His Captive

Hmm, figures. Ann-Marie can spot a rich guy from miles away, it’s her special skill. I’ve seen her poring over GQ and other men’s mags, but the girl’s not looking at the male models or reading the articles. She’s learning about thirty thousand dollar watches and crocodile suitcases, studying up on men’s luxury goods so that when big prey is near, she can pounce

And of course, high rollers are drawn to her as well, Ann-Marie’s got those big blue eyes that she blinks so innocently, paired with legs that go on for miles.

But I keep my thoughts to myself as she shares details about the previous night.

“His name is Chance Morgan,” she trills delightfully.

I don’t recognize the name but that’s no surprise. High rollers aren’t exactly my thing.

“We spent all night just talking and getting to know one another,” my sister babbles. “The connection is so strong between us, Anna. It’s like fireworks on the fourth of July.” Ann-Marie pauses to sigh contentedly. “After our incredible night together, he proposed to me this morning and I said YES!”

Frowning, I have to ask the obvious question. “So you’ve only known each other for one night?”

Nodding happily, Ann-Marie says, “Yes. I’m so in love, Anna. I’ve never felt like this before.”

I watch her, mind spinning furiously, filled with all sorts of catty remarks, but there’s no point. Despite everything, I want the best for my sister. I don’t want her to be married and divorced within a year, all by the ripe old age of eighteen.

So I try to infuse some logic into this situation. She’s not ready to get hitched and take care of a household and man. After all, she can barely take care of herself, I’ve been doing it for her.

“But you barely know him,” I say gently. “You only met last night. Don’t you want to get to know him better?”

My sister laughs and smiles, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Sometimes you just know, Anna. He’s the one.”

She sighs blissfully and clasps her hands in front of her with a serene smile.

“Oh, thank God! I’m finally going to get out of this shitty apartment.”

I take a deep breath, letting the insult roll of my back, before trying again.

“Ann-Marie, please take some time and think this through. This is a big decision,” I say gently. “Maybe you two should date for a while and go from there.”

Her voice is small and petulant in reply.

“I know what I’m doing, Anna. I am an adult you know.”

Just barely. Maybe legally yes, but mentally, no. But it’d do no good to bring that up now, so I take another deep breath.

“What does he do for a living?” I venture carefully, trying not rouse her. My sister is known for her hot and cold personality and I don’t want to poke the bear.

Her face falters at this question, and I see the wheels turning in her head.

“He works for his family’s business,” she begins.

“Doing what?” I want to know.

Ann-Marie huffs, exasperated by the line of questioning.

“He’s in finance or something. He just graduated from college and is getting settled into the role.”

Well, at least he works. That much is comforting. Still, I need to know more. She claims this Chance guy is rich. But how? Was he born into wealth or is he some type of prodigy who invented the internet?

“What’s the family business?” I ask casually, grabbing a worn kitchen towel. “Anything I would recognize?”

She scoffs in her throat as if to say, “Yeah, right.”

I begin wiping down the counter out of habit, my expression smooth.

“No, you wouldn’t know,” she snarks. “Jeez, Anna, so nosy, just like always.”

But the better question is if she even knows what her fiancé does. I’m going to venture to say that she has no idea because if it were some million dollar company, Ann-Marie wouldn’t hesitate to rub it in my face.

I sigh again. Unbelievable. My sister really knows nothing about him.

This marriage sure does have a strong foundation: one airhead model and probably some wide-eyed trust fund baby.

My sarcastic thoughts can’t be helped when I think about the bomb she’s just dropped.

Ann-Marie and marriage don’t belong in the same sentence. At least not right now. She’s still a baby. At eighteen she should be enjoying her youth, carefree with no responsibilities, not seducing a man into marrying her.

Jesus Christ.

As tough as she is to live with and take care of, I don’t want her to marry on a whim to start a life with some random dude.

“Are you planning on a long engagement?” I ask carefully. Again, better not to poke the bear.

“No,” her answer is succinct, leading me to suspect that she’s tired of my never-ending questions.

“What about his family? Are you going to meet his parents any time soon? And what about me? When do I get to meet my future brother-in-law?”