But those moments should not be fleeting, and they were so few and far between when I needed them.
So I am unmoved.
I wrench him back to our battle.
The question whispers from me, “Why does Dray want it kept secret from me?”
“I asked him that myself.” Oliver reaches for a fresh cut of lamington cake, then turns his frown back to me. “He told me he doesn’t trust you. That’s all he said about it.”
“Doesn’t trust me…” I echo the words, but they feel empty, hollow.
Oliver adds his thoughts, “You are theatrical no matter where you are, no matter the audience. You can’t be trusted not to overreact—and ruin your final months at Bluestone or affect Dray’s.” Between his lightly pinched fingers, not a crumb falls from the cake. “These coming months are challenging, and perhaps he doesn’t have the time to worry about your tantrums while he prepares for the examinations.”
The tickle of a tear runs down my cheek.
It’s not thedeal with the problem laterapproach that my brother and Dray have taken.
It’s that my own brother looks me in the eye and tells me that I am being sold off to a villain, and that any upset I might feel about that is a tantrum, and that I am so fucking insignificant that my feelings and my existence is an inconvenience to them.
I am a nuisance.
That’s what it is.
At the core of it all, I am just a nuisance.
And my brother, mytwin, speaks about it all so clinically. “I’m not aware of his plans for you,” he adds, and finally takes a small bite from the spongey lamington, the crimson jam, the cream layered through it. “I don’t know how he’s going to be with you this semester, if he will court you or ignore you. But the rumour is out there. So one might guess that the rest of your time at the academy will be… different.”
Different to the past ten years of my life.
Different to any existence I’ve ever known at the academy.
It’s a bitter truth.
My mouth twists, wet. “A taste of life on Dray Sinclair’s arm.”
Oliver doesn’t match my bitterness.
He lifts his chin, and the sudden resemblance to Father is striking. “You are allowed out of your chamber now. Father and I will be in the dungeons until midnight. You won’t cross paths today.”
The answer I give is a frown, slick with tears.
Oliver’s smile is tight. “Someone has to make your dowry. And since Dray is your betrothed, your dowry has doubled.”
I huff a whooshing breath.
Who gives a fuck about a dowry?
This is my life.
I don’t care if Oliver and Father exhaust themselves into comas trying to make up the extra gold.
I care that no one else cares.
That’s all I want.
A little love. A little support. A little understanding.
Maybe I’ll call Nonna again.
