Prince Player(132)

They don’t ask me what I want, of course. That doesn’t matter. I’m a Tillman daughter, and that means I’ll do my duty for the family and marry a good rich boy. That’s just what I was born for and what I’m expected to do.

I didn’t get to go to college. I went to an elite prep school, of course, since my parents wouldn’t dream of sending me anywhere else. But while most of my other classmates got to go off to universities and colleges, I was forced to stay home with my family. My place isn’t at a university, my mother said, but marrying an eligible man. He can worry about taking care of me.

Sometimes, I dream about leaving. I dream about running away from my multi-story apartment and living in some tiny shack out in the woods. I’d learn to cook and clean and grow things. It’s a childish dream, I know, and it’ll never happen. But it just speaks toward how much I want to get away from my family and become my own person.

“You can do this,” my mother says to me as the man with the clipboard motions for me to follow him. “Don’t embarrass me.”

Her final words ring in my ears as I’m ushered away from her. Of course that’s all she cares about, not how I feel. I was never asked if I wanted to be auctioned off like some whore or piece of cattle. I was never asked if I wanted to go on a date with a random rich man. My parents felt this was a good thing for me to do, and so I’m doing it.

The stage is brightly lit and I can barely see out into the crowd. The applause is loud and I’m nervous as I step onto the little taped mark where I’m supposed to stand. I don’t know what to do with my arms, and so I wave a little bit, smiling nervously.

The bidding begins, and people are actually putting up money. I didn’t expect that. I never fit in with the other ultra wealthy and privileged girls. I tried to make friends at school, but I couldn’t care less about the trivial things that they were interested in. I don’t like riding horses and I have no interest in endlessly discussing boys and how much their families are worth. I like to read and paint, but nobody ever asked me about that. I have friends, of course, but nobody that close, and anyway they’re all gone off to college now.

I look out into the crowd, and suddenly I spot Milo. He’s sitting toward the front, grinning at me, as he raises his paddle to bid. I keep smiling, feeling mortified and embarrassed out on the stage. I hate being looked at like I’m just a thing to be bought and sold, but I can’t do anything about it. I can’t embarrass my family by backing out now.

Milo bids again and suddenly I’m struck by the intense desire to run. I don’t want to go out on a date with him. He’s close to my father and brothers, and he’s always around the house. He’s short, barely a couple inches taller than me, with thinning hair and this goofy smile. My mother once said he looks like his family, inbred and without manners. I hate the tone of that joke, but there’s some truth to it.

Milo bids again, a pretty large amount, and I feel intense dread deep inside of me. I expect him to win, when suddenly someone else bids, someone in the back.

I strain to see, but the lights are too bright. I can’t spot him. But I do see Milo’s face and he’s angry.

They get into a bidding war. I can’t believe the numbers they’re throwing out, and Milo is getting more and more angry. It gets all the way up to one hundred thousand dollars, more than anyone else has gone for, and I can see that Milo’s anger is shifting into shock.

I nearly faint when the man in the back bids half a million dollars. Milo’s expression is absolutely priceless, though, and I already know my parents are furious. The hostess counts down, and the strange man wins. I try to catch another glimpse of him, but I can’t see, and the room falls into an uproar of excitement. I’m ushered off the stage, and into the warm embrace of my family.

Except there’s nothing warm about my mother.

“That bastard,” she says, furious. “Who does he think he is?”

“Low class,” my brother Michael says. He’s my eldest brother and we’re not close.

“Poor Milo,” my mother says. “He really wanted to win. Did you see him bidding, Sadie? Milo has his eye on you. I think you should be proud.”

“Sure,” I say to her.

“Half a million though, sis. That’s pretty fucking good.” Peter grins at me. He’s only two years older than me.

I laugh and shrug. “I guess I’m worth it.”

“Yeah, right.” He makes a face. “You’re two hundred thousand, at best.”

“Cut it out, you two,” my mother snaps, and Peter grins at me.