I GROAN, TURNING IN MY SHEETS as someone opens the window in my room, sending bright sunlight pouring in. It’s Ana, and she’s strolling around my room in a cornflower yellow sports bra and shorts.
She wakes up in the early hours of the morning to workout, gets bored, then walks into my room to annoy me. I should really just lock my door, but I’m so tired every night that I forget.
I’m about to wrap the cover over my head when Ana completely rips the duvet from me.
“Fuck, Ana, stop!”
“No!” She throws her arms in the air. “Your room’s a mess. You’re a mess. It’s almost one and you haven’t woken up yet.”
She’s not wrong. My room is a mess. There are clothes strewn everywhere. Mama forbids the maids from picking them up because the black from my clothes always bleeds into the other laundry, so I have to do my laundry myself.
I groan again, a pounding headache at my temple. “I think I might have some sort of acute depression.”
“You know what I think?” Ana lifts a brow. “I think you need to get up and brush your teeth and have a shower.”
A cool breeze hits my bare legs and I look over to see my windows fully open. I give her a deeply irritated look. “Did you really have to open the windows?”
“Your room’s so dark,” she counters, perching herself on my mahogany couch. “I have to open it if I want to see anything in here.”
Since I moved out for college straight after high school and spent little time at home during vacations, my room is preserved mostly as it was during high school. I was clearly a bit too comfortable with picking up a rolling brush, because all my walls are a shade of black, and covered in rock band posters. It looks like darker replica of Kat Stratford’s room.
“I like it dark,” I say. “I can’t sleep if my room isn’t completely dark.”
I turn, burying my face into my pillow since my sister won’t let me wallow in peace.
“You know,” she says, “I ordered Thai . . .”
And just like that, I’m fumbling across the bed. “I’m up. I’m up.”
We have cooks, but every now and then, we order takeout. To be honest, I’m the one who got Ana hooked to Thai food. Now she’s dangling it in front of me as an incentive to get out of my bed and clean my room. Classic.
When I walk back into my room freshly showered, Ana’s already done cleaning up a small portion of my room. I slip on an oversized AC/DC tee shirt that falls to my knees, and droplets of water fall to the ground from the tips of my hair as I manoeuvre my way through piles of clothes towards her.
Winding my hair in a towel, I dump all the food wrappers in the bin and pick up all the hair ties I thought I lost, shoving them back into the box laying on my vanity table. We glance around my room, and now that it’s less of a mess, it doesn’t look so bad.
Ana’s phone buzzes and she takes it out. “Food’s here.”
And as if on cue, my stomach rumbles.
The food smells so good that I feel like ripping into the foil containers right there and then, but Ana passes me a pointed look and we cart it all to her room instead. She switches her flat screen on, putting on How to Lose a Guy. It’s just on for background music at this point. I’ve watched this movie over a hundred times because of her.
While I went away for college, Ana stayed home did her classes online, so her room is renovated and modern. Her walls are creamy white, her cupboards sleek. She has fluffy white bedding with pastel yellow throw-pillows, her bed frame draped with glowing fairy lights. She even has a little garden of cacti along her windowsill.
I chopstick some noodles into my mouth and almost moan.
“Freya.”
I don’t lift my gaze from my food. “Hmm.”
“Maybe I should give you a crash course.”
“Crash course?”
Ana meets my gaze. “On etiquette.”
I scrunch my face. “Etiquette?”
She nods. “Etiquette. You know, like manners.”
I scoff with my mouth still full of noodles. “I know what etiquette is.”
She lifts a brow at the noodles hanging from my mouth.
“Okay fine,” I say, waving my chopsticks in the air. “Maybe I could use some sprucing in that department.”
“Well, are you ready?”
“No, but you’re going to tell me anyway aren’t you?”
Ana smiles primly. “Of course I am. First rule. Eat elegantly. Don’t chew with your mouth open.” She pushes my chin closed. “Don’t talk with a full mouth.” And then she squishes my cheeks so that I’m forced to swallow.
I whine and pass her a foul look, gathering more noodles.
Ana sighs. “Use a knife and a fork.” She gives me a pointed look. “Even with a burger. Use a napkin to clean up around your mouth while eating. Eat slowly and with small bites.”
I roll my eyes.
“Third rule,” she says, “Dress appropriately.”
I’m only wearing an oversized shirt and no pants right now. It depresses me that I won’t be able to do this after tomorrow, and my throat is dries. “I’m thirsty.”
“Which brings us to another rule. Don’t drink too much alcohol. I personally love a glass of dry red wine here and there. But there’s a line you should never cross.”
I don’t appreciate her turning my thirst into a lesson.
Ana points her chopsticks at me. “Don’t give me that look, you know what I’m talking about… Getting completely wasted makes you look like you disrespect yourself a lot.”
I make a face. “That’s a load of bull—”
“Second rule. No cursing. Be gracious. Be kind and generous to those around you. Of course, don’t let anyone step on you — if someone is treating you badly, there’s no need to be okay with it. Setting healthy personal boundaries is also a sign of a classy lady who knows her values and her worth.”
I frown deeply. “Ana, are you hearing yourself right now? Do you know the kind of person Torren Costa is? Do you think he’s going to respect my healthy personal boundaries?”
“The contract states he’s not to harm you in any way. You know Papa would never—”
I lift an exasperated hand in the air. “He’s a cheat, Ana! He doesn’t stick to his word. If he did, he wouldn’t have changed his mind.”
She’s quiet, and the fact that she doesn’t even fight me shows just how right I am.
I shake my head, waving a noncommittal hand. “Just forget it. There are too many rules. I can’t keep track.”
Ana’s jaw clenches. Then, the anger slowly seeps from her face. She glances at her feet, sighing. “Look, Freya, I just want you to be safe. If you behave, they won’t do anything to you.”
Expecting me to behave is a long shot. And Ana knows it. What do they think I am, anyway? A child? I’m an adult with a fully formed brain. I’m never going to let anyone order me around.
She sighs. “Remember how you used to sneak around Papa’s office when you were younger?”
I stop chewing.
She doesn’t meet my gaze, but there’s a small smile on her lips. “You never got caught. I tried to do it once, you know. But I wasn’t as lucky. Papa was furious, telling me I could’ve gotten hurt. To never disobey him ever again.”
For a moment, she glances back at me with a soft look on her face. As if she’ll miss me. Miss what’ll be left of me when I’m gone.
I swallow my food. “He said I could visit whenever I want, you know. Torren.”
Ana’s eyes widen. “Why wouldn’t you tell me that? I told you he’s not that bad.”
I scoff. We clearly have some issues if my future husband giving me permission to see my own family is such a luxury.
Ana meets my gaze. “Yesterday, at lunch. I saw the way you looked when you walked out of the bathroom and signed the contract. What did he say?”
I shove rice into my mouth. “He chose me because I’m untrained. Because I’m less likely to spy on him.”
I don’t say anything about how he said I’m daddy’s favorite. Ana’s hopeful expression falls. I lift a brow. “Still think he’s not that bad?”
“He didn’t give you a choice?”
He did, but his definition of choice is so warped it might as well not even exist. If I tell her the truth, Ana would never let me take her place. I’m trapped between wanting to save my sister from a loveless marriage and wanting her to take my place because she’s so much more prepared than I am.
I narrow my eyes. “Do you love him?”
Ana is quiet for a long time. I suddenly regret asking the question, because she puts her food aside, like she can’t eat anymore. Just when I think I sabotaged the conversation, she speaks, not meeting my gaze.
“No,” she says, “You were right. I don’t know him enough about him to love him. And I wish I was enough for him, but I don’t think I am. But I wanted it to work. I wanted… something.”
She still won’t meet my gaze, like she’s ashamed to admit it. She really let that asshole affect her self esteem. I can’t really blame her. I’m not immune to his insults. He practically questioned my femininity. Said I’m barely a woman. God, I want to fucking strangle that asshole.
She searched for love she’d never find in real life in fiction, and I don’t believe in love because if Ana, the loveliest person in the world, can’t find it, what are my chances? And if I don’t believe in love, it’s only fair that I give Ana a chance to find it.
I sigh, laying back on the bed as I stare at the ceiling. “He didn’t give me a choice.”
Ana is quiet. I focus on the ceiling. “Is this really happening?”
“The engagement is happening tomorrow, Freya,” she says, “Whether you like it or not.”
Fine. An engagement is bound to happen. I accept that much. But I’ll go down fighting before I have to marry him. Or anyone, for that matter. I’ll never marry. I made that choice at sixteen and I’m sticking to it. But to take down the enemy, you have to know them, first.
“Ana.” I glance at my sister. “Do you think you could teach me some Italian?”
❖ ❖ ❖
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