Alessia Amato has everything any girl could ever wish for. Money, fame, and beauty. So why is it that she's always missing something? Every time she thinks she's found the seed a romance might grow out of, something snatches it away. Or is it someon...
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No fucking way.
My jaw drops in disbelief at what my, obviously mentally unstable, father, Francesco, just said. He must've stopped taking some type of medication. I look towards my mother, Anya, which isn't showing any sign of worry about his health.
"What?" I whisper, not wanting to anger the balding psychopath.
Currently we're sitting in his huge office, because God forbid we speak about serious issues in the sitting room like a normal family. The brown, leather chair is irritating me. The dark, wooden furniture is irritating me. The giant window is irritating me. My parents faces are what's mostly irritating me.
"I know it's abrupt, however there is no need in beating around the bush. You will get married." He just shrugs.
I wouldn't call my father fat but he sure as hell isn't fit. Although he once was. If I hadn't seen the pictures, I wouldn't have believed.
I put a hand over my mouth. Dear God, will they put him in handcuffs if I call the police?
"Alessia, lyubov', this was bound to happen. Everybody in our family is in arranged marriages. Life isn't a fairytale." My mother says.
Fucking hell. What on earth have they been smoking?
"What are you two even talking about? I have never heard anyone say anything about arranged marriages." I manage to say.
The two of them glance at each other. "Well, maybe not everybody..." My father waves his hand dismissively. More like nobody.
All I've heard in my family are stories of great love and tremendous luck to find their one and only. Not that I believe any of it, most of them married for money but this is the first time I'm hearing about marrying for the sake of business.
"You've sold me," I blurt out. Both of their heads snap in my direction. Eyes full of shock. "Like i'm some piece of fucking meat."
"Alessia! Language!" My mother, the holiest of the fucking holy ones, reprimands. Palm on her chest, as if she's about to have a heart attack.
Where have all her wrinkles disappeared to? Her blond hair must be tied back so tightly that she can barely move the muscles on her face. She cares too much about what others think of her, so the slightest chance of anyone seeing her wrinkles probably terrifies her greatly.
"Alessia, cos'hai inventato in quella tua testolina? We have money. Why would we need to sell you?" My father laughs awkwardly. Brown eyes, which we both share, avoiding me.
Fucking traitors.
"Please tell me it's not one of your fat, old friends, dad." I grimace.
"O bozhe..." Mum gasps, grabbing her head as if she's suffering from the worst headache, and plopping her slim body down onto one of the huge armchairs.
"Alessia, do you think of me as some kind of monster?"
I swear this is some kind of manipulation. I squint my eyes. He is definitely a psychopath. How haven't I realised this? Was the handbag, he bought me last weekend, a way to bribe me or something?
"So which one?"
"What do you mean?" My father asks, confused.
"Fat or old?"
"Neither."
"Oh no..." I put my face in my hands. "So he's disgustingly ugly." I groan.
"Alessia, vo imya lyubvi Gospoda. You haven't even seen him yet." My mother sighs.
I take a sip of water, trying to stop myself from recommending them the awesome therapist my friend goes to.
"The wedding will be next week." My father informs me. I choke on my water.
"Alessia? Don't you-" And spit it out onto my mother's favourite rug. The woman grabs her head like it's about to explode and she's trying to keep it intact.
"This is the worst joke I've ever encountered. Stop being ridiculous!" I lose my marbles.
"Unfortunately you can't meet him due to him being away for business." Francesco(I refuse to call him my father anymore) says ignoring me.
"Well then when will I meet him?"
"On the day of your wedding."
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*author's note*
lyubov' (Russian) - love cos'hai inventato in quella tua testolina (Italian)- what have you invented in that little head of yours o bozhe (Russian) - oh my God vo imya lyubvi Gospoda (Russian) - for the love of God Alessia (Italian) — Defending warrior Amato (Italian) - Means "beloved" or "dear one"
