“I’m not judging you, Princess,” I said, cutting her off. “I’m just tryna get the blueprint to shit.”
She looked at me again, eyes a little softer now, more curious than defensive. “I don’t love him,” she said. “Never even wanted to marry him. But it was better than going to war with my father… or so I thought.”
“And now?”
“Now I’d rather burn it all down than play pretend again.”
I watched her for another second, then I shifted the question where it had been sitting the whole time. “And your father?”
“What about him?” she asked, tone flat.
I leaned forward slightly. “You love him or fear him?”
That got her attention. “Those aren’t supposed to be the same thing.”
“They usually are,” I said. “In families like yours.”
She didn’t answer right away. She picked up her fork, took a bite she didn’t need, then set it back down. “I love the version of him he used to be. Or maybe the version of him I used to think he was.”
“And the real one?”
Her jaw tightened. “The real one is always negotiating.”
I nodded. “So nothing with him is free.”
“Not affection. Not protection. Not even silence,” she said. “Everything comes with terms.”
“That’s why you don’t trust easily,” I said.
She glanced at me. “You think you know me now?”
“I think I know where the cracks came from,” I said. “A man who only shows up when it benefits him will teach his kids how to disappear emotionally.”
Her throat bobbed when she swallowed. “He calls it leadership,” she said. “Sacrifice. God’s will. But it always somehow costs me more than it costs him.”
“And when you don’t comply?”
She let out a quiet laugh. “Then I’m ungrateful. Difficult. Disobedient.”
“Dangerous words to put on a woman,” I said.
Her eyes stayed on mine this time. “Especially when she starts thinking for herself.”
I tilted my head. “You ever stand up to him?”
“I was getting ready to,” she said without hesitation. “And then… I ended up here.”
I watched her closely. “I’ve met his type,” I said. “Niggas who hide behind titles so nobody looks too close and see they really ain’t shit.”
Princess studied me for a long moment. “So what does that make you?”
“A nigga who sees it all and moves accordingly.” I finished off my drink, stood up, and walked over to pour another. Silence sat heavy after that. Turning, I held her gaze. “Let me be clear about something, Princess Montgomery.”
She looked up. “And what’s that?”
“I don’t move like your father. I don’t trade people, and I don’t confuse control with care.”
Her eyes searched my face, cautious but curious. “And yet,” she said quietly, “I’m still in your house and can’t leave.”
