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Blessedly, she fell in love with a tall, dark, and evil guy who isn’t blond, but that’s another story entirely, and in case no one’s noticed yet, we’re well past that one. And in mine, we’re opting for a different set of tropes entirely.

Me: Btw this whole relationship is secret rn.

August: Oops. I already told Ali.

Me: Ali was an accomplice, so that’s fine. I mostly just mean I don’t want it getting back to my parents.

August: Ah.

August: How is that going to work out, exactly?

Presently, I have no idea. They’re trying to set me up with some nice, boring, rich guy who probably only swears when he stubs his toe and would never touch grass without sneering. That’s going to be…a whole conversation. And I don’t think it’ll go well. Hopefully it’ll at least take a while before anyone is interested in my profile on Eligible.

My parents love me. I know that. But they’re also really controlling and particular and, to put it plainly, snobs. My mother is outstandingly vain, and my father is remarkably proud.

As far as they are willing to allow, their daughter will marry well, and she will continue to be a precious, perfect little flower in their hierarchy. They want me happy, but they want me happy on their terms, and they’re not exactly subtle about it, either.

When I mess up or make decisions they don’t approve of, I’m punished. Even at the ripe old age of twenty-four, I’m never treated like an adult. Even just this past summer, my father almost locked me in my room the night of August’s wedding, and all I could do to stop him was tell him the status of the man she was marrying. Because, apparently, the rule about me not being allowed outside after sunset is lifted if there are extenuating circumstances.

Like having been invited to a millionaire’s wedding.

Leaving my parents is hard when there’s so much good mixed in with the terrible. It’s also hard when they’ve raised me believing that all my decisions are mistakes. I don’t want to lose them, but I have no idea how they’ll react to a “big mistake” like Wynnter. I could find myself facing off against their disappointment and bargaining, they could disown me outright so I don’t hurt their sparkling reputations, or…they might choose to use force.

They’ll do whatever it takes to control me, no matter who they hurt so long as I obey.

I love my parents.

They’re not all bad.

I wish I could make them understand.

But…I have no idea how to.

So in response to August’s How is that going to work out exactly?, I just say:

Me: I don’t know.

◼

“Tiny,” Wynnter murmurs, pressing his palm to mine. His mammoth hands dwarf my fingers until I’m certain I’m seated on his couch with a giant. Free arm thrown over the back cushions, he looks at me. Hissing and low, he curses, smiling as he rests his head against his broad shoulder and finds my eyes. “I could really mess you up.”

My already unstable heart lurches.

It’s been two days.

Two.

I refrained from stopping by yesterday because my stomach hurt and my throat was tight and I was convinced my parents would know that I was sneaking around. But, this morning, Wynnter texted me, Come here, and I could not keep myself away.

Making up an excuse about how I was heading to beg my bestie for more book, I left before breakfast, stopped at my favorite cafe in town, and bought all Wynnter’s favorites before landing myself in his foyer, eyes wide, offering presented.

Now, the food grows cold in its bag on the floor by us, which is fine, because I’m not even hungry.

In fact, I don’t know if I’ve ever been this full before in my life.

“Hm.” Wynnter pulls his hand back, placing my fingers on his knee before he bends, lifting the large paper bag of food into his lap. “Let’s see what you got me.”

While he peruses, I stare. At my hand. On him. Then I die.