caustic voice in my head, then. Nothin’ but a tool, princess—that’s all you ever will be to those fuckers. He’d never actually said that, but it’s what he would say, if given the chance.

Father chose a third printout from the folder, spun it around to face me, and tapped it with a fingertip. “In case you still have a little rebelliousness left in you, I think that may provide additional…impetus, shall we say, to concede. He seems to be the only thing you’ve ever shown any real interest in, besides your art.”

It was part of a dossier on Baxter. Basically, it was a threat. Father could make one call, an email, even, if he was feeling lazy, and Baxter would be detained. Indefinitely. The underground fighting would be the way they picked him up, but then he would essentially just disappear into the system. At the very least, he would be arrested, and left with a permanent record.

I had nothing, no leverage, no choices. I could walk away from everything, but where would I go? What would I do? Go to Alaska? Hi everyone. So um, I’m homeless and penniless—can I live with you guys, even though I only met you all once? Right. They’d agree because that’s the kind of people they were, but it would be charity. And what, I’d live with Baxter? A man I’d known for a matter of not even forty-eight hours, had sex with a handful of times, and then had walked away from? Idiocy to even consider it.

I felt tears pricking at my eyes, hot and stinging. “Fuck you. I hate you.”

“It’s for the best, Evangeline. And you’ll thank me, eventually.”

“No, I won’t. Neither will I ever forgive you. Or even speak to you.” I steeled myself. “Fine. I agree to your terms. But know this, Dad: I will escape. I will find a way to get out from under your control, away from Thomas, and I will live my life my way. I don’t have any other options right now, but…someday? Someday I will.”

“You say escape as if I’m taking you prisoner, Evangeline.”

“That’s because you are.”

He snorted. “Don’t be dramatic, child,” he said. “Besides, you can walk away, if you really feel that way. I’ve given you a little money. Enough to last you a while, if you’re careful.”

He was right. But…five thousand dollars? Would that even rent me an apartment? What would I do after that was gone? I had no work experience whatsoever, and currently didn’t even have a degree. Without Father’s money to finish the degree and his connections, I’d be utterly lost. I knew I was spoiled; I didn’t know how to even go about getting a job, not really, and I knew if I tried to strike out on my own, I would…well, I would fail.

Better to plot long term. Get the degree. Cultivate my own connections. Plan. And then, someday, walk away from it all.

“You agree, then?” Father asked. “No more petulance or rebelliousness?”

I sighed, holding back tears. “You know I have no real options.”

Father had the audacity to actually clap, laughing. “Very good, very good. I’ll inform Thomas. The wedding should take place…let’s see…” he consulted the calendar on his desk blotter, “in two weeks. That should give you plenty of time to trim down your figure a touch, which, let’s be honest, has suffered some, as of late.” He said this with unthinking ease, as if he hadn’t just twisted the knife in my back, but added another and poured acid on the wounds.

I managed to hold back the tears until I was back at my dorm.