“I haven’t had time to go to the market.” She didn’t bother to raise her voice, pulling a piece of meat off her fork sharply before chewing.
“Is your butcher out of town?” The tone seemed ... mocking.
Petre refused to answer, becoming fixated on her greens and sawing away at the fillet.
“Or can you not afford such a delicacy anymore?”
Petre’s plate cracked; her mother flinched.
Petronille threw her cutlery down and kicked the chair out, emitting a horrid screeching sound as the legs dragged against the flooring, spending not a second more looking at us before she tossed her cloth napkin to the floor.
Then she left me with them.
Why must she make every gathering so painfully awkward? Now I’m stuck with ...
“I suppose her temper hasn’t dampened.” Her father sighed, throwing his napkin beside his plate. Even with the attempt to salvagethe awkward encounter, there was amusement in his tone, and it even brought a slight smile to her mother’s face as she finished off her glass.
Something about the way they pushed her made me lose all appetite, like watching a cat play with something half dead already.
Hopefully these visits would become less frequent, for the sanity of both of us.
Instead of a ballerina, Petre should have been a magician. She was good at disappearing, or just hiding. Or it could be the gratuitously large house with all too many rooms.
The staff was cleaning up the dining room, which meant our visit was coming to an end. I made my best effort to find her. It was bad enough being alone with her parents; the least she could do was help me entertain them for a little before we took our leave to avoid being accused of being uncouth.
Each door opened into a completely different scene, a new theme and display, lush with furniture that I suspected hadn’t been used yet. I had worked on this house since they’d begun building it. They had wide plans for entertainment, and were prepared for hosting and other things I didn’t have a clue about. I still couldn’t wrap my head around having so many rooms and places to be. I would get tired just trying to find the water closet at night.
I propped the last door open to find her mother tenderly clutching a glass of harder liquor. She tipped her head over and grinned at me.
“Arkady.” She sounded almost relieved, patting the sofa next to her. “Come. Do you enjoy bourbon?”
I glanced over my shoulder before entering the parlor. This room had a theme of deep greens and creams among a medium-stain wood. I sat in a chair rather than next to her. I was afraid she’d sink her claws in and take a bite.
“Have you seen Petronille?” I cleared my throat as a glass was shoved into my hand.
She patted my hands to make sure I wouldn’t drop the crystal, nodding as she leaned back on the arm of the sofa. “She’s around, I’m sure.”
The burning scent of the bourbon pinched my nose as I lifted the glass.
“You would think she would have outgrown these fits once she was ready to be a wife.” She sighed, taking a long sip of her drink. “I guess it falls on me for not house-training her.”
The way she spoke about her daughter was jarring. It was as grating as chalk across slate, a kettle screeching in my ear. Family wasn’t something I was comfortable speaking about due to lack of experience, but I couldn’t imagine what would possess someone to say something so demeaning, like she were some house pet.
From what I knew about my bride, she wasn’t one to listen to or obey anything she didn’t want to be a part of. She was stubborn, tightly wound—but even I wouldn’t describe her this way. So why in God’s name did she stay around them?
No matter, we would make it a point to ween her off whatever she still needed from this particular familial connection. They weren’t good for her.
“You know, this is your fault too.”
My eyes snapped to Mrs. De Villier, but she was already sneering. “Excuse me?”
“I told her to pick a strong man, one with a firm hand,” she scoffed. “Oh, I had great suitors lined up for her. Several, actually. A duke, a statesman, those of the entrepreneurial spirit. I even considered the coroner, since I never knew how many Petre would chase away.”
My grip on my glass was the only thing keeping me from lunging at the hag.
“I shouldn’t have been so hasty. I just wanted her to be a wife, to come into her own, my sweet Petre. So when she said,I want the grimy simpleton who crafted the mantelpiece, who was I to deny her?”
My jaw nearly cracked from how hard I was biting my tongue.
