Okay, part of me does. But because they’re experiencing a sliver of the hurt I feel daily. However, at this moment, between their reactions and feeling Samantha’s nose crunch against my fist, I’m riding the high.
“Serves those fuckers right,” Shay giggles before changing the subject. “Have you had any progress with finding that doctor?”
Shaking my head, I reply, “No. Her practice ‘mysteriously’ closed, and Dr. Lambert, along with anyone else who worked there, have all somehow disappeared. At least that’s what my dad told me.”
Shay’s russet brow arches. “Are we not believing your dad?”
I shrug, “He’s back on the Council, and while I know he’d never do anything to put me in danger purposefully, I also know that no one is divulging pertinent information under the guise of keeping me safe.”
She points to my stomach. “Umm, can you blame them?”
“I’m pregnant, not helpless,” I retort, narrowing my eyes. “I’m not asking to go in guns blazing. I’d just like more honesty and clarity about what’s happening.”
I’d also like to know why guys who’ve supposedly moved on and never wanted me in the first place are reacting like they have some claim over me. Why do they even fucking care?
I don’t voice any of these concerns to her, fearing she’ll tell me not to hold out any hope.
Shay’s never said to move on, but it’s the way she and everyone else looks at me, with fucking pity. She’s never judged me, but I feel like my character has been weighed and found wanting.
I’m a pregnant girl, fresh out of high school, not sure who her children’s father is because she was passed around like a toy by boys who like to share. I know what I thought I had with the guys was unconventional, at best, and scandalous, at worst, based on societal norms. But fuck society and its puritanical culture. The obsession with propriety has only ever fostered polarity and complacency. Anyone who has a problem can shove their judgments down their throats and choke on them.
“What can I do to help?” Shay asks, pulling me from my internal musings. “I can go??”
I cut her off. “Nope. Absolutely not. I will not put you in harm’s way ever again. Especially not intentionally!”
It’s her turn to look affronted. “So, I’m supposed to sit and look pretty while my pregnant best friend tries to fight the world? Not ah bumbo.”
“Shay, the last time you were with me, I watched in horror as you were shot. Then, I had to explain to your mother why her daughter was fighting for her life. I won’t do that shit again. Not a bumber,” I attempt to mimic her patois, and by the look on her face, I failed.
“It’s bum-bo,” she snorts. “Let’s leave the horrible accents to Miss Cleo, please, and tanks.”
I squint in confusion. “Who the hell is Miss Cleo?”
“A television psychic,” she begins, then shakes her head. “You know what, never mind. It’s irrelevant to this conversation.” Shay reaches out, clasping my hands in hers. “You didn’t shoot me, nor were you responsible for me being shot.”
I tug, preparing to refute her claims. It was my fault. Elise used her to get to me, then tried to kill her. She was. . . shit, still is in danger.
“Emma, I’ve lived in Calloway since elementary school. Do you think I don’t have some insight into how things work around here? Don’t you think I know more is happening and that my family also has a role in it? No family in Calloway is without its skeletons or bloody hands. There’s no such thing as an ethically earned billionaire. And every family in Calloway’s net worth starts with the letter B.”
“None of that means I should ask you to put yourself in danger for me,” I snap, tears building in my eyes. “I won’t do it, Shay. I’ll never ask that of you,” I profess, my tone softening, my gray eyes meeting her brown ones, imploring her to understand. I don’t care if her family’s hands are dirty. I won’t ever be the reason why she’s hurt again.
Her head tilts and a warm smile appears on her freckled face. “You won’t have to because whether you ask it or not, I’m going to help.”
A tear falls, and I close my eyes, wanting to shake some sense into this crazy bitch.
Shay lets go of my hand, and then I feel her warm finger catching it before it drips on me. “I won’t do anything dangerous, but I can help. I want to help.”
All I can see is her body dropping on the ground on a loop in my head. My lips part to argue, but a knock forces my attention toward my room door, where Conner stands.
“Someone is waiting for you downstairs with a package,” he explains. He must notice my confusion because he continues. “It’s been scanned, but according to the delivery instructions, it must be hand-delivered to you. No exceptions.”
Huffing, I brush away any remnants of evidence of my crying and stand. “Okay. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Conner nods, and there’s a look I can’t decipher on his face before he disappears from my doorway.
“What do you think it could be?” Shay inquires.
“There’s only one way to find out,” I say, rising from the bed.
We both descend the stairs and see a finely dressed man standing in the foyer. His suit and demeanor are reminiscent of the Selection process. Dread fills my belly, and I know what this must be before he speaks.
“Miss Bradford?” the man’s gravely voice questions.
Unable to speak, I quickly dip my chin in confirmation.
He opens a scroll.
A real-life scroll, like a royal decree is about to be announced. Clearing his throat, he begins to read. “Emma Elaine Bradford, your presence is hereby formally requested to be in attendance on Saturday, November eighteenth, two thousand and twenty-three, at the Calloway Country Club at seven o’clock post-meridiem.”
I want him to shut up, but he just keeps going.
“For the celebration of Rowaniel Benjamin Calloway’s, August Alexander Grant’s, Sebastian Blake Grant’s, Liamon Nathaniel
Washington’s, and Karl Preston Jefferson’s engagement to Samantha Marie Davenport.”
Bile rises in the back of my throat, and I force it down. This is to humiliate me. I know without needing an explanation. I embarrassed their fianc?e, and they’re making me pay for it.
“I won’t go,” I shout, interrupting his long-winded announcement. Those assholes can get fucked if they think I’ll step foot in that country club to celebrate.
The man looks perplexed by my outburst. His shock immediately turns to disdain, and his lips curl in disgust as he barks, “Attendance is mandatory per the contract you signed. Failure to attend will put you in breach of contract, and the full force of the Fraternitas will be brought down on you.”
A blur moves in my periphery. Reign grabs the man by his throat, hoisting him in the air as he flails, struggling to find purchase. The scroll, along with the box, drops at Reign’s feet.
“You will treat her with the respect she’s due and not just because she deserves it but as a Bradford. . . the rightful Heir to your prehistoric pathetic boys’ club. Do we have an understanding?” Reign snarls, glaring daggers at the man, whose face flushes red before turning almost purple, grunts his agreement. “Perfect. I’m glad we’re in agreement.”
Reign’s grip slackens, dropping the man, and his body crumples to the floor. I watch as he sucks in much-needed air.
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.