Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol #1) - Fiona Cole Page 0,34

father spent most evenings.

I could have laughed at the way he almost skidded out the door to his office, his glasses perched above shocked eyes, a stack of papers gripped in his fist. I could have if this day hadn’t already sapped all humor from me.

“Verana?”

“I can’t marry him. I can’t.”

He blinked a few times at my outburst, looking me up and down. I hadn’t checked myself in the mirror before I left, and I could only imagine what I looked like. Tear tracks down my cheeks, my hair tangled, and a mess from where Camden roughly shoved his fist into it. My clothes wrinkled from where I had momentarily collapsed on the floor. My eyes crazed with wild determination.

“What?” he asked once his jaw finally snapped shut, his eyes still concerned. “Bambina, what happened?”

Hearing him call me by the pet name my mother always called me, had me almost falling into his arms, begging him to make it all better, like I had when I was a little girl. But disgust over how I got here kept me standing with determination to stop this.

“Camden,” I sneered his name, throwing my arms wide. “I can’t marry him. I know you and Mama had a good marriage, and I know it can take time. I know you think you chose a good man for me, but Papa, he’s not a good man.”

I bit my lip to hold back the trembling my outburst caused.

He swallowed and looked me up and down like he was hesitant over his next words. “He will take care of you, Verana,” he said, but it lacked conviction.

“No. You’re not hearing me,” I pleaded. “He threatened me.”

Papa’s jaw clenched and the papers crinkled under his tightening grip. My father loved me—even if he’d struggled to show it after my mother died. He’d never tolerate anyone treating me poorly.

His whole body expanded and grew into the man who saved me from my nightmares. And then it deflated like I’d never seen before. The hurt written all over his face, the sorrow in his familiar dark eyes had me holding my breath. I waited anxiously for him to rage and take my side. I waited for him to angrily state how we were Marianos, and we were not disrespected.

But it never came.

Instead, a shutter came down on any familiar emotion, and he shook his head, waving the papers around like he was trying to shoo an annoying fly. “This is absurd.”

Did he not believe me? Something was off, and I wanted to ask him where the worry went, but my emotions ran too high. I had to make him hear me. “It’s not. I’m not making it up. H-He threatened me with…duties as his wife. Horrible things.” I couldn’t even bring myself to repeat what Camden promised to do.

My father stood tall and hard—this time missing all the knight in shining armor and leaving a statue I didn’t recognize. His face set in a scowl but determined. Alarms blared that it wasn’t determination to help me.

“Then be a good wife and do them,” he said, his voice rising.

“What?” I stumbled back, his words hitting me like a physical blow. “No. I can’t.”

“It’s not all about you, Verana.” Whatever calm he’d held on to snapped, and his lips curled in frustration, his fists tight at his side. “We all must make sacrifices. Now, I—I’m done with this discussion.”

My jaw dropped at his outburst, at his complete willingness to let this continue. I was his daughter—his little girl—his bambina. What the hell was going on?

I watched him turn and walk away, my vision blurring like it was all a dream. Surely, that had to be what this all was. Surely, the man walking away from me in my time of need wasn’t real.

“No,” I said, bringing his retreating form back to me. “No, I won’t. I won’t do it.” I shook my head and barely held back from stomping my foot like a child. If he could be someone else, then so could I.

He turned back with narrowed eyes, and he stalked closer like a lion cornering his prey. For the first time ever, I retreated from my father. He’d treated my mother and me like royalty—rarely ever raising his voice, let alone being threatening.

“Don’t make me be this man with you, Verana. Don’t make me be mean.”

“Then don’t. Please, Papa,” I pleaded, my hands reaching out for the loving father I knew had to be there. “Surely, you can’t want this