Arranged

"Emila!! Get down here, right now," my step-father shouted, anger lacing his voice.

I dashed down the stairs, not wanting to upset him by making him wait for me. Bad things happened when he got upset.

"Yes, father?" I asked, breathless from the sudden running.

"What the bloody hell took you so long, I've been calling your name for the last ten minutes," he shouted.

"I'm sorry, father, I'll try my best not to make you wait again," I murmured softly, lowering my gaze.

"You better not," he glowered before continuing, "Anyways, go change into something presentable, I have guests coming over in half an hour, and make sure to make tea and snacks, and there is no room for mistakes," he ordered before dismissing me by turning his head back to the TV.

I nodded silently and went in the kitchen to prepare tea and snacks for my father's guests. Then hurried over to my room to change into some presentable clothes. I sprinted back down to the kitchen to begin setting up the trays for the guests. I wanted everything to be perfect for the guests, as I didn't want my step-father to punish me.

The door bell rang. I was about to go and open the door but my father beat me to it and invited the guests inside, directing them in the living room.

I went back to the kitchen to make sure everything was ready for the guests. Placing everything on the trays, I walked to living room just as my step-father called my name.

Before placing the trays on the table I swept my gaze over to the guests that had just arrived.

There were five people in total, four men and one woman. The woman looked to be in her late forties with shiny, golden hair and soft blue eyes. Her skin was fair and her nose straight, her lips curved in a beautiful smile.

The men on the other hand exuded power and authority. The man sitting next to the woman looked to be in his early fifties. He had black hair with streaks of gray in it. His face was chiseled with hard green eyes, a proud nose and thin lips.

I glanced to my left to see the other three men sitting on the couch. All three of them had an air of danger surrounding them. The man sitting on the extreme left looked to be in his late twenties with sharp blue eyes and thick black hair. He had a proud nose and plump lips. The man sitting next to him had blue eyes and golden hair with the same proud nose and full lips as the man next to him. The last of the three men had green eyes and dark hair; his nose was a little crooked but he shared the same full lips as the other two. All three of them were the definition of handsome and sexy.

"Emila, sit down and meet the guests,"my father told me. I did as he said and sat on a love seat.

"Hello," I muttered softly.

"This is Arthur Smith," my father gestured to the older man, "and that's his wife, Marie," he gestured to the woman, "and these are their three sons, Jacob, Joshua and Jeremy." he gestured to each guy individually as he introduced them. I was highly intimidated by every single person and didn't want to talk to them.

"Your father and I have been business partners for nearly six years," Mr. Smith spoke, his voice deep, "And I can say that I'm glad that I decided to do business with him." he smiled.

"Yes and now I'm glad that we would finally become more than just business partners and friends." my eyebrows furrowed at hearing my step-father say that they would be becoming more than friends. How would they do that?

"I think Emila doesn't understand what you mean, Steve; why don't you tell her," Mr. Smith said to my father who nodded with a smile on his face.

"I'll be glad to; Emila, Arthur and I have agreed to marry you and Jacob within a week," my step-father informed me.

My heart stopped at hearing what my father just told me. How could he do this? How could my step-father arrange my marriage without asking me? Without telling me? Did I mean nothing to him?

Of course you mean nothing to him, Emila; you never did.

Despite not wanting to, I forced a smile, not letting anyone know that I was upset over the news.

"Well Arthur, you're going to have dinner with us, Emila is a very good cook." this was the first time my father had complimented me. His words should've make me happy, but all they did was have tears prick my eyes. I knew my step-father only complimented me to protect his own reputation and image.

"Of course we'll have dinner," Mr. Smith said with a smile.

The tears refused to stay confined in my eyes. Before a single tear could fall, I stood up.

"I better go make dinner," I murmured softly, wasting no time in scurrying out of the living room and into the kitchen, finally letting the tears fall.

What had my step-father gotten me into?