Hunter’s green eyes look right through you; his cheekbones are as square as his jawline, and he has a mop of brown hair that sweeps to one side in true rockstar fashion. When he makes an effort, like today for dinner, he dresses as though he’s just stepped off stage at a rock gig, all leather jackets and low-slung jeans. But, most of the time, he wears loose-fitting tracksuit bottoms with a T-shirt that clings to his huge shoulders and hard wall of toned abdominal muscles.
“What’re you scared of?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts. “Enjoyin’ yourself?”
“Hardly.” I roll my eyes and fix my stare on the passenger window to block him out for the remainder of the journey. My mind involuntarily takes me back to the summer of 2007 when I’d watched my brothers kicking seven kinds of shit out of each other behind our caravan. I wasn’t particularly close to either of them, but it was the first time I’d been around such violence. I hated it so much. Even though I was half the size of both of them, I’d jumped right in the middle and tried to split them up.
My nose ended up bloody and swollen when one of them accidentally elbowed me in the face, and they had both struggled to move around for weeks. With Mommy preoccupied, looking after the little ones and doing her precious cleaning; I’d ended up having to look after them for what felt like forever. It was the only summer where I hadn’t been able to visit the library, and it had been the longest few weeks of my life. I despised both of them for ruining my summer, and they milked having me as their personal maid for all it was worth.
That was before. Before my brother, Romeo, almost lost his life in a back alley so-called ‘cage fight’ that went wrong when his opponent, Theo Milarani, kicked him so hard in the back he’s never been able to walk again. He spends his life in a wheelchair because of the fights, so you can understand how much I loathe fighters.
He walked into the ring and never walked out again. For some fighters it was expected. For every young boy willing to put himself in danger, there were ten more willing to replace him. My brother was just another in a long line of idiots willing to put their life on the line in order to gain power, social status, a reputation in the Pavee community, and most importantly, money.
Another thing in this world I can’t stand.
As the Pope says, “When one lives attached to money, pride or power, it is impossible to be truly happy.” My brother sat in the same church I did every week, he was aware of the teachings, but unfortunately for all of us, they fell on deaf ears. He had learned the hard way that a quick buck always costs more than it’s worth.
“Here will be fine,” I indicate, as we near the outside walls of Camelot University.
Of course, he ignores me completely, pulling right into the grounds and only stopping when we are directly opposite the library; meaning my best friend sees me getting out of his supped-up truck.
I inwardly cringe as Harlow waves at me from her spot on the wall where she’s waiting for me.
“You need a ride later?”
“No. And for the record, if I did, I’d call an Uber before calling you.” I smile sweetly, jumping out and slamming the door before he decides to get out and make a scene. He revs the engine, clearly pissed, and a small sense of satisfaction settles somewhere inside me.
“Who was that?” Harlow asks as I walk toward her.
“No one.” I shrug before quickly quizzing her about her date with Gav to change the subject.
She babbles on about how amazing her new man is and how he could be the one, but I’m too wrapped up in my own thoughts to listen. My mind is working overtime, trying to figure out how I’m ever going to get out of this mess without disrespecting my family and being shunned by my entire community.
Dinner with my parents was a total failure, and my secret conversation with Mom had left me with less hope than I had to begin with. I thought once she’d heard how unhappy I am with Hunter, she’d take pity on me and agree to talk with Dad. Instead, she lectured me on being less of a spoiled brat and gave me tips on how to adjust to life as a fiancée, so the wedding would be smooth sailing. Clearly, she still has no idea there isn’t going to be a wedding. There’s no way I’m going to marry him. I can’t even stand to look at him, let alone think about becoming his wife. Hunter. Theo. They were all the same.
There was the option of trying to talk to Dad myself, but we didn’t have that kind of relationship. Don’t get me wrong, I love him like he is my real dad. For all intents and purposes, he is. He’d taken me on as his own before I was born and never once made me feel like I was anything less than blood.
My dad was a man’s man, and I am his only baby girl. With two older brothers tripping over themselves to follow in his footsteps in the equestrian world, he spent most of his time showing them the ropes and had strict ideas about the role of a Catholic girl within the home. He knew from very early on I didn’t fit that bill, but it never stopped him from trying to mould me into the perfect little princess he so desperately wanted me to be.
Apparently, they hand-picked Hunter from a family that’s almost as well respected in the gypsy community as mine due to the success their men have had as fighters. Rumor has it the dowry his parents had given mine was well over the usual amount, and it had been agreed we would be married five years ago, when I was just fifteen years old.
We have already had a handful of conversations in the same vein, and both my parents have made it perfectly clear: they are willing to ‘entertain’ my ‘hobbies’ by allowing me to attend CamU and gain my English degree, but only on the understanding that immediately after, I return home, marry Hunter, and take on the commitments of a gypsy wife.
Dumb huh? I think so too, but arranged marriages are all my parents know. It’s all I know. I can’t bring myself to break their hearts, and even though I don’t agree with some of their dated and weird traditions, I’m not sure I’m ready to turn my back on my entire community, which is exactly what will happen if I don’t go through with this wedding. My studies might have bought me some time, but I am well aware and continuously reminded that the clock is ticking, and soon everything I love about my life will be taken away, one way or another.
I’ve come to accept there’s no good option.
If I choose the life I want, I lose my entire family and I’ll be heartbroken.
If I marry Hunter, I’ll be trapped forever in a life I hate with a man I detest and be equally heartbroken.
In the end, it comes down to damage limitation.
A simple trade off.
Their happiness, for mine.
“Are you listening to anything I’m saying, right now?” Harlow demands, snapping me from my self-indulgent daydream.
“Sorry, what?”
“Gav? The kiss?”
“Oh. Yeah, it sounds dreamy,” I mumble, shuffling my handbag onto my other arm as we follow the tree-lined gravel path to class.
Harlow is an English major, the same as me. Apart from that, we have nothing in common, except for the simple fact we adore each other. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had and loves books almost as much as I do, which means we always have something to talk about. As far as I can tell, Harlow is from a well-to-do family who she has very little to do with. I haven’t trusted her to let her know my background yet because you can never be too careful when it comes to letting settled people know your business. If word gets out at Camelot that I’m a traveller, my reputation would be down the drain, and I might as well kiss my English degree goodbye.