Four years later- Twenty-Four years old

MECA College

I see him, even though he thinks I don't. His black wool coat and beanie do nothing to disguise him. I've named him Maximus in my mind. It’s a good strong name for the brawny man who has lingered in the shadows for years following me everywhere. I’m sure in a different life, we’d be great friends. Maybe grab a coffee or a burger. In this one, no.

I wave, letting him know I’m aware he's there, and that he is failing at his spy duties, before tossing my coffee cup in the wire trash container.

Being tailed by one of my father's men is a small price to pay for the semi freedom I have at MECA. I'm not sure what my mother said to loosen the shackles on me, but it worked. The sweet taste of being independent has a sour aftertaste still not knowing where Xavier disappeared to. It's a little like sucking a lemon after a rich piece of chocolate pie. But he clearly put all this behind him, and I've tried to do the same. I've made a few friends, been to parties, and lost my virginity. All while being guarded by Maximus.

Orange and gold leaves swirl and scatter in the breeze as I weave through the throng of red-cheeked students in colorful coats and scarves trying to ward off the frigid Spring air. My toes feel like blocks of ice inside my black leather boots as I hurry to my apartment building a few blocks from campus. Doesn't matter. Everything about living here is worth a few frostbitten toes.

Once inside, I switch my jeans and red sweater for yoga pants and a hoodie and pull on my eggplant emoji socks. It's the closest I’ll get to a penis. My phone rings just as I pop a frozen dinner into the microwave, and I mentally curse at the caller ID. My father. Even the trill of his ring sounds demanding. Answer meeeeee. I've sent him to voicemail twice already today. He never calls, and it's inevitable I'm going to have to answer, so I take a deep breath and get it over with.

“Hello.”

“I need you to come home this weekend,” he says.

“I'm great, thanks. My professor says I have an innate talent and thinks my cards will be a huge success. Did you know I hand draw cards and write quirky little sayings in them? Probably not, you're busy with your mob stuff…”

“Rhi-an-non” he interrupts, stressing each syllable of my name, which means I've really burrowed under his olive skin, “you will come home this weekend. A driver will pick you up tonight at seven o’clock.”

“Why?”

The beep of the microwave sounds as he hangs up on me.

* * *

“I've notified the school you won't be returning,” I think I hear my father say.

Shock does funny things to you. Absurd things. All I can think about was my last meal in Maine was a Lean Cuisine spaghetti. Not lobster, not blueberry pie, or a hearty rich seafood chowder—a Lean Cuisine. I didn't even need to save those calories.

“You can't do this. I’m a few months away from getting my degree,” I retort, needlessly. I may as well be speaking to the walls here in his office.

He can and he did. Waves of nausea swell through me. I'm going to vomit all over his navy suit. “Why are you doing this?”

“I let you go to school and have your independence. Now it’s time for you to settle down, Rhiannon.” My ears aren't working. I tug my lobes, but I can't feel my fingers. “I'm announcing your engagement to Ian.”

My brow furrows at the lack of remorse in the dark eyes staring at me as if I'm not his flesh and blood. As if I'm some inanimate object he can give away. This isn't the eighteenth century where you get acres of land or a goat for your daughter’s hand. No, in this world, you get government bills passed in your favor.

His regal office closes in on me. All that's needed is the slamming of a gavel to make it final.

“You’ll sign a contract agreeing to his terms.” And there it is.

The large oak desk separating us sways, and I close my eyes to block out the evil sitting across from me. His image, in his expensive suit and blood-red power tie, is seared on the inside of my lids.

One.

Two.

Three.

“I won't do it.”

“You have no choice. It's your duty.”

“My duty? To give you a political connection to do your bidding for life?” My voice rises in panic. “I don't even like him.”

“I'll have your apartment packed up and you will stay here until the marriage.”

“And when’s the big day?” I grit out.

His eyes rake me over, not a care of my opinion in the matter. “We want it to coincide with his campaign, so it’ll be a long engagement.”

“Fuck you,” I whisper.

Quick like a snake, he darts forward, venom striking me. “You will do what I say, or others will be punished.”

His poison flows through my veins, immobilizing me in the small leather chair designed to make the occupant feel insignificant.

I don't doubt for a second, he means what he says. He’s notorious for his lessons. “I will get a car, and I will come and go as I please. Those are my terms.”

I reach in my handbag and pull out the card I've been holding for him: a picture of an oversized grapefruit and a smaller one beside it, with the inside saying, ‘Thanks, Dad. I’m eternally grapefruit.’