“I’ll fix this,” I said, waving the folder and going to leave.
“Wait,” she said as I neared the door. I stopped. “You’re not a brood bitch. I’ve never meant for you to feel unappreciated. This has been difficult for everyone.”
I scoffed.
“I know it’s more difficult for you than anyone else—”
“It hasn’t changed a thing for you,” I said.
“You know what will happen if you don’t marry Andrew and continue the line of succession,” she said, her voice losing its edge, its anger.
“You don’t need to worry. I won’t let that happen,” I told her. “You’re lucky I love my nephew,” I added.
“The girl, Harriet,” she corrected, using her name for the first time. “I don’t know what you’re doing with her, but it’s clear you haven’t been the same since you brought her back, and you’ve been worse since the last full moon. I don’t want to see you hurt again.”
“You don’t care about my pain. You’ve made that clear,” I replied.
“You know you can’t risk the arranged marriage with Derecho. It’s been delayed as long as reasonably possible. If Andrew backs out… You need to set aside whatever’s going on with the girl. Once you secure the line of succession, you’ll be free to explore other arrangements. It’s not forever.”
“Nothing is,” I said and left her office.
Chapter nineteen
Waiting in the Cold
My shoulder ached when I lifted my arm above my head, and my fingers trailed along the bruise, the indents left against my neck where Cole had threatened to mark me.
It was exhilarating. Terrifying.
What was I thinking?
Cole wasn’t home. When I entered the kitchen expecting to find her, Chloe waited instead with a white paper bag in her hands.
“This is for you,” she said, holding the bag out.
Chloe hadn’t spoken to me since my first day with Cole, which felt so long ago.
“Thanks,” I said as I took the bag and looked inside.
A cheese and ham croissant.
“Why?” I asked, confused.
Chloe scowled, eyeing my neck. I dropped my hand, suddenly conscious that I was tracing the edges, enjoying the dull pain when I pressed.
“Cole wanted you to have it,” she answered.
“Why?” I asked again.
“If I had to guess, I’d say it has something to do with that,” she answered, looking pointedly at my neck. “But that’s not the real question,” she continued.
“What’s the real question?” I asked.
She stepped closer to me.
“What does this croissant mean? Is it guilt? A bribe?” she asked.
“Guilt? Bribe? What are you on about?” I asked.
