In Love With My Bully

When we returned to the living room, Mrs. Numero practically leaped out of her chair. "Well? How did it go? Are we picking out wedding venues yet?" 

Junior grinned. "It went great. We're thinking of a small, intimate ceremony."

I glared at him from the corner of my eyes. "We haven't decided anything."

"Oh, don't worry, dear," Mrs. Numero said, holding my mother's hand in hers. "I have a wedding planner on speed dial. We'll take care of everything."

My mother chimed in, "See, I told you they'd hit it off! Isn't this wonderful, John?"

My father nodded, though he looked more relieved than happy. "Wonderful, indeed."

As our parents continued to congratulate each other, Junior leaned toward me. "Rule number one of surviving this," he whispered, "always let them think they're in charge."

Why do these people have so many number-one rules! "Rule number two," I whispered back, "stay out of my fucking way."

He chuckled, "Hey! That was my line."

As I glanced around the room, at my parents' smiles and the Numéros' enthusiasm, I realized there was no turning back now. The fact was I was going to marry the man who almost raped me and no one in this room fucking knows. 

*****

The next morning, I woke up to my phone buzzing. I had barely gotten any sleep, from dealing with my excited mother as soon as we arrived back home, my father letting me know it was okay to cancel everything if I felt I couldn't go through with it, and me up all night thinking how the universe could be so unfair.

I picked up my phone and saw a text message from Junior. 'Let's impress some old men in suits, tonight. Be ready by 6 PM. - Richard.' I decided to spend some time googling the Numeros. I know my mother was a friend of theirs and I had met Mrs Numero a couple times as a child, but I never actually followed the corporate world. 

A lot of news articles popped up, mostly with Mr Numero senior himself on the cover. There was a news article speculating that the junior Numero may be dating a popular supermodel but it was just speculation. 

And then I saw one announcing the death of Rachel Numero, their first daughter who was said to have died after a brief illness. 

I dragged myself out of bed into the kitchen and met my mom in the living room area holding a sleek, emerald-green dress.

"Abby sent this," she said excitedly. "A make-up artist will be here later today."

"Oh joy," I muttered. "There isn't much difference between the both of you is there?"

"Oh, you should have seen us when we were younger. We were thick as thieves" my mother said, a twinkle in her eye. "You know you can pretend to be happier about this arrangement. You're living every girl's dream."

"Yeah, sweet heavenly bliss…" I responded sarcastically and my mom oomphed out of the room leaving me in peace to make my cup of coffee.

*****

By 5:45 PM, I was squeezed into the dress and dolled up by Mrs Numero's makeup artist. My hair was styled into waves and as instructed she took a photo and sent it to Mrs Numero who called my mother immediately, both women squealing like teenage girls.

The BMW arrived, and I reluctantly stepped into it wondering if truly this was what my life would become, dressing up and looking lovely for a couple of billionaires to gush over me. The driver didn't say a word through the journey which was fine because my nerves were already wound tight.

As soon as I stepped out, there he was: Junior Numero, looking like he had just walked out of a billionaire magazine, the background – one of the most expensive hotels in town. Before I could say a word, he reached for my hand and slipped a diamond ring onto my finger.

"Well isn't this romantic!" I hissed.

"You want me to go on one knee? he asked with a smirk. "The charade has begun, my lovely. Put up your best act."

I glared at him. "Don't call me that!"

"Noted. Now smile like you adore me," he said, leading me inside.

The hall was filled with men in suits who looked like they could buy the universe if they felt like it. Junior introduced me as his fiancée, and they congratulated us in turn. One of them, an older man with a shiny bald head, asked, "So, Miss Williams, how did you get your hooks in this man. We have been waiting for this moment for years already,"

 "Oh, we have been together for years already. Teenage sweethearts, you know. I guess he just wasn't ready to make it official. Recently, he just walked up to me and slid this rock on my finger," I explained with an extra sweet smile. "So, here I am, trying to make him look less insufferable."

Junior coughed and the men burst into laughter. "You've got a lot to handle here, Junior. I wish you luck!" The men switched to business talks as I stood there like his glorified suitcase. I can't live like this. I am an independent woman. I cannot be some sort of room décor for a man. As I stood there, I learned that the Numeros had their hooks in basically every sector of the economy including politics. 

After the meeting, there was a small dinner with music playing in the background. I had a lot of wine trying to keep myself distracted. Just as I was about to grab another glass of wine, Junior grabbed my hand and dragged me to the dance floor.

"Do you ever ask for consent?" I whispered sharply.

"Keeping up appearances," he replied, pulling me closer. My body met his and I stiffened trying hard not to flinch. His hand rested on my waist and I was suddenly very aware of every inch of my body he had access to. Just like back then, in that empty, dusty classroom, covered with the blackness of the night.

 "I don't dance," I said, wanting to get away from a situation that may bring on a panic attack.

"Relax. Just follow my lead"

Despite my protest, we moved in sync, and for a brief moment, it almost felt… normal. That was until he leaned in and whispered, "Why do you keep looking at me like I'm a serial killer?"

I stopped abruptly, stepping on his foot in the process. The question threw me off like he was reading into my soul. 

Junior winced and led me away from the dance floor. "I think you enjoy making me miserable,"

"You have no idea," I replied, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.