Page 30 of Beauty and the Daddy

I swallow around the burn from his words. "I have twenty-four hours."

"So… fast? I… I really fucked up."

I can hear the agony and uncertainty in Dad's voice. I want to say I forgive you, but my heart's not all that big.

"What are you going to do?" he asks.

"I don't know…" I whisper. "But I've got to go."

"Belle—"

"I love you," I whisper, knowing I still mean it as I cut the call.

My dad, he's many things, but he's not cruel.

He dug himself into this mess so I wouldn't have to hold the shovel, and now the whole damn boulder is rolling onto my shoulders.

I toss my phone onto the bed, beside the ring box that's still sitting there like a ticking bomb.

I don't want this life. I know that.

I wanted bakeries and slow Sundays and a dog that steals socks. I wanted a dad who didn't gamble the roof.

And most importantly, I wanted a man whose hands made things instead of breaking them.

But last night he looked at me like I was the only real thing he'd ever walked into.

And my body answered yes like it had been waiting under glass for someone to tap the right code.

I stand. I need water. Cold, stupid water to clear my fuzzy little head.

I walk to the bathroom on autopilot, the tile cool under my feet, the lights too blinding.

I twist the tap and splash handfuls onto my face until my breath stops trying to sprint.

Drops slide down my chin. I look up.

There I am. Hair damp, eyes wide, future knocking.

I stare at my reflection, kiss-swollen lips, bite marks on my throat, eyes that look like they've seen God and realized he's got tattoos and kills people.

"You're going to marry him," I tell the girl in the mirror. Not a question. A diagnosis.

She nods back, this stranger wearing my face who gets wet when dangerous men threaten her, who came three times for a man who bought her like cattle.

"Because you want to live?" I ask her.

She smiles, sharp and suicidal. "Because I want him."

The truth tastes like gunpowder and wedding cake.

6

LUCA

I'm wearing a path in the Persian rug, back and forth like a caged animal that's forgotten what it's hunting.

Declan told me once that pacing makes me look weak. I told him that sitting still while your world tilts off its axis makes you look dead.