Blood Meet Stone

It was far from fair.

Being the daughter of a crime lord was one of the most upsetting things in the world, I swear!

A modern-day princess was kind of the gist. No opinion, always followed, always tracked, always in danger, married for the family's good.

Stone had a bad reputation. Mean, dark, emotionless, ruthless, widely feared. Women swooned and he hardly ever took the bait. Some questioned if he was too picky and if he would ever settle down. Real Alpha Male… not the kind to flaunt it, but the kind who put it off like a power wafting form his very being.

Now he would, but only as a requirement of a peaceful partnership that would make both families an insane amount of money. Who cared what she wanted? Certainly not anyone she knew.

Her playmates were the cousins if they visited (mean brats the lot of them) and the guard's children (who were taught to let her win at everything). It was boring. She never had a confidant, so she kept a diary. It was in a simple journal notebook, no lock, but in a hidden section of wall in her bedroom where she had peeled back the baseboard to slide into the wall. The section was behind her bed and she could get to it by pretending to look for something she might have lost under the bed, should anyone catch her. It was a pretty ingenious system, but then she wasn't stupid.

Eventually, with a lack of brothers, the family would be hers. It was fine, because while Stone was the strongest brother in his family, he did have an older brother who was supposed to take over his, though his spinelessness for the work made it uncertain who would really be the heir.

There was a fine kettle of fish to find yourself tossed into and Deirdre (Dre to most) was far from excited to be put in a likely daily death-defying existence. It might have been made known when she threw a vase at her father's head and the guards dragged her back to her room to pack.

But then again, it might have been too subtle a response; Dre had to work on her communication skills.

She was shoving everything into Louis Vutton luggage. Heaven forbid she have the luggage she wanted, she was a symbol of her family's money and power and frankly. This designer stuff, while many may love it, was too Italian for her specific tastes. Too busy, too ornate, she liked the simple, but her handbags were Birkin, her shoes all Badgley Mischka and Jimmy Choo, etc. She would kill to be in a plain t-shirt with no logos on it and a pair of yoga pants in non-descript tennis shoes. The ornate drama represented everything about the life she was born into she hated. Period.

She had heard the sympathy fakers before "Oh poor baby", but when you lived a life you hated, you didn't have anything to prove to anyone. You were unhappy. You could be unhappy. Lives did not have to compare to anyone and pain especially. If it hurt you, you got to be hurt and screw anyone who thought theirs had to compare and got to be worse could go straight to whatever their version of Hell was. So there. She didn't get to be herself, she had to be what they wanted her to be. It sucked.

She finished getting her clothing in bags and the rest of her stuff would come along later, she did hide the diary deep in the middle of the clothing and hoped, hoped, hoped no one would find it before she could get her things unpacked on the other side.

Then she put on the designer dress and shoes left for her for the occasion, sat as her hair and make up was done professionally. Wore the jewels she wouldn't be taking with her, as they belonged as a symbol of the family and waited outside the door to the dining room to be introduced. The final paperwork was being signed and she wasn't allowed in it.

She could shoot, was deadly with a knife, knew several types of martial arts, and woe be to anyone who touched her when she didn't want them to, but be there for the paper signing her life away? Nope. Not qualified. Sorry.

She left like a piece of her very expensive luggage. Property.

It felt like hours, but on the clock it was maybe twenty minutes before the doors opened and she was led in. Defiantly her chin was up and she looked bored of them all. She might be going as told, but she wouldn't go without them realizing she had feelings either. Screw them.

She looked around and saw all the typical old men and cigars she expected. The half drunk glasses of whisky and scotch like amber jewels on the table and then there was Stone.

His dark hair, longer than most men and pulled back into a simple pony tail in the back was shiny and looked thick enough to use as a pillow. (Was it a pony tail for men? Should be like a horse tail or something more manly, she mused.) His eyes were pale blue gems in an olive face that crowned a package any woman might desire. At least she had plenty to look at.

Stone was bored. A wife? Him?

He knew the day would come, but seriously? Now? His father was getting older and he was trying to cement the people in the family to his side to take over from his spineless brother. Tale as old as bedrock, sure, but his life nonetheless.

It would make him nothing but happy to retire to some seaside village and reinvent his life, but the scars and tattoos under all this silk and tailored cloth reminded him he was born to be hard violence and nothing more.

So when she walked in with her red hair and green eyes in that olive skin, he was taken aback.

The stories of her Irish/Scandinavian mother were well known. It was a standout in families that generally kept it in the Greek/Italian range of sight. All in the family right? But her mother was a beautiful exception. Died In childbirth, but her portraits were still all over the house, like a haunting ghost watching over them all. They used to call her the Bonfire, on account of her red hair and outspoken attitude. She was the most beloved family wife in all the families in the region, because she was a woman of quality who could hold her own.

Her daughter at least had her attitude and looks. He would give her that.

Rising up and moving to Dre he took her hand and kissed her knuckles looking up into her eyes. "Good evening, future wife of mine."

He loved the shocked look in her eyes as he claimed her aloud. If anything this was about to be one fun marriage. They would never get bored, he could predict that much. And he liked his prospects on the fun it would be… if looks were anything to go by.