Page 47 of Bound in Debt

Oh, and the mob wants a piece of me—or all of me—too. I can’t imagine being at their mercy.

“Where do you want to meet?” I finally ask as calmly as I can.

“There’s a park nearby that should work. I’ll send you the details.”

“Okay.”

Then he hangs up.

I allow myself a few extra seconds to fix my makeup, quickly swiping a towelette at my stained cheeks and touching up what I can with the compact and lipstick in my purse. In more ways than one, I’m putting my game face on before going to face down the lioness in her den.

This time, my mother decides to play the role of doting mom. She acts as if we’ve been best friends my whole life, ecstatic beyond belief to be planning my wedding.

I’m starting to think she has something other than sugar mixed into her tea.

“Marissa and I were talking about a winter ceremony,” she confesses coyly. She’s clearly trying to bait me into a reaction, gauging whether I’m excited or resentful at the idea of getting married in the next few months. I’m confused about which she really expects, although I’m sure she’d prefer the former.

“A winter wonderland,” I drone, unable to fully hide my distaste. “You know I love the season.”

“Precisely why I thought you’d like the idea.” I try to imagine what it would take to make her abandon this ridiculous scheme. Maybe if I screamed and faked a psychotic break?

“I was thinking of a formal dinner, of course,” she continues. “A live band. Candlelight and white roses.”

The angelic picture she paints couldn’t be further from my own tastes. Live music, sure. I’ve always imagined a string quartet for the processional. The rest? Too stuffy, too pretentious, too her.

“DJ,” I counter, because I have to stick up for something. Even if this wedding is never going to happen.

And I mean never.

She can plan and scheme all she wants, but she can’t control me.

I’m not marrying Liam. I will run to the other side of the world and pray that it’s far enough to keep me safe if I have to.

It would have to be somewhere no one would look for me.

There goes Paris.

I bite the inside of my cheek to help hold back the tears that want to fall. I refuse to let my dream go. I will get to Paris.

One day.

I will snap a selfie in front of the Eiffel Tower and get lost in the Louvre. I’ll wander the grounds of Versailles and uncover every piece of art, historic wonder, and charm to be had in the City of Lights.

My mother does not get my life.

“DJs aren’t for weddings, Victoria,” my mother lightly chides. “However, maybe we can arrange one for later. When all the important people have left and your friends remain.” Her nose scrunches as she considers the idea. “An exclusive after party of sorts.”

Right, because I’m so thrilled to be marrying Liam that I want to party all night long and shout the news from the rooftops.

“I’d like a food truck,” I state, thinking of all the things I would like if I was marrying the man of my dreams. “For the after party. I’d hate for people to go home drunk.”

“That’s…a good idea.” She hates it, but my mother is obviously trying to bend a little. Anything to maintain the illusion that I have a say in any of this.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t snow.” Let’s hope it does. I certainly wouldn’t begrudge a freak blizzard forcing us to cancel the wedding and forget the whole mess.

My mother smirks, knowing all too well what I must really be thinking. “It won’t be an issue. Everyone will be driven in with a horse and carriage.”

She’s got to be kidding. Please, please let her be kidding.