Ruthless Monarch

“Of course,” I answer in a mock tone. “What kind of animal do you take me for?”

“Fine. I’ll wake up.” She sits up, and she looks like a mess. Gorgeous but a mess nonetheless. “What are we eating?”

“What do you want?”

“Something obnoxiously greasy. Bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel.”

I pull out my phone and start to scroll through the food delivery app. “French fries too?”

“Umm, duh.”

I swipe across the screen and place our orders.

“Ugh, Viv. I’m so hungover. I’m never going to drink again.”

“Lies,” I say flatly.

Jules laughs groggily, but stops when she realizes it results in one hell of a headache. I look over at my disheveled friend. I don’t look or feel much better than her. The drink I had with the stranger was not needed.

Speaking of . . .

“For someone who wants me to go out and get laid, you certainly were a cockblock last night,” I deadpan.

“What do you mean?” She tilts her head to the side, brows knit together.

“The guy I was talking to.”

“You were talking to a guy?”

“Yes, dick. I was. And he was hot.”

“Oops.”

“Oops is right. Now I have to go to my parents’ tonight and, who knows, that could have been my last chance at a torrid affair. Knowing my father, he’s shipping me off to live with a long-lost family member in Sicily.”

She grimaces at my words.

“I sure hope not.”

“Me too.”

I dread seeing him.

All the way into New Jersey, my stomach twists and turns.

As we approach the large monstrosity of the governor’s house, it feels as though a heavy lead weighs me down.

There is no question my father is about to request. . . demand something of me.

Usually, there is a hefty price to be paid, but I fear the price will be steeper since I have pushed back this moment to go to college. It was inevitable that we would discuss my future, but now that I know it’s time to pay the piper, I’m not ready.

So far in life, I have given in. I have played the dutiful daughter. Smiling and political for his campaign, but now as the car he’s sent for me drives through the gates, I’m truly scared.

I’m done with college.

His requests will be more significant.

No doubt a price I’m not willing to pay.

A price I’ll have to pay.

When the car stops, I wait for the driver to exit the car and open the door.

It’s pretentious, and I hate it. But just in case a camera is flashing somewhere in the distance, I have no choice.

I step out of the car, then place my hand down and flatten my skirt.

My hair is perfectly coifed.

I am the perfect example of a politician’s daughter.

I know my father has lofty goals, and I know he will use me to further them if he can.

I take the few steps, and as if on cue, the large mahogany door swings open.

A member of my father’s staff sent to greet me.

You would think I would have the luxury of coming and going in my own house. . .

I don’t.

And let’s be honest, this is not my house. Nor was the one before.

I’ve never truly had a home.

Not true.

Ana gave me a home.

She took care of me, fed me, cleaned my cuts, and played with me for hours.

Well, at least she did before my mistake.

“The governor is in his office.”

“And my mother?” I ask as I walk through the foyer.

“She’s upstairs.”

Not a surprise. She’s always been too busy being the perfect wife to care about being a good, hell, decent mother.

She never came to my school plays. Nor did she even attend a curriculum night. Always too busy jet-setting. Hobnobbing with someone important, and most probably drunk.

Thankfully, Ana, for the time she was in my life, was there for me.

If only she were here now. She would hold my hand and give me strength. But since she’s not, I square my own shoulders and pretend she is whispering in my ear. “Plato said,

‘Courage is knowing what not to fear.’ You have no reason to fear your dad. He’s just a man.”

At the time, I didn’t know who Plato was, but I trusted that she was right. I tried to be brave and not fear him, and I’m still trying. Her voice still in my ear.

I continue toward my father’s office and find the door open.

Of course it is.

He’s waiting for me, drinking his scotch and ready to strike. You can see it in his eyes and with his posture. He oozes danger in quantities that should be illegal, and the ball of anxiety in my throat is back again.

“Come in, Viviana.”

His voice takes me by surprise. I’m lurking and didn’t think he knew I was here.

But I shouldn’t be surprised.

My father sees everything

Knows everything.

I tentatively walk inside, taking small, measured steps.

“Hurry up, Viviana. I don’t have all night, and I have something I need to speak to you about.”