Life Before Damaged, Volume 6

by H. M. Ward

  Life Before Damaged, Volume 6

  The Ferro Family

  H. M. Ward

  Laree Bailey Press

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright © 2015 by H.M. Ward

  All rights reserved.

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  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.

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  LAREE BAILEY PRESS

  First Edition: May 2015

  ISBN: 978-1-63035-071-0

  Life Before Damaged

  Volume 6

  THE AFTERMATH

  August 17th, 2:41pm

  "WHAT?"

  “NO!”

  I hear Pete and myself yelling in unison. While Pete steps menacingly toward Constance, I drop my mother's hand and shoot from my chair like a jack-in-the-box.

  "There is no way in Hell I'm engaged to, to... to HIM!" I jab my thumb in Pete's direction.

  He turns his back to us, running his hands through his hair in frustration. My shock turns to anger; it hits my body fast and hard, making me shake with rage. It feels like flames are shooting from my eyes and smoke is venting through my ears.

  “Why me? Why is this my consequence? I’m a good girl who made one stupid choice. One! And now I’m engaged to the biggest man-whore in existence!”

  “Hey,” Pete snaps and I realize I spoke out loud.

  My eyes dart up and I stare at Pete.

  Just moments ago, I realized I cared for him.

  Just moments ago, I'd defended him.

  Just moments ago, I’d been certain he wasn’t the reckless asshat he pretends to be, the guy who does nothing but fight and fuck.

  I’d sworn to myself I’d never let him play me again, but he did. That night in his room, the next day riding his motorcycle, all his tenderness, his soft affection—it was all lies.

  He convinced me he was a good man.

  He convinced me to care for him.

  He deceived me.

  “Suck it, Ferro.”

  We stay like that, gazes locked in a non-verbal yelling match. I swear to God, I can hear him screaming inside his head, yelling at me to shut it and stop being a spoiled brat. I think some nasty thoughts back at him, and he flinches in response.

  “If looks could kill--”

  “You’d be dead,” I interrupt.

  My jaw locks as my heart slams against my ribs. I'm suddenly terrified and my body is betraying me; the shaking and sweating are giving me away. This can’t be real. I can’t marry him.

  Mrs. Ferro strolls slowly away from Pete and sits back down in her chair, regally, as if it were a throne.

  "Miss Granz, if you feel the need to change the terminology, let us call it what it truly is for the time being: a betrothal. You are committed to becoming engaged to my son."

  “That’s not better! Reframing crap doesn’t make it art!” I glare at her, not backing down under her probing gaze.

  I confess: I agreed to host that idiotic, neon-colored, glow-in-dark, fluff-fest, setting my fate in motion. Since then, I've helplessly watched the remaining pieces of my old life crash into each other, one-by-one ensuring my destruction.

  I did this to myself.

  I need to stop this catastrophic chain before it destroys me. I can’t stay tethered to a man who lies to my face. It kills me when I think it—I wanted to believe him; I wanted Pete’s affection to be real.

  Desperately, I try to find a flaw in her plan, some loophole, some way for me to keep my freedom and for my family to keep the company.

  I can’t marry Pete. I’ll end up being his mother, cold and calculating, seemingly without any feeling in my heart. I don’t want to be that. If we get married, Pete will spend his time openly screwing other women and I'll be expected to look the other way. I’m not that woman.

  My father sits a little bit straighter in his chair and startles us with the sound of his voice.

  “Your terms are agreeable. Where do I sign?” He slaps both hands on his desk and refuses to look at me.

  I toss aside every ounce of dignity and beg.

  "Daddy! No! Please! Don’t do this!”

  I rush to his desk and try to catch his gaze, but he acts as if I’m not there. My heart beats once before it cracks. He’s going to do it; he’s going to sell me off to the Ferros to save his company.

  ILLUMINATION

  August 17th, 2:53pm

  A bored voice comes from behind us.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Granz. Your father has no legal power to make this decision.”

  When I turn to look at her, Mrs. Ferro's demeanor remains unchanged. Her expression is stone cold, emotionless. I round on her instead.

  “Why do this to your own son? He’ll be miserable with me!” Pete tries to shush me, but I won’t shut up. He’s still livid, but something is off. The thing is, I’m too pissed off to figure out what it is. “How can you knowingly subject your child to a lifetime of unhappiness?”

  Constance’s expression sharpens.

  “I am not the one who set the fire. I am not the one who broke into the property. I am not the party responsible for a death, and I will not be the one who takes the blame. You, on the other hand, should shoulder this burden until you die, because—and make no mistake about it—this was your fault. Without the warehouse, there could have been no party, no fire, and no death. The police want a scapegoat, Miss Granz, and—”

  “Enough,” Pete says, cutting her off. It’s one word, but it weighs so much. The room is filled with silence as my mother’s eyes dart between every person present. She’s fallen mute, powerless.

  Constance raises an eyebrow at him, then carefully glances back to me. She raises her hands so they are right below her chin and presses the pads of her fingers together. She thinks there's something between Pete and me.

  “You’re wrong, so stop thinking it,” I blurt out. I’m seething, ready to punch her if she says it out loud. For some reason, I think she can see through me. I feel like she knows how much Pete hurt me and I can’t stand it.

  Constance's hands float serenely down to the arms of her throne and her plastic smile returns. She’s freaking creepy. If she were born a hundred years ago, the villagers would have tossed her into the river to see if the witch floats. She wouldn't have, though. Pure evil sinks, or so I hear.

  “My dear girl," Constance resumes in her former tone, "you haven’t the slightest understanding of my thoughts. I will, however, illuminate this situation for you in the hope of clearing the animosity you feel to make way for your educated decision. The company is, of course, already under my control, and both you and Peter are of legal age. Your father has no legal say in this matter. This decision is for you and Peter to make. If you both agree to my proposal, all your worries are eliminated. No criminal file, no jail time, and Granz Textiles remains safe under Ferro ownership. Peter will become the owner of the company on your wedding day, and when your first child is of age, the company will pass to him or her. Our future Granz-Ferro grandchild will have quite the legacy once DNA paternity testing confirms the child is, indeed, Peter’s, of course. But that’s a small formality.”

  She waves her hand, brushing off that last part as if it were a normal part of marriage.

  “Honestly, Miss Granz, I can’t fathom why someone like you is not jumping at this offer. Women are literally begging for a chance to wed a Ferro. In agreeing to my proposal, you’ll be marrying a multi-billionaire and ensuring the future of your family's
company. There’s nothing to dislike.”

  “Of course. Silly me.” My tone is even and sharp, punctuating my evident sarcasm.

  “Temper your tongue, Miss Granz. A woman in your position has little choice. Everyone here knows it. Your biggest ally remains silent. That alone should tell you something.”

  My biggest ally? I briefly consider my mother being Mrs. Ferro's first choice for that role, then doubt myself.

  My gaze cuts sideways in Pete’s direction. He’s silently raging. Those beautiful eyes shine a brilliant blue. His knuckles are pure white from holding his hands in tight fists for so long. The muscles at the top of his jaw are twitching as if he’s about to snap someone in half. But those lips have hardly spoken, and that mouth isn’t countering a thing. Pete sits silently, a bomb waiting to blow.

  “It’s your choice, Miss Granz.” Constance puts me on the spot. All eyes turn expectantly toward me.

  What do I do? Whatever decision I make will have monumental consequences for everyone in this room. My stomach heaves, queasy with the responsibility.

  As if she can hear my thoughts, my mother stands up and walks toward me. She takes my hand and gives it a little comforting rub with her thumb. I smell the faint scent of her perfume and instantly recall other moments in my life when she held my hand and helped guide me through my decision.

  “Regina, we all make mistakes," she looks to my Dad. He must feel the weight of her stare because he just turns his head more in the opposite direction. Far be it for him to ever admit any mistakes of his own, much less in front of this company. "We all have things to atone for, but this is your choice, your chance to do what you feel is right. No matter how much I wish I could help you, the choice remains yours. Lord knows I'm not qualified to offer advice on these matters. However, I love you and will stand by you, whatever your decision.”

  I give her a weak smile and gently squeeze her hand. Dad snorts, obviously in discord with Mom’s point of view and my heart cracks again. My father's dismissal hurts beyond words, but having my mother standing by my side makes me feel stronger.

  To the casual observer, Mom seems weak, overly dutiful and compliant to others, always bending to my father’s will, but I know her better than that. Inside, she’s a rock. I hope I possess at least a tiny portion of her strength to stand firm when things go to crap. This mess began with one selfish decision. It's clear to me that now is the time to behave selflessly. I just want to help those I’ve hurt. Obliterating everything my parents worked for helps no one.

  Letting go of Mom’s hand I give her a small nod and I walk over to Pete, trying to swallow the sour taste of bile in my throat. I look into his scorn-filled eyes and take one of his hands in mine, rubbing my thumb over fresh scars on his knuckles. His scorn quickly morphs into something unidentifiable. I wish I could read his eyes, but I can’t.

  The look he gives me is pleading, like I should turn my back and walk away. The thing is, I can’t. I’ve done horrible things and it’s time to pay for my mistakes. It’ll be a lifetime of heartache. He’ll have his gaggle of mistresses, just as his father does. There will be no love, no respect, no alliance of two people facing the world together. Every notion of marriage I ever had does not apply to us.

  There’s a deafening rush in my ears as my pulse races faster.

  “Don’t do this, Gina,” Pete whispers in a breath so softly that only I can hear.

  I don’t look at him. I can’t.

  I’ve decided.

  Still holding Pete’s stiff hand, I take a deep breath and turn back to Mrs. Ferro.

  “I accept.”

  I HEART PONIES

  August 17th, 3:02pm

  Pete stands abruptly and pulls me toward the door.

  “Please excuse us for a moment.”

  Though he uses polite words, they don't sound pleasant. In fact, he’s practically growling. His hand is suddenly grasping mine so tightly it cuts off my circulation. He yanks me through the doorway and slams the door shut behind us, making me yelp. The paintings hung on the wall shake with the force of the slamming door.

  Dropping my hand, he paces up and down the hall twice, running his fingers through his hair and clenching his jaw over and over again. It’s as if he is trying to say something but instead bites the words back.

  Before stomping toward me in those big bad biker boots, he swallows hard and plasters an annoyed smile on his face. Pete looks down at me, his eyes in narrow slits. As I massage the blood back into my hand, a sense of déjà vu passes through me. I've been in this exact same hallway, looking into those exact same pissed off eyes.

  He leans in and lowers his voice, making sure that they won’t hear us, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Gina?”

  I will myself to be taller as I rise up on my toes and stare into his blazing blue eyes.

  “Exchanging one hellish engagement for another," I whisper-yell at him. "Trying to save my ass. Trying to do what's right. What does it look like I’m doing?”

  Defensively, I fold my arms across my chest, holding myself tightly. If I don’t, my hand is going to fly. Not the story I want to tell my kids later on... 'On the day your Dad agreed to marry me, I slapped the ever-loving crap out of him.'

  Kids.

  My stomach flips. They’ll expect us to have children. I've always wanted children, but not like this, not in this family. I blink back tears, hiding my heart from the man in front of me.

  Pete’s eyes travel up and down my body like he’s assessing a beat-up crap car that’s not worth a cent.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just like my mother said. Maybe you’re trying to score big by trading in your impoverished doctor for a multi-billionaire.” When I don’t respond, he adds, “A long line of women want that title right now, and I intend to sample each and every one of them before making my decision.”

  His hot breath washes over me as he speaks, but his words feel like ice cutting through my skin. That was brutally straightforward. At least honesty won’t be an issue. Despite all the horrible truths I now know about him, I still feel an ache in my chest with each new rejection.

  I’m already torn in half and his words fall like salt on a wound.

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Ferro!" I shove a finger into his chest. "I couldn't care less about your family, name, or fortune! Anthony was a better man than you’ll ever be and that bastard stabbed me in the back."

  Peter flinches when I mention Anthony, but I don't let myself get distracted. I shove his chest, hard, trying to push him away with both actions and words.

  "Do you seriously think that I like the idea of being someone’s wife only on paper? Do you think I'll enjoy how people will snigger behind my back, whispering, 'Poor, dumb Regina. Does she know I fucked her husband last night?' I’m only doing this to protect my family from further embarrassment and to stay out of jail. It has nothing to do with you. And yes, I said fuck. See? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” I stand on my tiptoes and snap the words off one by one until I’m breathing hard and beyond furious. I didn’t want this. None of it.

  Pete’s still staring me down, but he’s not smirking, the way I thought he would--in fact, he almost looks hurt. I drop my trembling voice to a whisper and move in closer to him. I put a hand on his shoulder and whisper to make sure no one else can hear.

  “Pete, if we don’t both agree to do this, we both go to jail. Maybe you’re fine with being someone’s bitch, but I sure as hell am not, and…”

  He waits for me to say it, but I can’t. My bottom lip curls as I try to blink back the tears.

  “And, what?”

  I glance up at him.

  “And, I don’t want to pee in front of everyone. I can’t even pee in public restrooms, let alone in front of felons.” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “I deserve it. I know I do. The whole thing was my fault. Your mom is right. Maybe I should just go to the cops and tell them it was me. My Dad hates me anyway, and it’ll clear you. Then we can both go our separate
ways, and—”

  “Don’t you dare.” His voice is calm and even. “Things don’t work like that and you know it. Besides, you’re right. You’re not cut out for prison.”

  He looks down at my shoulder and lifts a lock of hair. He watches it slip between his fingers then turns away. Pete walks silently in circles with his brow wrinkled tight, ticking off his fingers like he’s onto something and then shaking his head as if tossing a failed idea away. Then, with a burst of pent up rage, he pounds his fist into the wall next to me. A nearby painting falls to the ground with a crash. My heart slams into my chest, but I don’t jump.

  He presses his back against the wall and slumps down to the ground, his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. It’s the perfect pose of the defeated man.

  I watch him, the moments ticking by as his shoulders slowly rise and fall, and his breathing calms. Keeping his gaze downward, he speaks sadly.

  “This isn’t right, either.”

  “We don’t have much of a choice.”

  “I can’t give you happy ever after, Gina. I’m not that kind of a guy.”

  That’s the last thing I expected him to say. He’s taking this seriously? I exhale deeply and lower myself to the ground beside him, my knees bumping his.

  “I get that, I do, but I won't sacrifice my family to the consequences of my stupid mistakes. I’m not that kind of a person.”

  Pete turns his head to look at me, incredulously, pointing at the door of Dad’s study.

  “Why are you so hell-bent on saving that man’s reputation? He was ready to disown you.”

  I shake my head. He just doesn’t get it. I don't know that I'd feel the same way or make the same choice had I grown up in a family like his. He may not be able to understand, but I have to try to explain.