Page 3 of Give It a Day (Song-Smith #1)

I look over at the priest, then at my parents. Fidgeting with my fingers for full effect, I frown, feigning innocence.

“I have no idea why I’m here.” But I do. I do know. I just don’t want to believe it. I’ve done everything right so my parents don’t sink, and they reward me with this insane idea?

Before my mind wanders, Mr. Fuck-Me Eyes straightens up slowly, taking his sweet time to fix up his cufflinks and make his way closer toward me.

His dark eyes meet mine, and there’s a hint of something dangerous in them this time, the foggy look of interest clearing up to show a stormy look like lightning bottled up.

He stops close enough that I can feel his presence without him actually touching me.

That’s scarily impressive. I’ll have to learn that trick.

His pretty lips part and he says sternly, “No mistake, little bird.”

“ Little bird …?” I make a displeased face at him. Way to go on staying in your cute, scared character, Kaye. Then, I glance over at my parents.

My mom is scarily picturesque, beaming while linking arms with my dad, who looks like he doesn’t care to even be here, bored and blasé. Typical of them, really, but right now, I’m no longer in that deep denial surrounding the situation I’m in. This is seriously not looking good for me .

Panic starts with a flutter in my stomach. “My name’s Kayla, but I prefer to go by Kaye. And you are…?” Let’s try the polite and friendly angle.

He smirks at the way I smile at him. “Damon, but that’s too tongue-in-cheek, so I prefer being called Dae.” He introduces himself, his voice low and deep. His steady hand stretches toward his parents seated in the front row. “And these fine folks, of course, are my parents—the Song-Smiths.”

“ Song-Smiths …?” I murmur, looking over at his parents, who are a picture perfect couple, like they’re as comfortable as high school sweethearts who are approaching their silver anniversary.

“What are you, folks, like a family of supermodels?” I frown, confused, but I try to quickly hide that with a nervous huff of hopefully adorable laughter.

His parents thankfully laugh along, albeit lightly, as if to show mercy on me.

Am I supposed to know them…? I’ve never heard or seen them in my line of work. Do they operate in another part of the criminal underworld?

Damon’s parents smile at me—the mom smiling kindly, the dad with a smaller smirk—looking every bit the part of a glamorous supermodel couple. His mother, a stunning woman with glass skin and raven hair, moves toward me. “Ah, Kayla, darling, I can imagine that this may all be baffling.”

“Yeah, I can say that I am definitely baffled.” I smile in relief. At least, this nice lady is helping me out, unlike my unattached parents.

Damon’s mother widens her sparkling smile, showing off her perfect teeth.

There isn’t a wrinkle in her face when she’s beaming at me so sweetly.

“Your parents never mentioned you were completely oblivious to our current situation,” she says, exchanging yet another glance with her husband, who chuckles with a deep voice.

I don’t much care to be called oblivious or to be around that kind of chuckling, but she’s right. Turning to the man with silver hair, I tilt my head to listen to him as he clears his throat to gather attention.

Damon’s father smiles warmly this time, but there’s still an undeniable undercurrent of something calculating in his eyes.

It’s a look I’m unfortunately familiar with.

I see it in the mirror all the time. “You see, Kayla, my wife and I have been trying to arrange a meeting with you for quite some time. But your parents—bless their souls—have been too busy to communicate.”

“Yeah, busy ’s one word for it,” I murmur, frowning and glancing over at my parents again.

They look like they’re in their own world, as usual, uncaring and unaffected by what’s taking place at the moment, or maybe they’re merely waiting for me to deal with the matter on my own as usual , cleaning up after the mess they make and hoping I can keep the family afloat by patching the metaphoric ship they keep sinking because they can’t stop making stupid decisions.

And you know what? I’d find a way to solve this situation. I always do . “So you wanted to meet with me? For what?” I ask.

I wouldn’t even know why a beautiful family would try to get into contact with our hot mess of a family, especially if the Song-Smiths aren’t connected to Darkhaven, which is where my family, the Knights, rule.

After a moment of the Song-Smiths exchanging glances that seem to be a conversation only they can understand, the nice lady leans forward, whispering furtively, as if trying to respect my privacy, but it’s only the handful of us here.

“Kayla, dear, have you ever wondered why your family is one of the most powerful in the country, yet you must live so… secludedly ?”

And secretly, I want to add. But I know all too well why my parents are as tight-lipped as they are.

They’ve been taught to be, just like they taught me to be too, in order to keep our family business’ true nature as low key as possible.

But right now, I have to be cautious and play stupid, just in case this beautiful family of strangers in front of me can’t be trusted.

“I’ve wondered, but can I ask—why am I here?

Did we all need to meet at a church? Couldn’t this have been an email? ”

“Ah, well…” Damon’s mother glances over at her husband, who clears his throat and speaks, “We needed a sacred ground.”

The father adjusts his suit jacket, maintaining his composed demeanor.

All the while, Damon has been watching with some interest, whereas the priest and my parents have been quiet yet they look more and more impatiently at me, as if they’re mad that I haven’t pieced it together yet.

But I have. I just need someone to tell me I’m right, so I have a reason to bolt out of here.

But I hope I’m wrong. I really, really hope I’m wrong. How could this be happening anyway? I’m in shitty clothes I wore from a club to a bar to a motel to a bus to a limo to a plane to another limo to a church, with sticky come from a stranger stuck to my thong.

On the other hand, they’re wearing expensive suits and fancy dresses, talking about business , and my parents still won’t tell me shit. Damon, who’s standing near me, is now looking me up and down like I’m a prized cow again with those dark, stormy eyes of his.

I’ve been piecing together the ugly truth of this situation, and I’m really, really not liking it. My feet are ready to dash even though I’m wearing heels.

Damon’s mother shuffles to reveal what she’s been hiding behind her back. There’s a black dry cleaning garment bag behind her, and through the small plastic window, I can see something white. A white wedding dress, maybe?

My hands clench into fists as I grind my teeth. This has reached the point where I’m now very, very irritated at the way everyone around me is dropping hints but not telling me outright what’s expected of me.

As if sensing my sudden tenseness, Damon’s mother smiles at me sweetly, once again hiding the dress behind her, as if taking it out of my view will stop me from what I’m about to do—readying myself for a nice, little run out of this church.

I eye the door when she says, “Kayla, dear, what we’re about to tell you is about your future, and the future of our two families.” She gestures to the garment bag behind her. “Do you happen to enjoy surprises?”

“My future…and surprises…at a church…” I mumble angrily, glaring at all of them.

First, at my parents, who are even bigger jerks than usual for not telling me about this whole ordeal and for ignoring me through it all.

Then, Damon, who is still checking me out like I’m a piece of meat—but I don’t think about how I was doing the same to him a moment ago.

And then, finally, his parents, particularly his mom, who’s smiling really nicely at me, even though I’m pretty sure she’s gonna tell me that this has been a setup for a forced wedding.

“No, I don’t like surprises,” I finally say, as they all apparently let me glare at them. Maybe they know I have every right to hate them all a little bit right now. Or a lot .

His mother’s smile stays, though her tone turns more serious. “Ah, well. Sometimes surprises can be lovely, Kayla dear. For instance, did you know our families arranged this marriage before you and Damon were born?”

“ What …?” I ask, devastated.

My brows pinch in the middle, as my neck stretches forward, bringing my head closer toward the apparently nice lady speaking to me.

Though, the word ‘nice’ is becoming less and less applicable, but she’s the only one I can speak to right now, since she’s the only one who’s actually telling me anything useful.

I can’t even bear to look at my parents.

They’ve hidden this arrangement for this long?

Damon’s father chimes in, “Indeed, it’s turned out to be a match made in heaven.

Our families would thrive with this union.

You and Damon would make a perfect couple.

” He gives Damon a meaningful look, and usually, I’d be on the ball with interpreting such gestures, but I am freaking the fuck out inside my head too much to think properly, and my heart’s hammering so loudly that I feel my pulse in my ears.

It’s thunderous, unlike the simmering anger threatening to explode out of me if I don’t get the hell out of here soon.

And the fluttering panic is now a full-force hurricane.

Tears prick my eyes as I slowly realize my body’s shaking all over from the instant Damon’s mom—or rather, my fucking future mother-in-law—said I’m in an arranged marriage with Mr. Damon Fuck-me Eyes.

Hiss mother gives an equally tearful reaction, but hers seems to be out of happiness because she’s smiling?!

Damon’s father comforts her with a caress on the back, while she speaks. “Isn’t it wonderful? And the best part is the wedding will take place in a couple of hours from now. A humble but elegant affair, with only our nearest and dearest.” She points her smile at Damon, who steps forward again.

I step back instinctively when Damon moves toward me. “A… wedding in…a couple of hours …?” I repeat, getting more and more shocked.

“Yes, our wedding is in a couple of hours,” Damon says, his voice calm and collected, as if he’s discussing a business merger instead of our arranged marriage. “The invitations have been sent out, the dress is ready, the cake is baked, and the reception is being prepared as we speak.”

I look at him, straining my neck as I give him a face that says, ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

When all I get is his slightly amused smirk as a response, I huff out half a bitter laugh and half a frustrated sigh. I call it half and half, and it goes well with my metaphoric steaming cup of very bitter hatred .

Smiling sardonically, I shake my head, putting my palms up. “Okay, well, this has been all well and good. Truly, a spectacular pleasure to have met a family of supermodels. At a church, no less. Such a rare life event, but I think I’ll be heading out now.”