Sighing, I ponder what other female Bradfords had to do. Were they kept from their birthright because they were women, and forced to marry some other heirs to keep the line pure?
“Miss Bishop,” a voice booms, and I come back into awareness. I was so lost in thought I must not have heard the first time I was called.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
Mr. Calloway’s eyes narrow in displeasure.
See cold and prickly. Definitely not matching this earth-toned interior. I wonder if his wife designed this, hoping it would rub off.
Mission not accomplished.
“I said, please turn to page fifteen of your documents to go over what happens once one of you becomes
The Chosen.”
I nod, quickly turning the page as I internally roll my eyes.
More fucking rules. What next, the color requirements for our underwear?
It all sounds so damn ominous,
The Selected
…
The Chosen, like some cult virgin sacrifice, until I remember, not everyone around the table is a virgin. This better not be a sacrifice.
I’ll be kinda pissed if I die before I can actually sample a dick or two. I snicker at my stupidity. With everything going on, I’m thinking of making sure I don’t die a virgin. Obviously, while it’s not my primary concern at the moment, I’d still like to scratch that fucking itch at some point.
Shaking my head from my lustful and poorly timed thoughts, I begin to read what will happen once someone is chosen.
The Chosen will attend Lincoln-Wood University with the heirs in a major of the Fraternitas’ choosing.
The engagement ceremony must take place after the graduation ceremony.
The Chosen must maintain a 3.5 GPA.
The Chosen must take etiquette classes.
The Chosen will be legally married within one year of the engagement to the Calloway heir and legally bound to all five bloodlines by contract and commitment ceremony.
The Chosen must have a baby within the first five years of marriage.
The Chosen must provide each heir with at least one male heir.
What the fuck? Are we broodmares? Who the hell is having five or more kids? I want kids but five? What if I don’t want them until after I earn my degrees and start my career? Shouldn’t this all be decided between whoever’s chosen and the heir?
I can’t hold my tongue any longer. “Who came up with this farce of a process?”
“Miss Bishop, you will refrain from interrupting. The rules have been set, and the primary expectations were set long before any of us were born,” Mr. Calloway states, his tone sharp.
“Of course, you’d have an issue with what’s expected. You have no respect for values and tradition,” Sam snarks.
I roll my eyes at her kiss-ass behavior.
“He’s not who you need to impress. You can dial back your ‘pick me’ energy some,” I snap back.
“Ladies,” Rowan’s dad’s voice cuts through our banter, silencing us both. “If you two could kindly save your bickering for outside, we can proceed.”
I cross my arms over my chest and nod, confirming I’m ready. Sitting back, I wait to hear what other asinine requirements will come from his mouth.
EMMA
“We have to go to etiquette classes, get married in a year, and don’t get me started on the birth control shit,” I shout.
Karl’s and August’s sprawled forms take me in from their places on my bed as I rant about the bullshit I heard in the meeting last night.
Thank fuck the kids are all out with Tabitha and their security team until later. I can picture the look on Jamie’s face hearing I’m being forced to put a birth-control rod in my arm. I’m still fuming over the audacity of dead men.
This can’t be real life right now. How can a group of men dictate what happens to my body?
“Emma, Angel, it’s precautionary.” I listen to Karl try to reason with me as he and August lay on my bed.
Of course it makes sense. Who the hell wants to get pregnant at this age? But that’s not the point.
“I’m not disputing the validity of what it’s for. I’m trying to figure out why a group of men is dictating my uterus,” I snap.
Fucking patriarchal bullshit is what this is.
August rises to his elbows and tilts his head, processing what I’ve said. His brows arch, his pupils dilate when he understands my point of contention. “It’s not that you don’t want birth control. It’s the fact that it’s being demanded of you instead of you having the right to choose.”
“Tell him what he’s won, Alex,” I snark, still annoyed at the idea that my bodily autonomy has been taken from me. “I would’ve gladly decided to get the implant if someone had asked. Instead, a bunch of middle-aged men, who probably have prescriptions for Viagra, have decided and that’s that,” I continue to gripe as I pace across my heated wooden floor. That comment was uncalled for, but so was their birth control proclamation.
Karl jumps up from the bed, reaching me in two strides, and scoops me into his arms. “I’m sorry this decision was taken from you,” he breathes me in. “I’m sorry so much was taken from and forced on you. This will all be over soon. It will be June before we know it.”
Sighing, I nod. He’s right. As fucked as this whole situation is, there is some sort of end in sight, and again I would’ve wanted protection anyway. Shit, even with the implant, no glove, no love. Not while this whole twisted version of
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.