by authorvictoriaellis | Feb 9, 2023 | Excerpt
I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me. I haven’t in a long time now. Her eyes scream in ways a voice never could never match. It doesn’t surprise me that no one notices.
They never do.
My reflection is less a mirror image and more a fucked up two-way mirror with someone else on the other side.
“Giana, you are a vision, my darling.”
My mother’s voice sounds as if it’s a million miles away as my eyes trail down this body that’s never felt like my own. But how could it when I’ve never been allowed to be anything other than his?
This is a beautiful dress, I remind myself.
My pulse quickens as the voices around me turn into nothing but droning echoes and I use everything inside of me to calm my racing heart before I’m too far gone.
I scan the intricate lace pattern that fits me like a second skin. My hands roam over the silky part of the fabric slowly—but something is wrong. So, so wrong.
My hands move slowly, but…it’s too slow. My entire body suddenly shifts, almost as if the world has tilted, and now everything is moving fast, everything around me, that is. From my mother chirping to the sweet seamstress nodding her head…it’s all suddenly in fast motion while every move I make seems like it taken an eternity. As if I’m here but I’m not. I’m an outsider looking in.
Like I’m watching myself trying on this dress but I’m not really in my body.
My body. This is my body.
I am my own, I am my own, I am my own.
I repeat the mantra, the broken record on repeat.
I am my own.
The little voice between my ears scolds me, curses my feeble attempt at positivity and reminds me that I’m not.
I am not my own.
And no amount of self-help audiobooks will help me feel more mine.
Nearly ten thousand crystals adorn the bright white fabric that’s snug on my skin. The plunging neckline shows more than I know my father will be comfortable with. My mother chose it. She wanted the world to see what she used to look like. Now that she’s middle-aged and has to visit a stylist monthly to cover her gray hairs and a cosmetic surgeon to pump her face full of filler and get rid of her wrinkles, the only thing she can do is show off her daughter’s body and live vicariously through it.
I inhale a shaky breath as the world around me continues to buzz by, but my thoughts slow, and I do my best to let go of every single dream I once had about marriage.
A love story that would rival all the movies I was forbidden to watch.
Choosing the man I’d spend my forever with.
Falling in love on my own terms…
I have to let go of every single one of those dreams I once pinned on my secret vision board when I was a young girl. Pictures I printed off from Google (on my best friend’s computer because my father would kill me for having such unattainable dreams) of a happy life, one I thought I could manifest into reality, despite the cards I always knew were laid out in front of me.
Cards that were dealt the moment I was conceived.
I knew this would be my reality despite the dreams I hoped would come true.
And maybe that’s the saddest part of it all.
“I think we could take it in at the waist a bit more, don’t you?”
There’s my mother again. Her voice slightly closer as she comes up to me and gathers some fabric to show the seamstress.
“She’s lost a bit of weight. Wedding nerves, I’m sure.”
I’m sure.
I wait for her to ask me what I think, although I know I’m once again just being that naive little girl who thinks her mother wants or values her opinion.
My eyes move to the seamstress with her neatly placed gray hair and apron embellished with pins. She smiles at me in the mirror as she pulls measuring tape from her apron, and I force my red stained lips to tilt up at the corners enough to pass for a smile.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m glad you like it!” she says as she moves behind me to place more pins into the fabric.
I suppose most brides with watery eyes are holding back tears of pure happiness.
Not this bride, though.
The fuzziness grows even louder, loud enough that my ears pulsate with pain. A hand grips my waist, triggering the moment his palm made contact with my skin, and suddenly I’m no longer here at all.
“You’ll take it and you’ll fucking love every second of it, you fucking bitch.” His voice makes every single hair on my body stand on end. I shake my head, a scream ripples from my mouth and his palm clasps around my mouth. He squeezes and I wince from the forcefulness of his grasp. “Make another sound and I’ll take the one thing you can’t afford to fucking lose.” His hands are on my waist and he’s pushing me to the floor and I’m falling to my knees like the obedient girl I am. Like the obedient girl I have to be. “Open your fucking mouth, cunt.”
The sound of a door opening and closing pulls me from the memory, and suddenly everything is moving normally again. Gone is the slow motion. My mother’s voice chirping away to the seamstress is close now, no longer far away and fuzzy.
I am my own, I am my own, I am my own.
Heavy footsteps thud against the floor in an all too familiar pattern. The thumping grows closer and closer until my eyes meet those of my father’s in the mirror as I stand here waiting for him to pick me apart. I’m a sitting duck for him to shoot down, and there’s no doubt in my mind he’ll take aim. I’m already deep within his sights.
He clears his throat, knocking me out of my thoughts once again, and I quickly turn toward my father, accidently bumping into both my mother and the seamstress.
“Father.”
I don’t know why I didn’t expect this, but I curse myself for not seeing it coming.
He eyes me from top to bottom, silently assessing. His eyes squint with a look that I know all too well. Disapproval. I wait for the carefully constructed words I know will come as he places both hands on his hips and draws in a deep breath. His charcoal suit, one of his favorites, hangs against his tall frame without even one single crease, moving with his body as he takes a step forward, moving toward me. Still judging. Still disapproving.
I have to physically force myself to not squint my own eyes in retaliation. A habit of his I’ve picked up. I’ve picked up on a few of his traits, one of them being my smart mouth, but he’ll never see that side of me. He can’t. No matter how fucked up this life I lead is, I still want to survive.
My father’s salt and pepper hair has one small strand out of place, no doubt from the strong Chicago wind, and I want to pick him apart for it the way he’s picked me apart for the same exact thing.
But I don’t.
I would never.
I know my place.
Father clears his throat again before speaking, and my heart beats an out of control staccato that I feel pounding all the way up in the middle of my throat. Thump, thump-thump, thump, thump-thump-thump.Everything spins as I force the small bit of air left in the room down into my lungs.
“This body is for your husband, piccolo uccello.” He shakes his head and glances from me to my mother and back again. “Not for every man in the church.”
“Gabriel, she looks beautiful. Don’t you remember when we married? This reminds me of my gown.” My mother places her palm on my father’s chest with a smile but he moves away, and I step off the bridal platform and place my own hand on the mirror to steady myself.
Thump-thump, thump, thump, thump-thump, thump.
He scoffs before a harsh laugh escapes his lips.
“If you would’ve had that much of your skin on display I would have turned you away back to your father. It’s quite unfortunate that’s how you remember things, Elena.”
The poor seamstress has backed away into a corner and is doing her best to not watch this family shitfest unfold but there’s a reason reality television shows exist. Drama is hard to look away from. She casts her gaze onto the pins she’s still holding, rolling them between the pads of her fingers.
“Gabriel, please,” my mother whisper-shouts frantically but he cuts off anything else she planned on saying by holding his palm up and turning toward me.
“I knew I wouldn’t be able to leave this up to your mother. Thankfully I assumed as much and swung by on my way to my meeting. I can’t imagine what Roberto would think of seeing his new daughter-in-law walk down the aisle with her most intimate parts on full display,” he seethes, gesturing to the same neckline my mother was just admiring. He points to the slits on both sides of the fabric, showing off my legs. “Patetica.” He turns to the seamstress, and with a snarl, walks over to her, pointing his finger in her face. “No more changes to this outfit made for a fucking whore.” Spittle flies from his lips, his red cheeks burning with anger. “No more money spent on this. In fact, you can have it.” He looks back at me as I walk toward the two of them, wanting desperately to pull him away from this kind woman who has nothing to do with any of this, knowing I can’t.
“Take it off, Giana. Take it off and give it to her.” He points to the seamstress. “She can give it to a piece of trash for her wedding day. I’m sure she knows plenty.”
And with that, tears gather in my eyes for an entirely new reason.
My father leaves, slamming the door behind him, walking out into the cold winter that’s as bitter as his heart. I apologize to the seamstress as my mother tells me we have mere days to find another dress; she’s already on the phone with another boutique as I grab hold of the woman’s hands and tell her how sorry I am.
Two weeks.
The reminder is a slap in the face.
Just when I thought my life couldn’t be more fucked up…
I’m being married off to the heir of the Blood Syndicate Cartel.
by authorvictoriaellis | Sep 1, 2020 | Uncategorized
I am SO excited to be sharing the Prologue and Chapter One with all of you! I hope you enjoy this little sneak peak into ATP!
PROLOGUE
“Madi, will you marry me?”
His question evokes an automatic response from my gag reflex—I am choking on my goddamn buffalo wing.
There’re no dramedies here, I am full-on choking.
I bring both hands to my neck, what I assume is the signal for holy shit, I’m choking, please help me before I die, but Tate has no clue. He’s handsome as hell, but sometimes I’m convinced he’s missing half his brain.
I reach for water, thinking I can wash down the half of a chicken wing that is lodged in my throat, but the water only exasperates everything that much more.
I look at Tate again and stand, pointing at my throat, unable to make a noise no matter how hard I try. Suddenly, his eyes are bulging out from their sockets, more than likely because my face is damn near certainly changing colors.
Tate doesn’t move, and instead stays frozen in his chair, bringing both of his hands to his mouth like he’s shocked that I’m dying in front of him.
Give me the fucking Heimlich and I won’t be! I want to scream.
Two strong arms grip around the center of my body, and an intense pressure in my upper abdomen rocks me forward—and out pops the chicken wing. It rolls across the table and lands right in front of Tate as a horrified expression spreads across his face. I quickly gasp in as much air as I possibly can and bend at the waist, losing myself in a coughing fit.
When I finally catch my breath and I’m no longer heaving like I just ran a marathon, I turn to face the person who saved me—expecting it to be some large, burly man—but no one’s here.
“She’s right there,” Tate says, pointing toward a woman who turns at the last minute before leaving the restaurant, tipping her head to me and giving me a slight wave.
There are still nice people in the world. It’s refreshing.
Now, back to business.
I clear my throat and dab at my face with my napkin as I sit back down.
“Are you okay, babe?” Tate asks, and the only thing I can think about right now is having one less chicken wing. I’m hungry, the PMS is real, and those two seldom mix well.
Will you marry me?
The words fell from his lips nonchalantly, easy as pie, like they don’t have the power to change the entire trajectory of both of our lives.
“That didn’t exactly go how I had planned it,” he says, staring at me over his plate of macaroni and mashed potatoes.
How you planned it?
“Tate.” I rub my throat, trying to calm the daggers that shoot pain throughout it. My voice comes out hoarse, “Did you really just propose to me over chicken wings?”
Honestly, I wouldn’t marry Tate if my life depended on it. I actually planned on ending things with him tonight, over said chicken wings, because this just isn’t going anywhere. In the three months I’ve dated him, I just haven’t really felt that spark that’s necessary to continue on with a relationship. The fact that he just proposed to me after only three months of dating and when we are very clearly on very different pages, if not a completely different book all together, only solidifies things.
Anytime I try to date someone for longer than a few dinners or a late-night rendezvous in my small New York City apartment, it ends up coming to an end like this. They want more, I just can’t get there. I’m not sure if I’m just not compatible with anyone here or if it has anything to do with the bar that was set years prior. Maybe my standards are just too high.
But I know that the man I want exists.
I just can’t have him.
CHAPTER ONE
MADI
The fresh, late spring air, bites at my skin as I wind the corner of the busy sidewalk, nearing the location for the photo shoot. In all my excitement of securing this job with Luxe—one of the hottest, up and coming New York City based clothing companies—I forgot my 70mm lens. I wanted this one to create the perfect close-up shot and capture the intricate detail of the clothing.
Guess I’ll have to perfect these ones on my own instead of relying on the equipment.
New York City is the second love of my life, the first being my little photography business. I love the busy streets, the hole-in-the-wall cafes and diners. I can get lost for hours with a good book, sipping on a hot coffee and people watching out storefront windows.
I don’t miss my old life in South Carolina at all. Nope. Not one bit.
I’m able to convince myself of just that, as I have so many times before, until I walk past a young girl walking hand in hand with her father and my heart picks up pace in my chest. A quiet sadness envelops me and I have to force my sadness away, to the back of my mind. I miss my own dad and the walks we’d take when I was a little girl.
Nostalgia gnaws at my bones as I continue making my way to the shoot. I pass by a delicious-smelling food stand and I’m reminded of Red’s Diner and the southern cooking that I love so much.
Okay, so maybe I miss pieces of my old life. But I’ve settled into this big city over the past six years and I’m finally feeling like I belong.
I send a quick text to one of my friends, asking if she wants to meet for drinks tonight. Between Tate’s proposal, my choking incident, and my nerves about this shoot, Lord knows I am going to need some liquid therapy tonight. Forgetting my equipment paired with a brand-new client…today’s not off to a great start.
I reach the intersection of Ballard and Vale and immediately spot the gray and white brick wall that I’ll be meeting the model at for the shoot. I’m going to have to get creative to keep passersby out of the shot, but this wall fits perfectly with the company’s aesthetic. I set my bag down and pull out my coveted camera, the one I worked doubles for at the restaurant when I first got to the city.
The sun is glaring down already, and I can tell my reflector is going to get its use today. I double check that my 50mm lens is on. At least I didn’t forget this one. It’s my favorite. I attach the reflector to the tripod and get ready to get some amazing shots for Luxe.
“Are you Madison?” A sweet-sounding voice calls to me and I turn to see a teenage girl walking toward me, striding shoulder to shoulder with another woman, who looks to be in her mid-forties.
“Hey!” I reach out to shake their hands once they stop in front of me. “I’m Madison, yes. I assume you’re Lauren?” I ask the teenager, who politely nods her head and gives me a soft smile.
“Yes, this is Lauren and I’m Veronica. She has another shoot in three hours, so we’ll have to start as soon as possible.” The older woman says, not breaking eye contact with me. Her tone has a brashness to it that I certainly wasn’t expecting, but I do my best to conceal the fact that she’s thrown me off a bit.
I let Lauren know that Luxe has already spoken to the café next door and we have approval to use their restroom for outfit changes. She eyes up the petite clothing, trendy and new age. Crop tops and short skirts, things I’d never wear, but it’s definitely what’s in right now.
Twenty minutes later, the model has arrived and I’m in my element, looking down the view finder at my subject, getting some bomb shots, feeling better than when I first got here.
“Honestly, Lauren.” The woman she brought with her rolls her eyes. “Do you think you can suck your gut in a little bit?”
Her words hit me hard, a sucker punch to my chest, and I’m not even the one she was talking to.
“Oh.” Lauren smiles meekly at me, hunching her shoulders over and attempting to suck in something that isn’t there in the first place. “Sorry. Of course.”
Pushing my index finger down, I capture her awkwardness as I look down my lens at her, practically watching as her confidence melts into the sticky New York City air. I rest my camera against my chest, the strap hugging it close to my body.
“You keep doing… Whatever it is you’re doing there.” She tosses her long, platinum-colored hair over her shoulder, waving her hand haphazardly. “I’ll be back. I’m going to make a phone call.” The lady walks away, sauntering down the street in her black heels and pencil skirt. I resist the urge to tell her to just stay wherever it is she’s going. She’s only making my job harder and totally ruining this young woman’s confidence simultaneously.
I start to pick my camera back up, but think better of it. “Are you okay?” I ask the model, gathering my long, dark hair and pulling it up, securing it with a hair tie. “I’m so sorry she’s being so rude to you,” I tell her, hoping to bring back a little life into her eyes. If we have any hope of getting a few good shots for the clothing boutique to pick from, I need to help this girl down off the ledge.
Lauren gives me another small smile. “She’s just like that. It’s all right. I’m used to it.”
“Is she your manager or something?” I can’t understand why she doesn’t just fire her. Luxe has sizes zero through twenty-four. I know she cannot possibly be tied to them, not with the way she’s body shaming her.
An uneasy smile stretches across her face, like something I’ve said is funny, but quickly disappears when she notices the woman strolling back in our direction. “No, actually.” She gulps, and her throat bobs a little. “That’s my mother.”
Guess our mothers have something in common, then. They’re both scumbags.
“Don’t listen to her. She’s being way overly critical. You are absolutely stunning, and you were doing so great before she started making those comments.” I lower my voice as the woman approaches. “Don’t let what she’s saying get to you.” I feel like I’m failing miserably at my attempt to give her a quick pep talk as she nods at me, still looking unsure of herself. “I’m not one to condone physical violence, but just imagine you’re like…throwing a drink in her face or slashing her tires or something.”
That gets a giggle out of her, and I wink before turning away from her to get an angled shot, farther away.
Veronica walks toward us, snapping her fingers. “All right. Enough chitchat. Daylight is burning.” Daylight is burning. It’s a phrase Tate said often. Daylight is burning, baby. I gotta make that money. I can’t believe I stayed with him as long as I did.
I roll my eyes, hoping she doesn’t see my expression, but it’s hard to contain my visceral disdain for her ignorance. Just as I pick my camera back up and Lauren shifts to a new, slightly more assured pose, my cell phone rings against my thigh. I huff, quickly dropping the camera back against my skin and fumble with my cell phone and silence it while it’s still in my pocket.
Not even two seconds later, my phone rings again.
“I’m so sorry.” I shrug, pulling the phone from my pocket and glancing down at the unknown number with the area code from the city where I grew up. Weird. “I’ll just be a minute.”
My heart flutters quickly in my chest at the realization that something might be wrong. I step away from the women and answer the unknown caller. “Hello?”
The caller clears her throat. “Can I please speak to Madison Alexander?” Her tone is cool and calm.
“This is she. Can I help you with something?” I say, trying to match her demeanor. Business is picking up, so there’s no way it’s a collection agency.
Another pause. “Oh, hello there. This is Jade O’Connell. I work for the Huntington Police Department, I’m not sure if you remember me.” Of course I remember her. She’s six years older than I. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Madison, but your father has been in an accident.”
My entire world falls out from beneath me. All at once my vision is clouded, and I can only think about all the ways my father could have possibly hurt himself. A series of horrible images flashes through my mind.
“Ms. Alexander, are you there?”
I want to tell her I’m here, but no words come as I crouch down on the sidewalk.
“If you can hear me, just sit down for a minute. Your dad is okay. I’m sitting with him here at the hospital, and the medical staff will be calling you to update you as soon as they get him stabilized.”
“Stabilized?” I choke out, standing and spinning back to where Lauren and her mother stand, holding up my index finger. “Tell me what happened, please.” This long, drawn-out waiting is too much.
“Yes, he passed out while driving down route seventy-four. He almost hit a vehicle in the westbound lane head-on, but they swerved just in time. He ended up flipping the car a couple of times and came to a stop in Samson’s soybean field. You’re aware of the spot I’m talking about, right?”
Of course I am. Being gone for the past six years doesn’t fog my memory of my hometown of Huntington, South Carolina. I can’t think straight. Why would he pass out? Did he forget to eat or something? My dad never forgets to eat, nothing makes sense. “Can I talk to him?”
She clears her throat again, obviously a nervous habit. “I’m sorry, but unfortunately he isn’t able to talk just yet. I have given over all of his information to the hospital here; your cell phone number is with the staff, and they’ll call to up—”
“Tell them I’ll be on the next flight home.” There’s no way in hell I can just sit idly around waiting for a phone call while my dad is in the hospital alone. I have to move, I have to go.
As much as every single bone in my body aches even thinking about Huntington, South Carolina, knowing all of the things I ran away from all those years ago, there’s no way around this.
I have to go back home.
If you enjoyed this excerpt, I would love for you to preorder! The price is $1.99 until release day and then it goes up! Let me know what you thought about the beginning of ATP in the comments below! <3
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