Nothing is more important than family.

It’s a phrase my grandmother has hammered into my head since day one. Overall, it’s not a bad policy. Take care of each other and you’ll never want for anything. You’ll always have somewhere to go. There will always be someone to take you in when the shit hits the fan. Blood is thicker than water and all that but recent events have left me feeling a little… betrayed.

I drive onto my family’s estate just outside the city, breathing a sigh of relief that the driveway is empty. My brothers haven’t arrived yet meaning I have some time to get to the bottom of things with Ma.

On my way up the walk toward the front door, my eyes linger across the lawn to the guest house where Marcus lives. I instantly hear his demanding tone in my ears, telling me — not asking me — that I’m to move out of my apartment and in with him. I shudder at the thought.

I didn’t want to come here tonight but family is family and tradition is king. Sunday night dinner has been a thing since before I was born and it takes more than a few awkward arguments to keep people from showing up. With my father’s arrest, it’s more important than ever that we continue on with these traditions — one, to keep us together and two, to make everything look fine and dandy to the press. If we don’t look worried, then he doesn’t look nearly as guilty.

I show up for his sake. I miss my dad so much and I know the moment he gets out, he’s going to put Marcus in his place about this whole marriage proposal business.

I shove open the front door and walk in. “Hey, Ma?” I call out from the foyer.

“Kitchen,” she answers, but the various amazing scents filling my nose already told me that.

I walk down the hallway, enjoying the few brief seconds of wonderful, mouth-watering smells before I reach into my pocket for that cursed velvet box.

My grandmother stands over the stove, gently stirring a very large pot. I say nothing as I plunk the box down on the cutting board beside her.

Her wrinkled face brightens up and she abandons her spoon. “Oh!” She yanks me down to kiss my forehead. “Congratulazioni, mia cara!” she coos.

I exhale hard and wait impatiently for her to let go of me. “So, you knew?” I ask.

“Knew what?”

“Marcus, Ma.”

She does another quick stir and places her wooden spoon down. “You don’t look happy.”

“Because I’m not.” I snatch up the box and hold it up between us. “Ma, why did Marcus have my mother’s ring?”

Ma sidles away and grabs the knife by her cutting board. “Your father called me,” she says, barely looking up as she holds a carrot steady. “He said give Marcus the ring, so I gave Marcus the ring.”

My chest grips for the dozenth time since this morning. So, Marcus wasn’t lying after all. My father really did agree to this.

“This ring wasn’t supposed to go to any ole’ guy who asks for it. Especially not Marcus,” I say, recoiling.

“What’s wrong with Marcus?” she asks, looking offended. “He’s loyal and trustworthy to the family. He gets along great with me and your brothers. And your father loves him.”

“But I don’t,” I argue.

She shrugs. “You learn to love him. Help me chop.”

I cringe as I pocket the box again. “Not how it works nowadays, Ma.” I turn to grab a clean knife from the drawer behind me. “Papa didn’t set up Danny and Gavin with their wives.”

“Danny and Gavin weren’t… well…” She gestures at me from head-to-toe before passing me an onion.

I let my knife hover. “Weren’t what?”

She lowers her blade to the cutting board with a quiet sigh. “Bea, it’s a good match with Marcus. You’ll see. Few years away, you’ll be thankful for your father’s initiative.”

“This isn’t initiative. It’s interference.” I slice hard and fast, breaking the onion into tiny pieces. “I’m not marrying Marcus. End of story.”

“Then, leave me out of it. Tell your father yourself.”

“I will.” I straighten up. “I’m meeting with Jerry tomorrow. I’ll set it up then.”

Ma says nothing. She turns her focus back to her stew but I notice the slight shake of disappointment in her head.

I shake mine right back, unwilling to hide my disgust. Sure, she’s old as dirt, but never in my life has my grandmother ever tried to force anything on me. She’s always been there to back me up and encourage me to make my own choices. Go your own way, she always used to tell me.

Now, all of a sudden, it’s time for me to put aside the life I’ve chosen and do what everyone else tells me to do?

What the hell is this?

The front door opens down the hall, followed quickly by the tap of four heeled shoes racing toward the kitchen.

“Trix, are you here?”

“Where is sheeeeee?”

I furrow my brow and turn to see my sisters-in-law bolting in from the hallway. Nikki and Bidelia. To this day, I still can’t tell them apart. Twins marrying twins. Makes me wonder if my half-brothers have ever wife-swapped for fun but there’s no way in hell I’ll ever voice that thought out loud.

They both scream with delight as they see me. Two manes of lightning-blonde hair topple over their shoulders as they throw their hands into the air and bounce up and down.

I tighten my grip on my knife.

“Can we see it?”

“Where is it?”

“Are you excited?”

“Have you picked a date yet?”

Their voices blend together until I’m sure I’m standing before some horrible, double-headed monstrosity with press-on nails and four huge breasts.

“Huh?” I squeak.

Bidelia — I think — snatches my left hand and her eyes glaze over with concern. “Where’s the ring?” she asks.

“He asked you, didn’t he?” Nikki asks.

I pry my hand away. “Yes, he asked me—”

They squeal again and I recoil from the sound.

“But—!” I shout over them. “I said no!”

They both lean back with one hand clutching the string of pearls around their necks.

“No?” Nikki gasps. “Wh-wh-why? Why would you do that?”

“Because I don’t want to marry him,” I answer.

Tears fill their painted eyes. Genuine, blubbery tears.

I set the knife down, lest I be tempted to slaughter the acrylic-clawed beast. “Who told you Marcus asked me?” I ask.

“Marcus did!” Bidelia says.

“When?”

She points over their shoulders. “Just now. Outside.”

My rage spikes. “He did?”

The patio door opens behind us and three giant masses walk in amongst a cloud of cigar smoke. My half-brothers, Gavin and Danny, and the Booty Call Bodyguard himself.

Marcus.

“Oy!” Ma scolds them. “No cigars in the house! I’m cooking a feast here!”

Gavin throws up his hands, extending one a little higher than the other and Nikki takes her rightful place beneath it. Whoops. Not Bidelia like I thought before. I guess the name-tags I got them for Christmas last year weren’t enough of a hint.

“Oh, come on. We’re celebrating, Ma,” he says, taking a puff. “How many times is Sissy gonna get hitched, eh?”

Ma chortles and turns away. “You’re on your own, cara,” she says at me.

“Yeah. Thanks, Ma.”

Danny nudges Bidelia’s chin, taking note of her swollen eyes. “What’s going on in here?” he asks.

I glare at Marcus. He leans against the back door looking oh-so-very pleased with himself. “You know a no is still a no even if you tell people I said yes, right?” I ask.

“You didn’t say no,” he says.

“I literally said we’re not getting married.”

His lips curl. “Still — technically — not a no.”

“My exact words were get the fuck away from me. In what language is that not a no?”

Ma smacks my arm. “Watch your mouth.”

Marcus pushes off the door with his hands still folded behind him. “Now, Beatrix…”

“I believe I also told you to refer to me as Ms. Argento,” I remind him. “Don’t you have some grounds to patrol?”

“So, wait…” Gavin furrows his brow. “You’re not engaged?”

“No, we’re not,” I answer as Marcus says, “Yes, we are.”

Danny blinks twice. “What’s going on?”

Ma brushes the smoke away from the stove. “You’re risking ashes in my stew, that’s what’s going on. Out with the cigars. Now.”

Bidelia and Nikki sob.

I roll my eyes. “For god’s sake…”

Marcus gestures at them. “See what you’ve done, Ms. Argento?” he asks, still looking smug.

“The answer is, and always will be, no,” I say. “I’m going to see Papa tomorrow and I’m gonna clear up this whole—”

“No,” Danny says, standing an inch taller. “You can’t go see him.”

“Yeah, Trix, you can’t,” Gavin says. “You have to stay neutral.”

“That was before he insanely agreed to marry me off without even consulting me first,” I argue. “I want to talk to him.”

Danny releases Bidelia and stands over me instead. “You can set up a phone call but you’re not going out there. You hear me?”

I heave an angry breath. “I’m sorry, when the fuck did everyone else become in charge of me?”

Ma slaps my arm again. “Linguaggio.”

“Ma. Enough.” I glare at her first before letting my gaze travel to each one of them, ending on Marcus. “Am I the only one who sees how crazy this is?”

They don’t answer. Not one damn peep from any of them. They exchange a few silent glances as if they all know something I don’t. I wait, hoping one of them will speak up but no one does.

“Screw this,” I say, mostly to myself. “I’m out of here.”

I bolt from the kitchen, ignoring the sudden wail of sobbing from Bidelia and Nikki rising behind me. I feel bad leaving before dinner but I can’t stomach another minute in this house — especially with Marcus. I’ll call Ma tomorrow and apologize.

I round the house outside, breathing a sigh of relief when I see that my brothers didn’t block me in. I yank my car door open, cringing at the mental image of sneaking back in to ask them to let me out after making such a dramatic exit. Now, that would have been awkward…

“Trix.”

I groan at the night sky, not wanting to turn around but he’ll just keep following me if I don’t.

I turn and glare at Marcus in the driveway behind me.

“What do you want now?”

“Okay…” He crosses his arms. “Maybe telling everybody you said yes was a tad premature.”

“Ya think?” I open my car door a little wider, urging myself to just get inside and drive away but I can’t leave it like that. “Actually, no. Not premature. Really fucking rude, that’s what it was. You knew exactly what I meant this morning. What did you think was going to happen?”

“Honestly,” he takes another step closer, “I thought you’d cave once you saw how happy everyone was with it.”

“You thought I’d cave?”

“Still do.”

I squint at him. “Is that so?”

He chuckles. “Come on, Trix. This was inevitable and we both know it. There aren’t a lot of men out there who will put up with your bullshit.”

“Well, it’s nice to know you’ve already started writing your vows.”

“There.” He points at me. “That right there. You don’t take anything seriously.”

“Me?” I slam the car door. “I don’t take things seriously?”

“This wedding isn’t just about you,” he says. “It’s about keeping the family together. It’s about going on like normal and keeping public perception high. It’s about filling the papers with bright, happy faces so we can stack a jury with people who still like this family.”

I deflate as my chest tightens. “That’s such bullshit.”

“The last thing we need is you running around Chicago looking like a pissy, spoiled brat. If you go to the jail and the wrong people see you there, the rumor mill lights up and our reputation suffers. Is that what you want?”

I bite down hard. “No, it’s not.”

“That’s what’s on the line here, Trix. You may not like me — and to be honest, I can’t stand the sight of you half the time either — but I’m willing to put that aside to give back to this family. If you’re not…” he eyes my hidden shoulder, “then you don’t deserve that marque.”

I straighten up, trying hard to hold my anger at bay. “We’re not getting married,” I say slowly, my hands trembling. “Answer’s still no.”

Marcus shakes his head in disappointment. “In that case, I want the ring back.”

“Uh…” I laugh. “It’s my mother’s ring. You’re not getting it back.”

“I just figured I’d hold onto it and try again later after you’ve had a few drinks. Usually worked out in my favor before.”

I smack him across the cheek. He stiffens, holding still as anger fills his eyes.

“Fuck you, Marcus,” I whisper around the growing lump in my throat.

He exhales slowly, releasing the tension in his shoulders. “I’m sure you will again someday,” he says, stepping away from me. “You’ll crawl back. Always do.”

I bite my tongue, too hurt to say another word as I pull open my car door again. It takes everything I have to hold back my tears until I get inside the car and even more of me to hang on until the front door closes behind Marcus. No way I’m going to break in front of him. Asshole.

I shouldn’t be breaking at all. I’m not the one in the wrong here. They are. They’re the ones who’ve suddenly forgotten that I’m a person. I’m not a pawn, for Christ’s sake.

I’m a goddamn Queen.

And he just pissed me off.