"Victoria," Marcus began, his voice low and even, "you speak of stability as if it's the only compass that should guide us. But what of Isla's own course? Her dreams?"
His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where the ocean met the sky in an endless embrace.
"Don't you think she deserves to navigate her future by her stars, not ours?"
For a moment, Victoria's composure wavered, as though the very cliffs they stood upon trembled beneath her feet. Her eyes, usually so sure and commanding, flickered with something raw and unguarded. It was gone as quickly as it came—like a rogue wave retreating back into the ocean's depths.
“Marcus,” she said, her tone cool but tinged with steel, “I need your help with this matter. I fear that if she… if she falls into the wrong hands, things will go terribly wrong for her." She took a step closer, her eyes locking onto his. "If she follows this direction, our family will have no choice but to cut her off completely. You grew up poor, Marcus. You know what it’s like to have nothing."
Marcus felt the sting of her words, the truth in them. As of right now, his mother was sick, very ill, her heart failing her. And they couldn’t afford her surgery. Marcus was desperate to make enough money to help her.
Victoria knew this. She knew how desperate he was.
He held Victoria's gaze, the silence between them stretching out like the endless ocean before them. A gull cried overhead.
“Think about it, Marcus. Not only money enough to help your mother get her surgery but also to buy her a new house, a better one, instead of that mobile home you grew up in.”
Victoria paced a step ahead, her silhouette sharp against the sky's fading light. She stopped abruptly, turning to face him once more as they reached the end of their path.
"Marcus," she said, her voice carrying a note of urgency that cut through the air like a knife. "You must see the sense in what I'm proposing. It's not just about Isla—it's about all of us. My family and yours. We are at a crossroads, and your union with her could steer us toward calmer waters."
She moved closer, her gaze imploring. The setting sun cast a warm glow on her face, highlighting the earnestness etched into her features. "Isla is lost; she needs you, someone who understands her and loves her. Who better than you?"
Marcus nodded once, a slow, deliberate motion.
"I'll think about it," he said.
His words were sparse, but they carried the weight of a solemn vow, echoing the sense of duty that had always steered his life.
"Thank you, Marcus," Victoria replied, her tone softening. There was a subtle shift in her posture, a release of tension as if she'd been holding her breath, waiting for him to accept the burden of her request. “That’s all I can ask for.”
Chapter32
I had convincedOlivia we needed to go get some food, and she finally agreed to come with me to grab some dinner from the buffet that Clementine had put out.
We stepped into the main house, and the buzz of conversation died like a snuffed candle. The tension hung so thick you could cut it with a knife—no, that's too worn and cozy. It was more like the air turned to glass, fragile and sharp around us.
"Just ignore them. Keep your eyes on the prize, Olivia," I murmured, my words almost a breath as we navigated through the frozen tableau of guests. "Dinner, remember?"
Olivia nodded, her discomfort radiating like heat waves from asphalt. I hated seeing her this way, like a bird clipped of its wings.
"Right," she replied, her voice barely there but edged with steel. "Dinner."
We pushed forward, the silence splintering with every step we took toward the grand dining room. That's when I caught the acid tones slicing across the room—a verbal fight between Beatrice and Victoria.
"You never did understand, did you?" Beatrice spat, her façade of elegance cracking with each syllable.
"Understand? Oh, I understood plenty," Victoria shot back, her voice searing with resentment.
Their words clawed at the air, echoes of old wounds and bitter grievances laid bare.
"Family first, isn't that what you always say?" Victoria's laugh was devoid of humor, a jagged thing that wanted to wound.
"Family," Beatrice scoffed. She stood tall, her spine a rod of iron. "Your actions speak otherwise."
I edged closer, the investigator in me hungry for the unspoken tales between their barbs. My presence went unnoticed, just another shadow amongst many.
"The past is dead, Beatrice. Let it rest," Victoria hissed, her eyes two flints, sparking fury.
