Revenge Marriage With My Boss

Isabella's POV

"Someday, you will have a husband to woo-someone to take care of. It's important to have proper table manners to impress your husband," my mother said.

"But, Mother, that is not right. At least from the princesses I have watched on Disney. The women are the ones wooed by the men. So shouldn't he woo me before we're married?"

She softly laughed. She taught me that as a proper lady, I am not supposed to open my mouth and let out a loud laugh. "Maybe. But not in our world my darling daughter. In this world, you must prepare yourself so that you won't have time for romance or Prince Charming. If a marriage must happen, then it will, and it is your job to be a good wife and represent this family."

"What if I don't like him?"

"I didn't care for your father either. But we learned to love each other. Aren't we happy?" I looked at her as I remembered about the way they danced in the kitchen, and my Father always bought her flowers and pieces of jewelry.

"Yeah. I guess. I want what you and Father have, Mother"

She chuckled. "You will be happy too. Even if the way you get there isn't how you planned it."

--

"I miss you Mom," I whispered to the picture in my wallet as I snap back from my a past memory with my mother entering my car to drive home. My father had called for me at the last minute and I had to go because I had missed him a lot.

"Welcome Home Miss Isabella," Shiro, the house butler said as I got down from my car.

"We had missed you badly."

"Thank you. I have missed you too Shiro" I chuckled as I walked into the home where I had grown up.

"Hey, Mom," I whispered to the picture on the wall as I entered the living room.

Every time I came home, I am reminded of her as her memories wrapped around me like the warm hugs she gave me every chance she got. Plus my father had made a huge standing portrait that covered an entire wall in honour of her.

"Can I take your purse?" Irene, my father's maid, asked coming out of nowhere as I was distracted by the flowers on the center table.

"Of course, thank you. How are your siblings Irene!" I said as I passed off the small bag but held on to the leather folder I'd brought with me,

She smiled lightly as she answered. "They are fine miss. They send their regards as to your gifts last time."

"Oh that's nothing. Do greet them for me on your day off." I said taking the first step on the stairs.

"Will do, Miss."

I looked back as she left taking in the view of the black and white marble tiled foyer that had been my only home outside of college. Despite my mother having passed away ten years ago, the bright sunset of yellow daises she always loved decorated the center table in the foyer.

"You were always your mother's favorite, asides from the flowers" my father's deep voice greeted me from the stairs.

"I was her only child so I was her favourite" I said chuckling at my father's words" but this were her favourite flowers, Father." I said as I watched the man who loved me and did everything for me even becoming my personal playground descend the stairs.

He wore a dark coloured shirt, something about being dressed for anything, as always, but since it was Saturday, he had on no tie. I mean a man has to relax a little especially on weekends.

"She always claimed every room especially the living room needed a burst of color to liven it up a bit as it is where we receive important guests."

"Even though she picked out the color scheme for the interior designs in the first place," I said, laughing.

He laughed with me, closing the distance to pull me into a hug. "Uh, Isabella. Its lovely to have you home, Daughter. This place hasn't been like those days without you and your mother. I wished you'd stay."

I bit back my initial retort and forced a smile. "Father, we've talked about this. I like being on my own but I promise to visit regularly."

"Just like your mother, So independent, she would be proud of you Mi bebe. (my baby)"

At that, a real smile stretched my lips. "Thank you Papa."

"Although, I'm not sure what she would say about your attire," he grumbled as he took in my fashion.

And just like that, the smile faded. "There's nothing wrong with what I'm wearing Father."

He scrunched his nose in distaste, taking in my ripped black cardigan, orange camisole, and pearl earrings paired with my cut off jean trousers.

He looked at me shaking his head again. "Has college made you forget your appearances, what your mother and I has instilled in you. Everyone is always watching, Isabella."

"It would have just been nice to be away in Chicago. To just be me and not worried about being on my best behavior for the press or you in New York.

"Businesses are always waiting for the Rossi's to slip up, and a family's reputation is just as important as the company's in the oil industry. I have always told you and so did your mother - We must lead by example, always."

"Yes, sir," I responded dutifully. They were the same words that had been drilled into my head since I was little. As one of the top oil companies from an overly traditional Italian family, I was always reminded of my place-of my role in this world.

"Now, come." My father gestured to me as he brought out his hand. "Let's go and eat. I had asked the chef Roberto to make your favorite."

"Really. He made Mama's stuffed chicken casserole?" I asked like a little kid getting her first present for christmas.

His smile was the only confirmation I needed, and I almost forgot my lady manners to run to the dining room. We sat at our long wooden dining table that had another of my moms presence - the yellow daisies at the center, and Irene poured his glass of wine before looking to him for approval to fill mine.

Sometimes I get frustrated about all the traditions and etiquette that has been in my family for generations. It hunged around my neck like a tight cow's bell, but it had been my life for so long, I'd grown used to it almost seeing it as normal.

"How is work, Papa? I missed you at my graduation" I said after he'd taken his first sip.

He winced, focusing his attention on the food being brought out by Roberto and Irene rather than me. "I explained that. Work has been hectic, and I had an opportunity for a meeting I couldn't pass up."

I was not surprised by his response. I was used to not having him at most of my school functions. Mother mostly did all that but now she was gone, it was hard. Not having him there had been hard but I expected him to show.

I should be grateful to him for letting me go to college not even in the states but in Chicago as a way to check a box-to keep me busy and brag to his colleagues about his beautiful and intelligent daughter. Not because he ever intended on me working at Rossi Industries.

As his daughter, I hated what my role would be. my role would be a figurehead-a socialite who sat on charity boards and planned events. My role as a woman in this family would be to marry a man who would benefit our company-one chosen by my parents.

"Is everything okay in the company?" I asked.

I loved our company. I loved the oil industry. Add in that it was one of my last ties to my mother, and it was no wonder I went to school for a bachelor degree in business marketing. I had planned to get an engineering degree but I had knowledge in Earth Science and no knowledge in business marketing which cleared my choice for the degree.

"Nothing you need to worry your pretty brain about, Isabella." The response never changed, and I never pushed the boundaries-until now.

With a deep breath, I opened the black file I had held on to earlier on, extracting a thick, cream paper. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that Father."

I slid the paper across the slick wood and held his questioning stare, my chin high. He looked down, and his curiosity shifted to a scowl.

"What is this Isabella?"

"My resume. I wanted to give it to you personally, although I submitted one to HR in the company also."

"You turned in a resume to Peter?" he asked.

"Yes."

"He never mentioned it to me."

"Well, that's because I begged him not to and look over it with fairness." His scowl weighed down my confidence, but I pulled my shoulders back and pushed on.

"As you can see, I graduated with Summa Cum Laude (highest academic distinction). I partook in multiple business and engineering societies, even starting a new one that has been very succ-"

"Isabella Mary Rossi," he cut me short, calling my full name, shaking his head like he disapproved of my speech. "Why are you doing this Daughter?"

"Because I want to work at our company. I'm smart-an asset."

"Yes, dear. You're an asset not for your degree but because you will marry a man who will carry this company into the future."

I looked at him and wondered if Mama was alive if she'd have stroked my father's tie and told him to give me a chance. She'd always reminded me of what my future held, but she also pushed me to achieve more.

"Father, I can still do that, but maybe I can do more too," I argued gently. "I have time, and I can help with the business until the time comes for me to marry."

My father rubbed his hands together and blew some air into it, a clear sign his stress was increasing as his patience decreased. Not that he ever lost his temper with Mama and me, but I knew it happened, and after Mama passed, he rubbed his hands together more than he didn't.

"Isabella," he looked at me as he half-sighed and half-warned. "I've hired a new CFO"

The seemingly random announcement had alarms whispering in the back of my head. But my father rarely spoke business with me, so I grasped on, hoping I had won the argument as I absorbed every word. "Already? Dante resigned no less than two weeks ago. What about the board?"

"The board approved."

"Okay. It is settled then. Who is he?"

"Jakob Kristoff."

"You mean your friend Mr. Kristoff? His son?"

"Yes, I believe you have met him before. You were very young though but it was at an event."

I knew Mr Kristoff from one of my father's company events but I vaguely remembered his son. I did remember him holding hands with a man in his twenties when I was just barely in my teens. The man stood close to Mr Kristoff and my father. He had this cold aura as he did not smile much at all, and when he did, it never met his eyes, but he seemed polite. We all did in this industry. But no one is to be trusted.

Even if that person has been your Father's closest friend for years.