“I’m a person with my own desires and thoughts, not some object you can use for your own purposes,” I try to stand my ground against my father, despite the trembling that shakes every cell in my body. “So don’t touch me!” I raise my voice. “I don’t want to see you!”
But Dad doesn’t react at all. Does he even have a heart? I see no emotion in him. It’s like he’s not even human—just a robot.
“And this is the thanks I get?” he asks. “Margarita, you’ve lived comfortably all these years, never wanting for anything. You and your late mother had everything you needed because I acknowledged you, gave you my last name, did and still do everything I can for you. And here you are, standing there, huffing and puffing. Have some conscience and respect for your father!”
I can’t argue about the material stuff. We did have everything, but that’s no ironclad reason to turn me into a puppet and hand me over to some stranger! What is this, the Middle Ages?
“I don’t want to get married,” I say loudly. “I have my own life, and I’ve got a boyfriend. We’re serious!”
I resort to a little white lie because I don’t see any other way out. I’m hoping Dad isn’t as heartless as he seems right now. You’d have to be made of stone to tear someone away from the person they love.
“You’re not good at lying,” he dismantles my fib. “Just go pack your suitcase. You’re starting to annoy me with this pointless drama, wasting my valuable time.”
I’m backed into a corner. What do I do? I don’t want to go anywhere, let alone tie my life to some unknown man!
“I’m calling the police right now,” I threaten, but it only makes Dad laugh. His lips stretch into a smirk as he says:
“And what are they gonna do?”
“I’ll tell them the truth!”
“And what truth is that?” He raises his eyebrows. “That your father wants to give his daughter a fairy-tale life, and she’s acting like a stubborn little goat, bleating and resisting? They’ll just fine you for a false alarm. The police are supposed to catch criminals, not meddle in peaceful family disputes.”
“You call this arranging my life?” I ask, shocked. “Marrying me off to a business partner?”
“Yes,” he says, his tone growing sterner, then downright menacing. “Pack your things.”
I take a step back. I want to run. To bolt out of here so I don’t have to see Dad or follow his ridiculous orders.
I glance toward the window. How I wish I lived on the first floor instead of the ninth. I’d jump out and run for the hills, but no such luck.
“Margarita, stop stalling,” his voice grows even angrier.
I turn back to him, overwhelmed by despair. Why is this happening to me?
“Please,” I mumble with trembling lips. “Don’t do this… I don’t want to…”
“That won’t work on me,” he turns away. “The less you resist, the easier this will be. I’m not sending you to a brothel—I’m handing you over to a serious man who will protect you, won’t abandon you, and will be a great partner for life.”
Every word is a blow straight to my heart. But I have no real choice. Dad’s a powerful man—if I don’t go willingly, he’ll definitely use force. He didn’t bring those hulking bodyguards for nothing. Their mere glance could crush you.
I wipe my tears with the sleeve of my sweater and leave the kitchen. I’ve gotta pack that damn suitcase! To hell with this life!
“Margarita, where are you going?” Dad calls after me.
“To pack the suitcase,” I say without stopping.
“Finally,” I hear his footsteps behind me. “Took you long enough. Couldn’t you have just done this from the start?”
We end up in my room, where just half an hour ago I was calmly working and daydreaming about a wonderful evening. But now, everything’s different. God, I’m still reeling from Dad’s words!
I pull a black suitcase from the closet, open it, and start tossing in clothes. Underwear, a pair of jeans, a few T-shirts, a sweater, sweatpants, and some other stuff I can’t even see through the salty tears blurring my vision.
“Only take what’s necessary,” Dad says. “You can buy the rest later.”
“Fine,” I agree and grab my tech. I stuff in my laptop, its charger, and my phone charger. I also throw in mascara, face cream, and an eyebrow pencil. Then I zip up the suitcase, lift my head, and ask with deep resentment:
“Happy now?”
“Don’t forget your documents.”
“I hope you’re not planning to take them from me?”
“I will if you ask another question like that.”
I sniff loudly in response, then grab my documents and slip them into my purse.
“Get dressed and let’s go. You still need to get ready for the meeting,” he adds, twisting the knife.
“What if I’m not good enough?” I snap, pulling on my blue coat and grabbing my bag with a sharp motion.
“No, but first impressions always matter, especially in front of your future husband.”
I grimace, and Dad notices, offering a reprimand:
“Don’t ruin your face with that look. You haven’t even seen or talked to him yet, and you’re already jumping to conclusions. That’s just foolish.”
“What’s foolish is marrying off your daughter to someone she doesn’t love,” I hiss, expecting an outburst, but he stays silent. He just grabs my suitcase and walks out of the apartment.
I can’t believe this is happening until the very last second. I keep hoping Dad will turn around, laugh, and say:
“Gotcha!”
But no. This is reality. Gray, sad, and unfair!
We leave the apartment, and immediately, the bodyguards pin me with their intimidating stares. They’re watching my every move, probably worried I’ll try to run.
Theoretically, I could make a break for it, but how far would I get? Maybe to the first floor, if that. Plus, I’m not in my right mind. Everything feels like a fog.
When we step outside the building, we head toward a massive black SUV that makes my knees buckle. What if I really did break free and ran for it? Sprinted as fast as my legs could carry me?
“Margarita!” A familiar voice snaps me out of my thoughts and stops me in my tracks. I turn around.
It’s Carolina. My friend approaches with a stunned look on her face, clearly full of questions about the scene unfolding before her.
“Margarita’s in a big hurry,” Dad says as she gets closer, while one of the bodyguards opens the car door for me.
“Dad, give me a minute,” I plead.
“You don’t have one,” he shakes his head. “Get in the car.”
“This is your dad?” Carolina asks, surprised. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll explain later,” I reply, sliding into the back seat.
“What about the birthday party?” I hear her ask, but I can’t answer. I’m already inside, and the bodyguard shuts the door.
Through the tinted window, I see Carolina’s confused face. She stares at the car while pulling her phone out of her blue purse. She unlocks it with her fingerprint and lowers her head.
She starts typing furiously. At the same time, I hear notifications popping up on my phone. It’s her messaging me, no doubt about it.
“Don’t think about telling her too much,” Dad’s voice cuts through me as he sits beside me. “Though, no matter how much you tell a woman not to do something, she’ll do it her way and then nag you about being right.”
I don’t respond. I just stare straight ahead. Soon, the view changes as the SUV pulls away from the spot. It leaves the courtyard with my friend behind and merges into the stream of cars—dull and somber in white, gray, and black. Occasionally, a red or blue one flashes by like a dragonfly.
I turn away and wrap my arms around myself. My mind is a vast emptiness, and a sharp pain blooms in my chest.
I was supposed to finish my work right now and start getting ready for the birthday party: picking out a dress, deciding on makeup, choosing shoes, accessories, a purse…
Instead, I’m riding with my father, who hasn’t been a big part of my life. And now he’s taking me to meet my so-called future husband.
What kind of cursed fate is this? Why did it pull such a horrible twist on me? Where did I go so wrong? Is it because I’m an unwanted child? But it’s not my fault I was born!
Or is there another reason? Was I a bad daughter? I don’t think so… I always helped Mom, did well in school and college, never got mixed up with the wrong crowd. And yet, here’s my “lovely gift.”
What hurts most are Dad’s words about how this will give me a fairy-tale life, protect, and save me. Save me from what? From a happy life? So I won’t smile or know what love and happiness feel like? Just fantastic!
“Why so quiet?” Dad prods.
“What am I supposed to say?” I don’t peel my eyes from the window. “You’re not gonna listen to me anyway. So what’s the point?”
“You’ll thank me later,” he assures me. “And when that wonderful moment comes, I’ll remind you of this conversation. You’ll be blushing like a poppy from shame, lowering your eyes for talking to me like this.”
I scoff. Thank him? More like I’ll curse him for dooming his own daughter to an unhappy life.
“Keep sulking,” he continues. “That’s your right to stay silent. But tonight, you better be friendly, not some scared little kitten. There’s nothing more off-putting than a girl with the kind of face you’ve got right now. Show some positivity.”
“I can only promise a fake smile,” I say coldly.
“Margarita, do you want a smack?” Dad snaps.
“Dad, leave me alone!” I can’t take it anymore and turn to face him. “Can you just give me some peace? I don’t want to talk!”
I glare at him, tears pooling in my eyes again. They haven’t spilled down my cheeks yet—they’re holding on. I’ve felt them way too often today.
“Don’t freak out,” he replies emotionlessly and looks away.
We ride in silence to Dad’s house, located outside the city in a small village. It looks like a palace—huge and luxurious.
When I step out of the car and see it, I’m so stunned I almost gape. I thought this kind of grandeur only existed in movies and TV shows, but here it is… A massive three-story building, white columns, enormous windows…
I don’t have enough words to describe the beauty before me. This is nothing like the apartment I lived in with Mom…
Mom. How would she have reacted to Dad’s awful actions? I think she would’ve stood up for me. She wouldn’t have let him pull this over my head.
“Let’s go,” Dad says as he gets out of the car. “No need to gawk at the house and yard. There’s nothing unusual here.”
“Okay,” I submit to him.
He strides forward confidently, but I stop him:
“What about my suitcase?”
Dad turns to me, surprise in his voice as he asks:
“Why do you need your suitcase?”
“My stuff is in there… My phone charger. My phone’s basically dead.”
“You don’t need your things right now. Tanya has prepared a dress and everything else for you. Besides, you’re only here for one evening.”
“What do you mean, one evening?” I feel myself go pale. “Dad, don’t tell me…”
“Yes, after dinner, you’ll be leaving with your fiancé to his place,” he interrupts, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s no reason for you to stay in my house. You need to start building a relationship with your future husband.”