In this creepy dinner for four, Fallon’s stepmother, Black’s fourth wife, sits across from me quietly gulping a martini. Her posture is perfect, but her eyes are dull and glassy. The light behind them has been dimmed.
Maybe she knows her fate. Black will eventually have a fifth wife. She lifts a faint smile my way, but it’s fake.
The dinner is served by two women in white uniforms,each dish plated uniformly with an array of cooked foods. Unlike the horrible Friendsgiving, this meal looks and smells delicious.
Black studies me while cutting into his roasted lamb with surgical precision. “Fallon, are you taking your medication?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she lies easily enough to him.
Good girl.
But I grumble under my breath at the question.
“Do you have a problem, Rhys?” Black calls me on it. “Fallon requires order. Stability. Her medication provides that for her.” His eyes flick to her, then back to me.
Fallon whispers something to the centerpiece.
Her father catches it and hollers. “Stop! Enough. It’s a fucking poinsettia.”
Her jaw trembles, her head bowing like a wilted flower, and my fists tighten beneath the table. For the first time since I walked into this house, I understand that Fallon isn’t fragile by accident. She’s been made fragile. Dosed into obedience. Groomed for control.
I don’t give a fuck what I have to risk to keep her mine.
Battle lines have been drawn.
Chapter 46
Fallon
After dinner, I curl deeper into the armchair and squeeze my eyes shut for a long moment, trying not to spill the cup of coffee I’ve been served. I asked for tea but was given this harsh brew instead.
This grand living room always scared me. It’s too big, like it can swallow me whole. The harsh ceiling lights hurt my eyes.
Dessert trays gleam on the sideboard. Nothing I like except for tiny éclairs dusted with sugared cranberries.
Eyes open again, I stare longingly at Rhys, who sits on the sofa opposite me, legs sprawled, shoulders loose. But I can tell from the stillness in his jaw and the way his eyes keep drifting around the room, he’s wound tight beneath the surface.
He’s angry about Kosta. If Daddy will only see that Rhys can keep me safe as much as Kosta, everything will be wonderful. Kosta has been in jail. Daddy shouldn’t trust him. And he raped me, for crying out loud!
Only, this visit isn’t going the way I planned.
I want to crawl across the carpet and press my cheek to Rhys’s knee, beg him to talk to me, to thaw the ice he’s wrapped around his heart out of respect for my father.
Daddy thinks I’m crazy already. If he sees me crawling on the carpet, he’ll up my meds and pay a man to shove them down my throat every morning. Instead, I pop a sugared cranberry into my mouth and try to pretend I’m not drowning in pain and loneliness.
The shadow of a man behind me darkens my chair. I expect it’s another servant, another silent, faceless body doing a thankless job. But my father rises from the sofa with a smile bigger than I’ve ever seen.
Curious, I turn around to see what has my father so enthralled. The crystal spoon for the coffee I don’t drink clinks against my cup. My fingers go numb.
No.
No, no, no.
“Kosta,” Daddy says warmly. “Finally.”
Rhys ’s feet hit the floor, and his hands curl into fists like he’s ready to launch off the sofa and beat Kosta to a pulp.
The man who raped me steps into the living room with a confident prowl like he knows one day he’ll own everything. That’s the only reason he wants to marry me.
