“Is he,” she pauses as her voice dips, becoming barely audible, “forcing you into this?”
Just kill me now.
No, seriously.
There is no way in hell I’m going to own up to enjoying the kind of force Kingsley doles out. Spontaneous combustion would be preferable. And then we wouldn’t have to worry about having convos about contraceptives and consent because I’d be dead.
“He’s not forcing me to do anything,” I ground out, wishing she would drop this particular line of questioning.
Mom shakes her head, appearing as out of her depth as I am. “I don’t know, Summer,” she finally mutters. “You might want to put the brakes on where this boy is concerned. I realize we pushed you into this arrangement—”
Pushed me into it?
Is that what we’re going to call being emotionally blackmailed into an arranged marriage when your still in high school?
Keaton Rothchild may have been the architect of this particular agreement, but my parents went along with it. I was given a—we’ll be ruined if you don’t agree to this speech.
For all intents and purposes, my parents sold me to the Rothchild family to maintain ownership of the family company. They should thank their lucky stars I’m still talking to them. I was furious when they sprung the news on me. Over the last few weeks, I’ve made my peace with it. So, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter if Kingsley and I are sleeping together?
“You’re right, I was forced into it.” Irritation fills my voice. “And now I’m doing the only thing I can and trying to make the best of the situation.”
“I know.” Remorse flashes across her face. “At the time, it didn’t seem like we had any other choice but to accept Keaton’s proposal. The man was threatening to ruin us.”
Wait a minute…
At the time?
What does that mean?
“Has something changed?” A flutter of unease fills my belly.
Even though Mom averts her gaze, it’s not quick enough to miss the guarded expression that now fills it. “We weren’t going to mention anything until there was more information.”
“What are you talking about?” When I drop my mug to the counter with more force than necessary, coffee sloshes over the ceramic rim and dark droplets splatter across the granite.
“Your father and I had assumed there was time to get everything sorted out. We didn’t expect…”
“What?” My nerves ratchet up a couple hundred notches. Any moment, I’m going to claw my way out of my skin. “What didn’t you expect?”
“That you would sleep with him,” she mumbles, growing red in the cheeks.
I shake my head, unable to make sense of what’s coming out of her mouth. It all feels like a jumble.
“What does it matter?” I pause for a beat before adding, “In a couple of years, we’ll be married.”
Her silence has the discomfort at the bottom of my belly morphing into a tight knot. I don’t know what she’s keeping from me, but there’s definitely something. It sits between us like a living, breathing entity.
When her attention stays locked on the yard beyond the window, I snap, “Mom?” Reluctantly, her gaze slides to mine. “You need to be honest with me. I’m tired of you and Dad manipulating my life to fit your needs.”
“That’s not what we’re doing, Summer,” she whispers in a strangled voice. “Your father is working on a way out of this mess. We’re trying to help you.”
Help me out of this mess the same way they helped me into it?
I wince at the harsh thought as it flashes through my head. “Exactly how are you trying to help?”
“Your father thinks he might have found a way to break the contract.” She expels a measured breath as if afraid to release the words into the atmosphere. “If that’s the case, we can end this farce without any financial ramifications affecting us or the business.”
My eyes widen as shock jolts through me. My tongue darts out to moisten my parched lips. Out of everything she could have said, this is the last thing I was expecting. Maybe I’ve mentally groused about it, struggling to accept my future, but I never dared to imagine there might be a way out.
Now that it’s a distinct possibility…I’m not sure how to feel.
“Let me get this straight, after you forced me into agreeing to an arranged marriage,” my gaze hardens, “you’re now telling me that I might not have to go through with it?”
Un-fucking-believable.
“Nothing is for certain,” she mutters hastily, lowering her voice as if someone might overhear our conversation. “There might not be a way out, but your father and I…we feel terrible about putting you through this. It shouldn’t have happened, and we’re doing our best to rectify the situation.” There’s a pause. “Better late than never, right?”
Is that a joke?
I feel like I’ve been put through an emotional wringer.