2|The Greatest Betrayals

In the peaceful silence of her car, Marybeth tore through the envelope. An appointment slip confirming her big day was indeed a go fluttered out and fell on her lap.

"Unbelievable!" she said, shaking her head when her eyes fell on the date on the receipt. For some unfathomable reason, her father and Danica had sat on this life-changing piece of information for over a month, choosing to drop their bombshell at the very last minute. Sure, she worked remarkably well under her pressure. But this? This was just plain ridiculous.

If it wasn't so infuriating, it would have been comical. But it was infuriating, and she was heartbroken. Maybe because she didn't see it coming. But then again, the greatest betrayals always came from those she loved the most. Her mother was a stellar example of why she should never trust anyone, especially when they claimed to have her best interest at heart.

She turned the paper over and dialled the phone number scribbled on the back. Her future husband's phone rang for a long time until it cut off. No voicemail prompt. Just her kind of person. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

She called him again. The second try was the charm. A deep, gruff voice drifted through the speaker, spitting out an annoyed, "Hello?"

Underprepared and overwhelmed by everything she'd learned less than an hour ago, Marybeth was momentarily at a loss for words. It didn't help that the man didn't sound nice. Not at all like a reasonable person open to negotiation would be.

"Speak!" he rasped, and in her mind's eye, Marybeth could almost see him pinch the bridge of his beak-like nose, his receding hairline shimmering under the fluorescent light of his dodgy motel room, his beer belly stretching the white cotton fabric of his wife-beater vest.

The mental image was enough to make her puke a little in her mouth. But his harsh words forced all that bile back down.

"Stop breathing on me like a creep and say something!"

Creep? Marybeth bristled in her seat. If anything, he was the biggest and nastiest creep of them all. What middle-aged man in his right mind forced another man to hand over his only child as collateral for a gambling debt?

"Listen here," she said icily, annoyed that she actually had to make this ridiculous call. "This is Marybeth, Lionel Tyson's daughter. The woman you were supposed to marry today."

There was a short pause before the ghoul spoke again, "It took you long enough, I suppose. I was beginning to wonder when you actually planned to contact me."

Seriously? Who the hell was this guy? Could he be any more nonchalant over what was clearly a life-changing event for her?

"Since you're calling me mere hours before our happily ever after, I'm assuming you want to wiggle out of our arrangement?"

"Not to wiggle per se," Marybeth said briskly. "But I was hoping we could reach an agreement without involving Home Affairs?"

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line before he delivered his heavy blow. "I don't do last-minute negotiations. 9:00 AM. Strand Street Home Affairs. I'll see you there."

"No!"

"No?" he mocked in a voice eerily similar to hers. "Do you have any idea how much your father owes me? What he offered as collateral is way below my expectations. But since I'm a reasonable man—"

"Way below your expectations? Reasonable man?" Marybeth screeched. "Which part of marrying a total stranger is reasonable to you?"

He kept quiet, evidently mulling over her question. A glimmer of hope sparked to life in Marybeth's heart. She expected him to agree that this whole arrangement was absurd, and that they should call it a day after coming up with a payment plan for her father's debt. But they were clearly not on the same wavelength. He stunned her yet again with his response. "I think every part of it is reasonable, don't you think?"

Tired of their nonsensical chat, Marybeth got to the heart of her call. "What will it take to make this mess go away?"

"You already know the answer, Beth."

"It's Marybeth!"

"Not in my bed; it won't be!"

What? Marybeth was sure her jaw was on the floor of her KIA Picanto. How did they move from her father's debt to his bed?

"Daddy—" A little girl's chirpy voice tinkled through the phone, zapping Marybeth back to life.

She picked up her jaw from the floor. "You have a child?"

"Why do you think I want to marry you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Beth, I don't know how much of the truth your father has told you. But he owes me a shit ton of money and tried to go back on his word. Now, in my world, a man's word is his honour. You working for me as a housekeeper, childminder, and occasional bedmate is the only offer on the table."

Marybeth swallowed hard as she wiped her clammy hands on her pyjama pants. He didn't sound like a dirty old man now. No, this small glimpse of a decisively forceful man he'd just shown her was the stuff boardroom monsters were made of. Not that she'd seen many boardrooms. The closest to one she'd ever been in was the staffroom at Sea Point Primary, where she taught first-graders. But there was absolutely no reason to show this man she was more than a little intimidated by him. So she cleared her throat and shot out her refusal, praying she didn't sound like a blubbering mess. She had to play it cool. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I already have a fulfilling job of enriching young minds. Cleaning up after you isn't my cup of tea."

"I'm sorry; which part of this conversation made you believe I'm open to negotiation?" The man snickered. The audacity of him! He actually laughed at her, and Marybeth wanted so much to repeatedly slam her phone on the unbearably hot dashboard until the annoying sound of his caustic laugh grating through the speaker died.

"Listen, Beth, I can work around your daytime job. But let me explicitly state this: today is happening. If I have to come over there and get you, I will," he continued, each word of his threat laced with amusement.

Marybeth trembled slightly at the mental image his words had painted. She could totally see him with his band of low-level gangsters turning her father's place upside down and dragging her to the Home Affairs office.

"In case you didn't get the full picture yet, let me remind you that I'm the only thing standing between your father and a 7-by-9 jail cell."

It seemed her future husband wasn't done with his threats, and he sounded like he was having way too much fun backing her into a corner. What the hell did she expect, though? She'd learned from past experience with her father that talking sense into anyone over the phone rarely worked. She should have waited until their appointment and ambushed him then—

"Lionel isn't exactly young anymore." Her soon-to-be husband cut through her thoughts. "And with his cirrhosis so out of control—"

"What cirrhosis?" Marybeth asked in a small, trill voice that belonged to one of her terrified kids on their first day of school. This was her first close encounter with the frightening word, her first time learning her father was gravely ill. What else had he hidden from her?

Feeling like someone had pulled the rug from under her feet, and unable to take in simple puffs of air no matter how long she sat there, coaching her lungs to perform the one function they were designed to do, she couldn't breathe. So she fumbled with the switch on the door and rolled down the window. The hot, humid air was a welcome relief from the cold slab of cement in her chest where her heart should have been—

"He didn't tell you?" The man clucked his tongue, his disdain almost palpable as he continued, not in the least bothered that he'd just upended her world with his totally left-field announcement. "Do you honestly want to risk his well-being by sending him to the prison healthcare system?"

Marybeth bit her lower lip, thinking. Besides the fact that it was a serious chronic condition, she didn't know much about cirrhosis. But, would it be such a bad thing to send her father to prison for his crimes? She'd live peacefully for a few months, maybe years even. No more worrying about what trouble he'd gotten himself into. No more being terrified of answering any late-night call, because her mind always jumped to the frightening conclusion that it was THE CALL—the one that would change her status from a child raised by a con artist single father to an orphan in an instant.

"Beth, I take it you're on board?"

"It's Marybeth!" Or Sweet Pea, as her father, with his numerous secrets, liked to call her when he wanted money or some other favour from her. But she didn't tell this shark of a businessman any of it. She doubted he'd care anyway. He'd already decided on 'Beth'.

What was his name again?

She glanced at the paper in her hand and rolled her eyes.

Austin Hawthorne.

A rather fitting name for a smug-sounding bastard.

"Alright then, Beth. I'll see you at 9:00 AM. Don't be late!" Smug Austin said and promptly hung up, leaving her flabbergasted by the whole thing.

How did she lose the upper hand so badly?

"Ugh!" Marybeth let out a silent scream as she scrunched up the appointment slip into a tiny ball and tossed it at her feet.

"It's only a year. Daddy said it's only a year," she consoled herself as she jumped out of the car.

How hard could cleaning after the man and taking care of his daughter be?