“That’s enough,” my grandfather said sharply.
“No, it’s not enough. You don’t get to package this like it’s noble.”
“It is noble,” he replied. “Do you think the Delacroix son has a choice? Do you think their heir asked to inherit blood? This is not a fairy tale. Empires do not survive on feelings.”
“And what happens if I refuse?”
Silence.
Real silence this time.
My father answered.
“You won't.”
“Oh, I will.”
“If you refuse, you’re not just refusing a man. You’re destabilizing two networks. You are inviting war back into neighborhoods that have been quiet because of negotiations already in place.”
“So you’re threatening me with bodies?”
“I am telling you the truth.”
My hands were shaking now, and I hated that they could see it.
“And what exactly does marrying a Delacroix give you?”
“Access,” my uncle said. “Port control. European legitimacy. Federal insulation. A global alliance that makes it very expensive for anyone to challenge us.”
“And what does it give them?”
“A foothold in American territory without resistance,” my grandfather said. “They gain protection here. We gain expansion there.”
I laughed again, but it came out broken.
“Enough of the back and forth. You have to marry, and it’s final,” my father said finally. “You will go to Marseille, France, in a week. You will meet him formally.”
“I am not marrying anybody.”
“This is bigger than you.”
That was it.
That was the crack.
I stormed toward the door before my emotions betrayed me further.
Before they saw tears.
Before they saw fear.
Before they saw that somewhere under the anger, I understood exactly how serious this was.
And that scared me more than anything they said.
I stormed toward the door.
And Zay caught me before I made it three steps outside.
