Kill Me

Isabella's POV

I looked at my father who continued eating the chicken casserole with my mothers recipe like he hadn't just dropped an information like a bomb.

"Where did he work before? Does he have much experience?" I bombarded him with questions, trying to squeeze my way through the crack he opened hoping I get a job still.

"Of course, Isabella. Of course, he does. Do you think I would be stupid to employ him or bring his resume to the board if I didn't believe he is competent," he scoffed.

"No. I am sorry Father., It is just that I had never heard of your interest in him before. Where did he work before here?"

He sighed, a hint of his patience slipping even more. "Somewhere abroad. He left, and we took the opportunity to snatch him up."

"Why did he leave?"

"Not the right fit for them. But he's right for Rossi Shipping." His eyes narrowed for a moment before lowering to the wine he swirled in his glass. "He will be a good fit for you."

The alarms in my head grew louder, and the opening he'd given to talk about the company grew—only it didn't reveal an in-depth conversation where I proved my value as an employee. No, something else waited for me.

"Me?"

"Yes," He looked at me as he dropped his spoon.

"What do you mean Father?"

"Well, we went golfing last month and discussed everything."

"Everything being…"

"Your marriage together of course," he said, but it lacked his usual confidence.

I felt suffocated in this open spaced dinning room. Suddenly I could feel the dark wood paneling closing in on me. "My what?"

"You've known you'd marry whoever suited this family since you were little. That is the job you have. Attending college even in another state was never meant to change that."

I knew that. I just thought I had more time. More life to experience before it was given away to someone I didn't want to have it.

"But Father…"

"But nothing Isabella. It is already in place." His hand slashed through the air, and I jerked back. My father rode the line of patience with me, but he never crossed it, and the sharp movement shocked me.

When he watched me swallow and pull back, he softened, regret pulling his shoulders down. He looked away, the lines around his pinched mouth hinting at more frowns than smiles. Before Mama passed, it had been all smiles. Now he shook his head, the silver in his dark hair standing out more than ever before under the lights.

I'd obviously visited home once in a while over my four years away, but I'd never taken note of how much he'd aged. When did the man who hung my moon and stars get so tired? When did the man who snuck me an extra cookie lose control of his emotions?

He swiped his hand down his face as if trying to wipe away the short-tempered man who snapped, but all that was left was exhaustion. "We're training him now, and once he settles in, we'll focus more on your wedding."

"He's almost forty," I said softly. I held tight to the emotions threatening to snap free, too nervous when he sat so close to the edge.

"I was older than your mother," he said without paying attention to any of the concern of rioting through me.

"Yes, I know but by a mere five years." Panic slipped past my resolve to remain calm, and my voice rose." Jakob was almost twice my age, and my father didn't seem to care at all.

"Does it matter? Five years, ten years. It's just a number."

"This is completely different. You and Mama had—"

"What you are about to do. An arranged marriage is just like you will. She did what was best for her family, and she'd be ashamed to see you shirking your duties now." His words hit me like a slap to the face. "Now, stop arguing, Isabella. It's pointless."

The finality in the sharp tone I'd never heard used with me urged me to plead harder than I'd ever done with him. I was supposed to have more time to convince him I was more than a socialite, more than a figurehead and a trophy wife. If I could just make him hear me. If I could just buy some time. I scooted to the edge of my seat, my hands out.

"Father, I'm smart. I can be useful to Rossi Oil Industries," I said, going back to how the night all started.

"It's not your job to be smart, Isabella. I have always told you. You knew this," he almost pleaded. Like he knew he was close to the edge, and he was begging me not to push him. But I was too far entrenched in panic over marrying Jakob.

"But I am. If you'd just let me work a little b—"

"No," he interrupted me as he slammed his fist on the dark table as a sign of anger and finality.

His harsh rebuttal snapped me back against my seat, my spine straight and tall. My desperation pleading for my father to hear me didn't break through, so I shut down, leaving the professional socialite to mix with the iota of defiance I'd gained in my freedom at college.

"Fine. I'll apply elsewhere."

He let out a loud laugh. "I don't think so, Isabella."

I clenched my sweaty palms into frustrated fists, desperate to hold onto my composure—to not crumble under the discomfort of going against him. Usually, I sat back, but this was my life, and a tiny voice inside urged me to fight.

I thought as I finished my last bite of casserole not feeling the taste anymore. "If you won't hire me, then you can't stop me from applying to a company that will," I stated as I stood.

His personality narrowed to a dark aura as I came in contact for the first time in my life with the man I had only heard about from his coworkers. "You can't. I will shut you down at every turn. I know every oil company in New York. You're a Rossi, act like it." He stood too, mirroring my position. "Since God didn't bless me with any male heirs, your job is to marry a man who will take care of our company. You'll make a good wife, period. Like your mother taught you."

Like a splinter in glass, I fractured—my father's cruel words dumped water on my fiery anger and I sat down, hard. "You'd blacklist your very own daughter," I said as I felt tears burned up the back of my throat and pooled on my lids, and I barely managed to keep them from falling.

But he saw it, the hurt, and like his anger, he doused his fight too. His lids slid closed, and he shook his head, sagging back in his seat.

"It's getting late," I whispered.

He nodded, his eyes sliding open, not bothering to hide his regret. I swallowed the last bit of my tears down and stood. He stood with me and walked me out.

"You know I love you, Isabella," he said at the door.

"I love you too."

He squeezed my hand. "And I love this company too. It's what we have left of your mama. We must do what we have to, to keep it alive."

Unable to think of anything to respond with that would be productive to the night, I squeezed his hand back, and with a forced smile, collected my bag from Shiro as I turned to leave.

I made it to the end of the driveway before I pulled out my phone to message my friends.

Arranged marriage is on…Kill me." I typed in on a Whatsapp group tagged 'Ladies' which consisted of my two best friends and clicked on send.