Vinnie
Present day
How much would you spend for the opportunity to marry the daughter of one of the most powerful men in New York? Is there a business negotiation too big for you to consider? A price too high?
What piece of your soul would you sell for the chance to become a part of the Paladino family?
My father is currently accepting offers for my hand in marriage, although his wording is much more eloquent.
He thinks it’s time I begin thinking about marriage and a family—strongly encouraging me to select a man with an impressive pedigree and a high yield savings account.
A son-in-law that would be impressive both on paper andinthe papers.
Someone who will take care of me and give me the life I’ve grown accustomed to.
I’m twenty-six years old and while I hold a comparative literature degree from Columbia, have started my own independent publishing house, and live in a beautiful apartment in Central Park Tower, Istillneed a man to take care of me.
At least, according to my father.
And he means well, I know he does. Despite me finding out some things about him that part of me wishes I’d never learned, I am still daddy’s little girl. Which is why I attend every single ball, gala, and fundraiser he suggests I attend.
It’s why I let man after man sweep me across the dance floor, twirling me, and dipping me, as I pretend to enjoy their attention.
Catching Raina’s eye across the room, she winks at me, the ghost of a smirk pulling at her lips as she cradles her martini in her perfectly manicured hand. She laughs at something the bartender says and waves him off, sauntering over to a nearby group to mingle.
“You look absolutely stunning tonight, Vinnie,” Mason Townsend compliments, his hand tightening on my hip as muscle memory takes us through our waltz.
For almost twelve years, I was held in the mercy of a soul-crushing infatuation with Mason until teenage hormones ran rampant and turned my infatuation to a new guy every few weeks.
At age twenty, we dated briefly, but I quickly learned the attraction I’d once had for him completely fadedand we were better off as friends. But these days, I can’t help but feel like I’m twenty again and Mason is trying to court me.
His attention used to make me feel like I was the luckiest girl in the world. Now, it just feels so disingenuous.
“I’m wearing a mask, Mason,” I counter, feeling slightly guilty for the hint of attitude I’ve given him. At least his hands aren’t attempting to wander like the last man I danced with.
The blood-red off-the-shoulder gown I’m wearing protects my backside from being groped as it has been in the past, and I am thankful for the layers. The most I’ve had to worry about tonight is wandering eyes at the deep v of the bodice and the slight brush of the back of a hand against the side of my breast.
Men can be such pigs.
Leaning down, his hand brushes my immaculately curled hair away from my ear, and he whispers, “Even still, you are the most gorgeous girl in the room.”
Girl.
He still sees me as a child.
Thankfully, the song ends and I pull from his embrace, giving him a small curtsy. He bows, as upbringing taught him to do, and before he can say another word, another man cuts in.
“May I have this dance, Miss Paladino?”
He’s an older gentleman wearing a black satin mask over his eyes, so simple in comparison to the one covering mine. The intricate beadwork and feathersare the same shade as my dress, complementing its design.
“Of course,” I reply hesitantly as the next song begins. Sometimes the older men were the most degrading, whispering filthy things they think will make me weak in the knees. I’d been to enough masquerade balls to know that men felt bold behind a mask, thinking it gave them anonymity, and they dared to speak that way despite knowing who my father is.
Perhaps if the words came from someone thirty years their junior, I would be interested in being told I was going to be fucked within an inch of my life like the dirty slut I was, but alas, coming from a man old enough to be my grandfather, it was revolting.
Placing my hand in his, he pulls me close, but still leaves a respectable distance between us.
“You looked like you could use a break from the young men,” he tells me. “I asked my wife if I could give you a little reprieve. I hope you don’t mind.” He smiles over my shoulder, presumably at his wife, and I sigh with relief.