C H A P T E R  5

"Who... the hell are you?"

The old man gave me a closed-lip smile. "I'm hoping you'll surprise me, Ms. Greggs. Please don't let me down."

"Surprise you? Surprise you? The only thing that will be surprising you is my fist!" I yelled indignantly, waving my hand in the air.

I could faintly hear Pierre slap his forehead in exasperation, but I ignored him. This was completely, ludicrous.

"Look, I demand to be let out!" I cried dramatically, glaring at Pierre.

The man precariously started walking down the spiral stairs, smiling at me.

"Unfortunatley Ms. Greggs, that won't be happening anytime soon. Now if you wouldn't mind, I'd like you to sit down so I can ask you a few questions."

Almost like a trance, I sat down without a second remark. I narrowed my eyes with whatever defiance was left inside of my mind. He didn't seem disturbed, in fact, the creep stopped next to me and sat down on the couch beside mine.

"I knew that this would be more pleasant," the man mildly exclaimed, extending out his hand. "I'm Ralph Turner, but Ralph will do." I could only muster an appalled stare.

What was I doing here? My throat felt dry and a killer migraine started pounding above my eyes.

"Uh, what, I'm-" I stuttered, looking around the room, as if the entire situation had just come crashing down on my bare shoulders. Maybe, because it did.

"I will explain," Ralph said patiently, eyeing Pierre. "As I can see, it seems like you've already met my son, Pierre?"

I nodded wordlessly. I looked at Pierre, hoping we were sharing a tacit agreement that this man was crazy. Or maybe I was. Maybe we both were...

"Well, I've brought you here because Pierre, my boy, has a... Problem." Pierre distastefully sniffed. "And I think you just might be his lucky charm."

I gasped. "Lucky charm?" I cried, moving up to the edge of the couch, "What do you fucking mean, lucky charm you psychonuerotic idio-"

"Patience, please, Dear Remi," Ralph looked at me sharply, "Let me finish." He quietly mumbled what seemed to be profanities under his breath. I smirked. I was getting to him. Annoyed, I slipped back into my comfortable position.

"He has a problem, like I was saying," He repeated himself, beckoning for Pierre to come closer.

"Pierre... is single," Ralph solemnly stated, patting his son's shoulder. My eyes widened. I would have laughed at Pierre's pink face if I wasn't so scared for what was to come.

"Have you ever... dated, Remi?" Ralph slowly asked. My eyes bulged out as I stared at him.

"No!" I took one look at Pierre's mocking glance and mentally slapped myself. "I-I mean, no, of course! I've dated plenty of guys!"

I was interrupted by a fit of deep, bellowing laughs. I shivered as my heart fluttered at Pierre's contorted face. 

"Oh shut up," I quipped, trying to hide my burning cheeks.

"Ms. Greggs, now I know I can cross off 'great liar' from my list of cons," Ralph said, smiling with his eyes. I looked back at him menacingly, and his smile quickly vanished into what seemed like an indifferent facade.

"How old are you Ms. Greggs?" He pressed on.

"21," I answered, fiddling with my fingers. "—Actually, today was my birthday." I stared down Pierre icily. To my joy, I saw a look of guilt flash in his eyes, but it quickly disappeared.

"Then may I ask you," Pierre sneered, "Why you were snooping through other people's wal-"

Ralph clapped his hand, efficiently cutting off Pierre's snarky comment. "My! Happy birthday!" He limped over to me, and patted my shoulder. "Pierre here is- Oh my, how old are you Pierre?"

Disbelief crossed Pierre's face. "22!"

"Yes, yes, of course," He waved off Pierre's glower, "I have a feeling this might just work out! Not like last time..."

"What?" I asked, straining to hear the last part of his sentence. I tried to ignore the sinking feeling in my guts, but I couldn't. My whole life, I have relied on my own instincts to get myself out of predicaments. And right now, my brain was screaming at me to bolt out of this huge house and never try to steal from loony businessmen ever again.

"You're here, Remi Greggs," Ralph excitedly remarked, "Because I'm going to make a deal with you."

"What is that?" I couldn't help but ask, raising my eyebrow.

Ralph pointed at Pierre.

"Marry him."

. . . . .

I half-heartedly apologized to Ralph as I gently dabbed an icepack on the swollen area of his cheek. I didn't mean to punch him. My body just flipped into default mode and I socked him as soon as those two preposterous words left his mouth.

To my surprise, Ralph wasn't leaking an emotion. The only person radiating anything was Pierre, who looked caught in between downright petrified, and absolutley livid. 

"I just can't believe you would punch my dad!" Pierre began his rant, flailing his arms in the air, "I told him you were no good! But no! He just had to meet the one girl who decided to steal from my pants! I mean, she could have been a horny crackpot for all I knew—"

With a satisfying smack, my hand connected with Pierre's face for the second time today. "Shut up!" I defended myself, accidently pressing too hard into Ralph's puffy injury. He squeaked, letting his cool demeanor crack slightly. Flashing him a conciliatory smile, I removed the ice pack from his cheek.

Pierre gave me a incredulous glare, cradling his newly founded red streak. I guess I was on a roll with hurting rich men. "Father! Do you see what I mean? She's a kook! An absolute, demented kook!" He skeptically glanced at me, as if to make sure I wouldn't abuse him any more, before quickly adding, "And a greedy one, too!"

He turned back towards Ralph. "I think she has to go!"

I silently fumed. "I will! Gladly!" I advanced towards Pierre in a frenzy of raging words. "You stupid imbecile! You pig! Living so high up in the clouds! Well guess what, Mr. Prince! Without your money, you are nothing but a slimy booger!"

Pierre looked seriously insulted as I finished my libelous opinion. We both glared with such intensity, I'm pretty sure the house could have been completely obliterated in a tornado and all we would have cared about is who got the last word.

"I'm a slimy booger? Well, you're a cheating kleptomaniac—"

He was interrupted by a weak chuckle. Surprised, both of us looked back at a wheezing Ralph, who seemed to be in the middle of a seizure.

"You two"—wheeze—"fight just like a couple."

My face exploded in a sheath of flames. "What? He just called me a kleptomaniac!"

"Well, you are!" Pierre shouted.

I shrieked in frustration. "I can't do this!" I yelled. "Put me in jail! I don't care! I don't fucking care! Anything but being close to this idiot!" I pointed at Pierre. "It wasn't nice meeting you!"

With that, I charged towards the front door. Pierre said something under his breath, but I couldn't decipher what he said exactly. My mind was in a frenzy of commotion. Mostly though, I was just trying to repress myself from blowing up.

"Actually Remi," I heard Mr. Turner call after me, "my transaction wasn't to keep you out of jail."

I stopped.

"Actually, I think it's best we put that behind us."

"Dad!" I heard Pierre cry out, completely exasperated, "Just let her leave!" I could see any ounce of professionalism leave his face. He was desperate to get rid of me. I was desperate to leave, but I was also curious.

"What do you propose?" I asked, suspicion pooling in my narrowed eyes.

Ralph smirked.

"I've heard that your father has been jobless for a while."

My mouth fell open, shocked. "How did you..."

"I have my ways," Ralph waved me off. My nostrils flared. One more wrong move and I was charging out of this hellhole.

"Okay," I snapped, "—but I didn't stop my quest for freedom to hear the story of my dad's pathetic life."

"Oh," Ralph smiled, "but what if I said, I could give your father a job? Some money? An excuse to get himself out of that horrible addiction..."

My wall started to crumble. A job? Some money? Reforming my dad? The harsh retorts at the tip of my tongue dissolved. This could be my father's breakthrough. No more late nights. No more cranky hangovers. No more grieving sessions and no more memories. It could all go down the drain if I agree to this crazy loon.

I silently pondered my options. I was stuck in the dilemma of helping my dad, and ruining my life, or walking away and continuing my sketchy but predictable lifestyle. Unconsciously, I started to sweat from nervousness.

But married to a stranger? A man, who in the few hours I've known, have learnt to utterly despise? This wasn't a win-win situation. Hell, this could be the worst thing that could ever happen to me.

But I knew, somewhere deep in my greedy heart, I was going to say yes. I loved my father, even when he was a dumb, intoxicated rat. Whether it was through full agreement, or a few punches along the way, I was going to give my father that job. Oh man. I felt a depressing tug of emotion deep in my heart.

I was going to marry Pierre fucking Turner.