by Violet Blaze
Loud and Proud Big Girl Della Garland to Marry World's Sexiest Billionaire Bachelor-and she's having his baby!
I stare at the words for a long, long time, scrolling through pictures of Walt and me at an Adders game, walking arm in arm out to his limo, heading inside my father's house together. To somebody looking in from the outside, it might look like we spend a lot of time together but honestly, these pictures pretty much tell our whole story. Walking to and from parties, to and from my father's house, to and from Walter's family's house.
“Jesus, Ariana,” I whisper as I scroll through article after article. “This is a nightmare.”
“Screw that bastard,” she says. “So who cares if all the news sites picked this crap up? It doesn't mean anything. You don't have to marry him, and if you need to, you can always use a DNA test to prove it's not his baby.”
I pull up my blog to check for comments and find that it's … offline.
I clamp a hand over my mouth as tears prick the corners of my eyes. 404 Error Page Not Found. No matter how many times I refresh the site, it's the same message.
“What's wrong?” Ariana asks as I log onto my hosting site and find out that my account is gone. Wiped. There's nothing there.
“He … it's wiped clean,” I whisper as I stare at years worth of work down the drain. Of course I saved all of my posts to my computer, but … my site is gone, the thousands of positive comments over the years, my followers, even the URL for my site is unavailable. “My blog. It's gone. It's all gone.”
“No way,” Ariana says as I hear her fingers sliding across the keys of her Mac. After several long minutes, I hear the slight softening of her breath. “Holy shit, Della, this is … this is really bad.”
I put my forehead in my hand and try to calm my racing heart.
“I need to go see my dad,” I say as I lift my face up and do my best not to cry. If this was done in one day, then it can be undone, right? I stand up from my chair and sling my purse over my shoulder. “I'll call you when I have news.”
“Okay, Del. Please keep me in the loop. I'm here for you if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Ariana. I have a really bad feeling that I'm going to need to take you up on that offer.”
My dad's front door is unlocked, slamming against the wall as I storm into the foyer and look around for my first target of the day.
Reagan and Emery are standing at the base of the stairs, laughing and talking. They pause when I come in, glancing over at me with bored expressions on their faces. After a few seconds, Reagan's face splits into a smile.
“We were taking bets, you know, to see how long it would take you to come over here.”
“Eat shit and die, Reagan,” I snap, my rage a tangible force inside of me. At the same time, I'm dashing back tears, my body shaking with a rush of hormones and adrenaline that I'm not sure how to control. I'm not sure if I've ever felt like this before, like a trapped dog. Like a caged dog.
“Della,” my stepmother says as she pauses at the top of the stairs and looks down at me like she's been doing my entire life. “I'm glad you're here. We need to talk.”
“Where's my dad?” I ask as I shove Emery and Reagan out of my way and storm up the steps. When Verna tries to stop me, I push past her, too, and explode into my dad's office. He looks up from his desk and rises to his feet, an angry mask sliding into position over his face.
We stare at each other for several long, tense seconds.
“How could you do this to me?” I whisper, my voice hoarse and shaking. “Send Walter after me like his name's branded across my chest, like he owns me. I don't want to marry him. What part of that was so difficult to understand?” I curl my arm across my tummy protectively. “And this is not his baby, you know that.”
“You want to advertise that you're a little whore to the press?” my dad roars, rising to his feet and throwing his glasses so hard that one of the lenses pops out and slides across the floor. “Be my guest. You storm in here, making a fool of yourself over what? Some articles on the computer? Or the blessed fact that Walter finally had his IT team take down your online diary?”
I stumble back like I've been slapped, my heart pounding so loud in my head that I can't hear anything else.
“The man is stalking me. He put a tracker on my phone. He … he watches my house to see who comes and goes. None of that is alarming to you? Just because a man has money and power doesn't give him the right to claim the world.”
“Money and power,” my dad says quietly, looking me straight in the eye. “Give the man the means to do whatever he wants.”
“The means, maybe, but not the right,” I whisper, unable to trust my voice in this pit of snakes. “If you think I'm going to fall in line, that you're going to drain the Virgil's money like leeches on the skin, you'd best rethink your strategy.”
I spin on my heel, but my stepmother's not about to give up that easily. After all, she is money and jewelry and big houses and fancy things. There's nothing else there, no heart, no brain, no personality. If I don't do this for her, sell myself to the highest bidder, she becomes the absence of her former wealth, nothing more.
“What do you think Walter will do to your boyfriend if you refuse, Della?”
I don't stop, moving down the steps as fast as I can. I need to find Rhoden. Now.
I need to tell him everything before he hears it from somebody else.
“That boy will be lucky if he ever plays football again!” Verna screams from behind me.
I ignore her and head over to Ariana's. I can call Rhoden from there, meet up with him somewhere.
Now all I have to do is pray he actually answers.
I toss my cell on Ariana and Scottie's table and drop my face into my hands.
“My life has officially devolved into nightmare territory,” I mumble against my sweaty palms, heart racing as I try to arrange the day's events into something that resembles sense. Only … I can't because nothing that happened today is even within the realm of reality.
“Maybe he's still at practice?” Ariana asks as she and Scottie exchange one of those wordless couple glances that I've always envied. “Don't NFL players, like, eat, live, and breathe the game?”
“Just about,” I say as I drop my hands to my lap and check the time. “I guess there's a good chance he's still working. From the few practices I've gotten to witness, it seems like these guys go from six to six most days.” I force myself to take a deep breath. Inside, I'm panicking. Not only is my blog obliterated from the sphere of the internet, but my family is actively plotting against me. Yes, plotting. Like villains in a movie, I can practically see them cloaked in shadows, cackling and rubbing their hands together maniacally.
I groan.
So, as far as Rhoden knows, we've only ever done it with condoms—except for last night but I'll keep that bit to myself for now—and then he hears a news story about how I'm having a baby which, as far as he might be thinking, can't possibly be his. For whatever reason, what Rhoden might be thinking about all of this bothers me the most … although I suppose if I were thinking clearly, I should be more worried about Walter.
“Let's focus on one thing at a time,” Ariana says as Scottie sets a cup of steaming tea in front of me. According to him, a cup of warm tea with honey can fix any problem. Instead of hunkering down with DayQuil and throat lozenges like the rest of us, Scottie swishes coconut oil in his mouth and drinks entire pots of honey laden green tea.
I really do love the guy.
“Walter is harassing you, Della. You can go to the cops about this.” I give her a look with a raised brow and she gives me her what? face.
“The Arcata police force that everyone in high school jokingly calls the Virgilville PD? The same police department that the Virgils purchased brand-new Dodge Chargers for, to replace their old squad cars? I have a feeling that going there and complaining about the man that owns everything, that gave me a ten million dollar ring, might not get me very far.” I sit up st
raight and drum my fingers on the table. “It'll only piss Walter off.”
“This is why I've been pushing a socialist platform for years,” Scottie says and I give him a weak, little half-smile. Oh, Scottie. “I say we go grassroots with this, get together the most dedicated, hardworking people I know and put up a fight.”
“Scottie,” Ariana and I say at the same time. “This isn't a fracking demonstration, honey,” she continues. “This is Della's life here.”
“Well,” he starts, pushing his glasses up his nose and running his fingers through his dark hair. “What can we do to help?”
I smile, a more genuine one this time, because I know that at least I have the support of these two people. Oh, and Hal. I know I've got Hal on my side.
Now if I could just get Rhoden Richards, I'd be feeling a whole lot better. Although after the threats I received today, I wouldn't be surprised if he never talked to me again. Some girl he spent a few nights with … or football? I know what I'd probably choose.
I bite my lip. This is not good.
“Della?” Ariana asks as I curl my hands around the warm mug of tea and take a deep breath. “Just say the word and we're your personal honor guard.”
“Thanks guys,” I say as I close my eyes and pull my resolve around me like a blanket. “It's okay. I'm sure Walter's just feeling snubbed. Give this some time and it'll blow over, I know it will.”
I pretend not to notice the two of them exchanging a look. Maybe they're afraid I'm being too optimistic? But that's okay because I know am.
I just have no idea what else I'm supposed to do about it.
Rhoden doesn't call me back which is fine because I don't care.
Lie.
I ignore my roiling inner turmoil and pretend that I'm not counting the two weeks it's been since I last saw him. Inside, my heart feels like it's being squeezed by an angry fist, but I don't have time to wallow in my depression right now. Today is Thanksgiving and I have an appointment at Ariana and Scottie's. It'll just be us and Hal because Ariana doesn't have any other family, and Scottie's family is a very strict, traditional Indian family that refuses to accept his wife-to-be.
“Come on, Little Dick,” I say as I hook the dog's leash on and put a hand over my tummy. Morning sickness sucks. Especially when it's not just in the morning, when it's afternoon, evening and night. The doctor says everything's just fine, but it's still a really unpleasant sensation.
With the dog hooked to my belt loop and a vegan pumpkin pie in one arm, I pick up Wisdom's travel cage with the other hand and try to figure out how to make it downstairs without dying. There's a pretty good chance I'll trip and send the whole lot of us tumbling down the elevator shaft. But I'm determined to spend the holiday with my family, so the damn bunny's coming. Besides, I'm staying at Ariana's for the next two nights anyway.
And then I've got the NFL charity date with Rhoden. That is, of course, if he actually shows up—or if Walter doesn't put a stop to it.
Wouldn't that just be the whipped cream on top of the pie?
With a sigh and an extremely impressive maneuver for somebody holding an angry bunny, a naughty English pointer mix, a pie with no eggs or milk in it, and a seven week old NFL player's spawn, I manage to get out the front door and down to the parking garage without any mishaps (unless of course you count Little Dick lifting his leg on Marquis' desk, but I don't).
I'm wrangling the rabbit's kennel into the backseat when I realize somebody's standing behind me. I don't whirl around and scream like I want to. I very carefully buckle Wisdom into the seat and wedge the pie into a blanket padded nest on the floor.
When I turn around, I find my ridiculous dog who never does anything right raising his lip and his hackles at Walter. Good boy. I stroke my dog's silky orange ear and then stand up straight, raising my chin defiantly. I haven't seen the man in two weeks, but every time I try to restart my blog, it lasts for all of about three hours and then disappears into cyberspace.
“Della.” He stares at me like he's always done, same stoic face and blue eyes, like he isn't a seriously crazy person in need of psychiatric help. “I'm here to pick you up.”
“Pick me up?” I ask as I open the front door and try to get Little Dick to jump inside with an elegant wave of the hand. The dog ignores me, putting his front paws up on the side of the Range Rover and whining. Then I have to do this really undignified lift where he kicks me in the face before diving between the front seats and falling into the pumpkin pie. Great.
I turn around to face Walter again, reaching up to make sure my sunglasses are still perched on the top of my head.
“I have my own plans for today,” I tell him, making sure my voice is steady and even. “If you'd waited just a few more minutes, maybe you could've tracked my phone and found that out?”
Walter smiles, which I really don't like, and then gestures down at my hand.
“You're not wearing the ring,” he says. “If you don't like it, we can get another. Whatever you want, Della.”
“What I want, is for you to leave me alone.”
“So you can get with the quarterback? Is that it?” he asks, his voice mild but his expression darkening.
“This has nothing to do with Rhoden,” I say quietly, although that feels a bit like a lie. “I just don't think that we work together, Walter. I'm sorry.”
“I've already made the announcement, Della. My family has expectations; your family has expectations. I've been trying to be polite here, give you some space, but I'm running out of patience.”
Walter's hand shoots out and grabs me by the upper arm, fingers bruising as he locks me a grip that's so much stronger than I would've thought just by looking at him. He gives me a little shake and then jerks me forward. My first instinct is to hit him in the nose and make a run for it, but I'm afraid that'll only incense him more.
“I've been more than nice, more than patient with you.” Walter puts his other hand on my waist and yanks our bodies together. I'm sure I'm just imagining it, but his fingers feel cool against my skin, his cologne suffocating in its tinny sharpness. “If you continue to test my dedication to this union, it won't just be you paying the price. Now, I've warned you before, but this is your final admonition. Next time, it'll be Rhoden Richards that I speak to.”
Walter releases me and then gestures to the waiting limo.
“Your family will be joining me for Thanksgiving dinner. We'd all love it if you'd come.”
I just stare at him, one arm coming up to touch the tender spot on my arm where he grabbed me. Already, I can see the faint outlines of fresh bruises. Under normal circumstances, I would just call the police, but this … I don't know what else to do. Walter owns the police here.
Before I can protest, the limo's pulling forward and blocking my SUV into its parking space.
Shit.
The driver gets out and holds the door open for me while I stand there with my heart beating in my throat. Unsure of what else to do, I grab the dog and the bunny, abandon the squished vegan pie, and climb into the backseat of the limo.
I send Ariana an SOS text on the drive, but beg her not to do anything about it. My current plan is to go to dinner and speak quietly with my father again, try to get him to see reason, to help me out here. Or maybe I could talk to some of Walter's other family members? Surely his parents or his sister don't know about any of this? If they did, I doubt they'd play into this whole scenario. After all, their son really is committing several crimes here.
Walter and I don't speak during the drive as mellow jazz music trickles in through the speakers and tries to trick the tense atmosphere into believing this isn't really a kidnapping.
It so is.
When we pull up to the front gates of the Virgil estate, I have to hold back my usual gasp of awe. My father's house is extravagant, but this … it's indescribably opulent. The house sits on the edge of town, against the backdrop of a national forest, surrounded by a brick wall and massive hedges sculpted at perfect nin
ety degree angles in the corners. The entire front and back of the house are lined with floor to ceiling windows and the floor plan on the main level is completely open, giving the whole thing this odd sort of see-through effect that shows off the pool, pool house and treed backyard on the opposite side.
I've always loved this place … until now, that is. Now, the leaded black lines on the windows look a little like bars on a jail cell. As our driver opens my door and a rush of cool air filters into the car, I squash down a panic attack and grab my rabbit and my dog, stepping outside to find Hal waiting on the steps for me, a frown creasing her face.
“Mom basically kidnapped me,” she whispers as she comes down to give me a hug. “What's your story?”
“I think I really was kidnapped,” I whisper back and when she pulls away, her eyes are huge blue circles. Walter comes up next to us, but Little Dick nips at his ankle and makes him scowl as he draws away.
“This is why I hate mutts,” he says as he looks up at me. “Are you coming, Della?”
“Do I have a choice?” I ask and he laughs.
“Of course you do,” he says. “I just think you should make the right one.”
Walter moves inside as Hal and I exchange a look, clasping hands before we follow him into the gaping expanse of the first floor foyer/living room/kitchen combo area. The furniture is arranged carefully to give the illusion of rooms, but the sight lines are completely open. I used to think that was pretty cool, being able to see from one side of the house to the other. But now? I have nowhere to hide.
Oddly enough, I notice that the Adders vs Titans game is not up on the massive 4K TV, despite the fact that it starts in fifteen minutes. Instead, the damn thing's not even on. Now, this is a house of Adders fans that includes both the former and the current owner yet we're not watching the game?
Holy crap.
I feel an extra pang of frustration. Watching football on Thanksgiving with my mom was the highlight of my childhood holiday memories. Plus, I was kind of looking forward to seeing Rhoden. I've been watching all of the games since I last saw him, tracking his movements across the field.