THE CONTROL: An Arranged Marriage Romance Read online

  Vic found my eyes trying to analyze my tone, body language, color of my eyes—whatever he did that suited him to be Conquest. “It’s okay if you do. You like what you like.”

  The judgment in the room was absent but my heart sped up, my palms got sticky in a nervous perspiration, and all my demons began to bully me.

  If you like dick, then why didn’t you like the island?

  If you like dick, then why didn’t you ever show it?

  If you like dick, then why are you ashamed?

  Standing up abruptly, I walked away. I didn’t need to answer to anyone but my own demons— not these monsters.

  By the time I came back down from my room the party was in full swing, music shaking your ear drums, and the smell of bad choices filled the air.

  Standing there with my drink, I kept my distance from the guys when Cam came up to me, publicly touching my arm and planting a kiss on my cheek.

  I didn’t have to look to know all three of them were staring and judging. I felt all the eyes in the room bore into me and the panic of explaining my trauma at my back when the demons took over.

  “Don’t touch me, fag,” I spat out, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  The room’s attention was now on him instead of questioning my sexuality when I shifted, swatting his touch away. His face caved in, morphing into betrayal when we had no alliance in the first place.

  I would never align myself with anyone after Eve left.

  After that party, things only got worse: Cam had an entire football team backing him being gay and me being the asshole that treated him like shit. He was about to be another scar, another trauma, another box in my mind I hid things in when I knew better.

  I had killed and buried someone before and now wasn’t any different.

  EVE

  I always felt like a visitor in my new life after I was dragged to Denmark when my mom got engaged. I was living in a palace that wasn’t my home, with people who weren’t my family, being groomed into a position I didn’t ask for or want to be in—Princess. It wasn’t just my mother picking up our life and moving me to Denmark in her suitcase, but a world of forced changes for me to rebel against.

  As soon as their wedding was over, she went on a month-long honeymoon and flew around the world being presented as the new queen. I was left alone to be poked and prodded until all the control I had come with was stripped from me. All of that control was replaced with clothing that acted like a corset, holding all the trouble inside that I knew best.

  As I got older, I made changes that nobody approved of, but couldn’t do anything about—like dressing myself in a way that wasn’t so royal. Oversized t-shirts with harnesses, hot shorts, less than lady-like heels, see-through anything, skintight dresses, and my favorite... fishnets—all meant to show them exactly how a caged animal can behave if mistreated.

  No one genuinely cared anymore because I was finally the age to be married.

  Wheeling my bags by my side looking for Bowey’s car, I traipsed down the wide walkway of arrivals and departures.

  After my last visit to LA, I officially realized how holding out for a hero was a waste of my damn time. I desperately yearned for any attention he’d give me, but he barely acknowledged my presence. I had spent all those years in Denmark living on the single glimmer of hope that this would all be worth it when I got to marry my best friend.

  Well, I wasn’t his best friend, and he wasn’t my Bowey anymore.

  There he was, dragging a cigarette from his lips, elbow digging into the ledge of the open window and not looking for me at all. He didn’t have to try so hard to make me feel guilty, I already felt more guilt than he would ever know. I thought the small, insecure boy I left would have no choice but to stand up for himself in my absence.

  Something went wrong and no one was telling me.

  Standing outside the passenger door, I crossed my arms letting the poise wear off as my anger started to rise when he made no attempt to open my door or even acknowledge my presence. With my two large roller bags in baby blue and my Chanel bag resting on top, I waited for him to notice me for another solid sixty seconds in silence.

  Leaning down into the open space where the window was open, I glared at him but tried my best to keep my tone as pleasant as possible, “Aren’t you going to help with my bags?”

  His head twisted slowly in my direction, “What happened to your arms, Princess?”

  Okay, so we’re playing hard ball.

  With a swear on the tip of my tongue and an insult already loaded, the ability to kick my Pretty Princess behavior became impossible.

  No matter how much I rebelled, no matter how much freedom I took back, the habits I was forced to commit to keep my true self hostage.

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I opened the door and searched for the handle that prompted the seat to pop forward, making room for my luggage. Without his help, I managed to shove them in with no regard for his leather, paint, or whatever else made this car so expensive.

  My arms felt like jello as I sat down in the passenger seat, now further up at an uncomfortable angle because of my belongings pushed into the space behind me.

  That’s when the stench in the air hit my nostrils.

  Alcohol.

  That all too familiar, woody putrid smell made my features sour. “Are you drunk?”

  It shouldn’t be shocking. During all of my visits, he spent his time completely obliterated, and I followed him around cleaning up the empties.

  Looking him over, I felt just as drunk from sitting next to him. My eyes traced every severely beautiful feature he had to offer as he stared ahead. His long, lean arms and legs that made me feel small and protected. His lips that now belonged to me in all their rosy glory. His perfectly disheveled, bleach blonde hair, all pushed to one side, making his eyes stand out even more. His glowing ivory skin that made him seem normal and healthy even though I knew better paired with the smell of booze currently poisoning the car.

  If I could only just find something to speak to me within his ashen, smoky eyes then I could still hold onto the parts of him I used to know. If I could find the parts that were untouched by the bad in our lives, then I could survive.

  “I’m always drunk. Better get used to it,” his voice was a dull blade to all the memories I held close of him when his eyes met mine.

  “Well, you aren’t driving drunk.”

  I looked at him with anger and disgust while waiting for whatever excuse he could possibly create that made it acceptable to drive home drunk.

  “Do you have a driver’s license?” Drunk or not, he had a point that I couldn’t argue with.

  I got out of the car, hearing my heels against the concrete as I made my way to the driver’s side. Standing there, I bent down to his window. “Get out of the car. I’m driving. You aren’t getting out of marrying me that easily, but nice try.”

  Pulling the door open, I waited for him to get out when he tossed the empty nip of Hennessy to the back seat. “Have it your way, Princess, you always do.”

  A memory flooded to my present from the past and I had no choice as I was dragged back into it.

  “Always such a Princess, but you get to be Bowen’s knight in shining armor too?” Braeden’s grip was unapologetic on the sensitive skin above my elbow while his voice soaked into my skin like raindrops.

  “What are you talking about? Get off.”

  There was no real use in fighting Bowen’s twin brother, everything he lacked was compensated for in Braeden: muscles, the cold exterior, the ever-changing appearance so no one could ever get used to him, those eyes that burned copper, and his voice that always sounded like a strangled scream.

  Braeden was mad because Bowen didn’t live by the same rules under their parents’ roof, and by proxy, neither did I. Their mom had already slapped down a firm hand when Braeden showed up drunk in the doorway as we were escaping.

  Slumped over like a discarded puppet, he held his keys in one hand and a bottl
e in the other as he came to life at the sight of us.

  All of this garnered their parents’ attention when they came running for their precious damaged good.

  He was broken in ways Bowen never was.

  Bowen being the good person he was, tried to slip the bottle out of his hand from behind his back to keep it hidden. Braeden’s open hand reached out and slammed across his cheek leaving only

  a pinch of pink and water in Bowen’s eyes. Being his best friend, I always shoved myself between them in the hopes of being a buffer.

  I could take it when I knew Bowen couldn’t.

  I could be tough if it meant letting him be benevolent.

  Braeden managed to snag my elbow when I side stepped between him ready with closed fists, ready for the regret of his parents banning me from their house for hitting their favorite child. They didn’t even make any moves to protect one twin from the other; simply let me do it instead.

  Pushing me back against the table, there was nowhere to go when his mouth found the nape of my neck before he whispered, “He always protects you. You basically live here, in our castle, up in his room like a fucking Princess no one can save except him; living a life that isn’t yours. But you don’t need any saving, do you, Princess?”

  Braeden was never a fan of me being here, it meant his days of harassing his brother were over. He enjoyed watching Bowen almost die every time his tricks turned sinister, and now I was their buffer, wedged between two polar opposite twins.

  Pushing my knee up between us, I managed to collide with the sensitive parts of him in return for pinching my elbow until I winced. Backing off quickly, he clutched his crotch, eyes wild and words venomous, “Always your way.”

  Getting out, he flicked the butt of his cigarette, standing up to his full height that towered over me even in heels. It was like staring into the eyes of Braeden; he was wearing sin like it was elegant.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped, tempting him to do worse if he wanted to hurt me.

  Rounding the passenger’s side, he got in without answering me until I sat down, and I took off my heels, so they didn’t get in the way of me driving. “You know exactly what I mean.”

  Me leaving?

  Our arranged marriage?

  Driving home?

  He could really take his pick of all the ways I don’t control my life that he perceives as me getting my way.

  Shifting the car into drive, I looked out of the mirror to see if it was safe to pull away from the curb even though I really didn’t know what I was doing. I was never taught to drive because I was always driven. My mother told me: we’re royal now darling, we don’t need to do mundane tasks anymore.

  Mundane was just another lock on my cage. Now, here I am, dropped into a drunk’s lap in LA with no way of being independent.

  Almost colliding with another car, I pressed on the horn and let the sound blare into the air when Bowey remarked, “Great idea. It’s way safer to have you behind the wheel.”

  Slanting my eyes at him, I tried pulling off the curb again, this time successfully, when I asked him for directions. Instead of talking to me, he asked his phone for directions to his own house.

  For some reason, it seemed like he relied on that feature more than the average person. Probably for all of the times he was too drunk to see the road or know where he was.

  Welcome to LA.

  This is your future husband.

  Finally pulling into his driveway, there was no gate, keypad, or anything that alluded to privacy. This new Bowen seemed all for privacy with none of the parameters in place.

  Maybe just from me.

  Neighbors be damned.

  Bowen jumped out the minute he could and jingled his keys as he walked away. “Better get your bags out quickly; I’m locking my car when I get to the door.”

  For a split second I thought he was kidding, but just in case he wasn’t, I hauled ass to get my bags out. Otherwise, I’d be sleeping naked tonight. Not that I minded, but I’m sure he would. Every time I had been back to visit him over the past year, he didn’t take any of my bait and never once touched me.

  Not a single goodbye kiss... or even a simple, friendly hug for that matter.

  Yanking my bag out of his car and rushing towards the door that he’d left open, I almost let myself think he might lock that too if I wasn’t fast enough. Once I stepped inside, I took in the stark

  white interior with contrasting deep onyx caging it all in, coating the moldings and accenting the clean aesthetic.

  Nothing had changed since the last time I was here, but I was seeing it all with new eyes as his pending wife. All this wouldn’t be only his, it would be ours.

  Ours was really more like mine since he was practically unalive, and I’m sure wherever the booze was kept was the only room he ever occupied. Hell, I could smell the drunken stupor from here as he waltzed into the house, not bothering to help me get settled.

  He was showing no interest in me and it made my mind wander around in loops trying to figure out why: other girlfriends... I wasn’t who he wanted anymore... the dresses instead of overalls covered in paint... my manufactured personality that I was groomed into—everything about me now was grating.

  I was probably everything he hated because none of it was actually me.

  The old me only existed in my mind, and he wasn’t going to be able to crack my angelic surface hailing from Denmark.

  “Pick whatever room you want as long as it's not mine,” his voice was airy the way I only imagined it was when he was buzzed off his ass. When he’s more sober, it’s downright cruel.

  “Okay… I guess we are still taking the impending nuptials seriously.” I practically had to jog to keep up with his long strides up the stairs and smile through the suitcase attacking my ankles every time I yanked it up a stair behind me.

  Taking in the walls that were left blank just like his expressionless face, I almost tripped in my designer heels my mother forced me to wear when a nip of Hennessy dropped to the floor.

  Kicking it out of the way, I knew what Bowen was doing. He was trying to get me to welcome the idea of us living parallel lives instead of what I was going to force him to do—be my husband.

  When I pushed my eyes up from dragging my suitcase, I nearly bulldozed right into him standing in front of me, staring at me like he could see through me. Pulling all my focus from daydreaming about his lips, I made sure my exterior was still in place—poised and shatterproof—as his eyes bored into mine.

  Bowen’s brows caved in when he spoke through his teeth, “Impending nuptials? You were sold to the highest bidder. This,” waving a finger between us like there was an ocean of hate instead of just dead air, “is a business exchange, and as I see it I paid for you to sit pretty—nothing else.”

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I took a deep, calming breath as my chest tightened. My fingers strangled the plastic handle of my suitcase until the sting felt like it could eventually rival the jab I just absorbed from him.

  Sold to the highest bidder?

  I was groomed to be his perfect wife, not anyone’s perfect wife.

  Bowen was the only reason I survived being in that circle of hell where every part of you was picked at until you constantly felt like an open wound, unrecognizable, and bruised so badly you felt too sensitive for the outside world.

  A castle full of princesses, like we all demanded some kind of boot camp, so we’d behave how they wanted us to. Only they wanted impossibilities that led to scary realities. We would all leave that castle with scars so deep, we’d think we were nothing but ugly.

  That’s what Bowen was doing, making me feel ugly to make his awful point.

  Pushing past him, I let my suitcase roll over his shoe and I felt my face flinch. I would punish myself later for misbehaving.

  I always do now.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bowen. I’ve traveled all day, and I would like to be pointed in the direction of a ro
om, please,” my voice was delicate and soft the way they taught me.

  I watched his effortless features morph into tension at how I wasn’t breaking the way he wanted me to. I was taught to not break every time I survived a moment that could have eaten me whole.

  Stalking down the hallway, he pointed to the black door of the same room I had been staying in during all of my visits. Every door was black, making a harsh contrast from the gray and white walls. He disappeared into the door across the hall, kicking it closed without a word. My heart sank with the realization that I waited this long for a happy ending when all I’m going to get are different nightmares.

  The room inside was void of any personal touches. There was a big bed elevated higher off the ground than I was used to, black curtains, a snakeskin-wrapped dresser, and two nightstands boxing in the bed. All of it plain and none of it held any parts of Bowen for me to hold onto.

  Not even his alcoholic scent that mixed with the spunk of pot perfectly.

  Searching my bag for the phone my mom gave me in case of emergencies only felt like more bars on the cage. No squeezing my body through and escaping, not that I would now.

  No messages.

  No calls.

  I flew to LA to get married to the man I was promised to, yet he calls himself the highest bidder, and my mom didn’t bother to check in on me once.

  If I wasn’t promised to Bowen, then how much worse could this have been if he didn’t buy me?

  I didn’t bother to unpack or even change when I unbuckled the harness over my powder blue dress. Tossing it on the floor, I crawled under the covers with tears I wouldn’t let myself shed against his cold pillows.

  Twisting the lamp off, I soaked in the hell I traded for a nightmare, waiting for the terrorizing dreams to steal my sleep.

  EVE

  I felt like a tragic princess locked in a castle, cursed to daydream of my perfect prince by only hour two of being by myself in this too quiet house.