When I really meanabsolutely not.
“Good.” Arsen doesn’t smile. He shows no hint that he’s actually pleased. “This was an enlightening conversation. I want you toknow that I’ll be seeing you again. I’ll have jobs for you. I’m sure you’ll be able to handle them.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
Except it will. It’ll be a huge fucking problem. Enormous on scales I can’t comprehend. But I keep myself composed the best I can.
“Good luck today.” Arsen walks past me and pauses at the door. “Just so you know, I like Tallie. She’s a sweet girl. I don’t have to explain what would happen if she were unhappy, correct?”
“I’ll take care of her.”
Arsen leaves the room and it’s like the air comes rushing back. I lift my paper cup to my lips and drink, staring grimly at my reflection in the mirror. This fucking tuxedo, my hair combed back, my eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. What’s going to happen to that man? How am I going to let a girl like Tallie into my life without hurting her?
That’s an easy answer: I won’t.
But I’m a liar. Always have been. And my first mark has always been myself.
I can say Tallie means nothing, that she’s only an obstacle in the way of my true goal, that when I’m free she won’t matter anymore. None of this will hurt her, not seriously anyway. She doesn’t want me, not any more than I want her.
So why was I at her house last week? Why did I sneak into her room? Why did I give her that damn ring?
Why did I kiss her?
To keep her from asking questions.
That’s becoming my move.
Or it’s turned into a decent excuse.
Tallie’s pretty face rolls through my mind as I nearly crush my cup. I’m busy obsessing about my future wife when the door opens again, and this time, my father’s standing on the threshold, not coming any closer, like an invisible barrier’s keeping him out.
I watch him mutely for a long moment, not sure what to say. I haven’t seen my father in months. He made it clear that I’m not wanted anymore, that I’m only a liability, that my failures have done nothing but embarrass his precious McGrath clan. My father’s a hard man, a lot like Arsen, and it was painful growing up under his roof.
But I’ve grown, and his roof isn’t mine anymore.
“What are you doing here?” The words wrench themselves out, mostly because I know Dad will stand there and stare at me until I speak first. It’s some fucking weird power thing he does.
“My son’s getting married. I came to make sure you were really going to show up.”
“Why does everyone think I’m going to run?”
“Because that’s what you do, isn’t it?” Dad’s fingers grip onto the edge of the frame as he leans closer, but his feet don’t move. “I want to be clear about something. I didn’t request this marriage.”
“I never thought you did.”
“I actively fought against it, but Arsen was insistent.”
“That’s real nice. Thanks for the help.”
“Don’t be a fool, boy,” Dad snaps sharply, and for one brief moment, I’m a kid again and he’s a giant with a belt in his hand. Old scars, long faded, pulse with bloody pain and naked fear. “Whatever you think this is, you’re wrong. The Sarkissians don’t do charity. Not even with some second-tier worthless girl cousin. No, they’re going to use you up and spit you out, and I won’t stand in their way. That’s what I’m here to tell you. As far as I’m concerned, all we share is a name.”
“And if I had my way, we wouldn’t share even that.”
“Don’t embarrass me today, boy. You’ll regret it, I swear?—“
“You don’t get to come in here after months of silence and threaten me.” The anger spills out before I can bottle it again. The heat’s always inside me lurking beside my bones, and I’ve gotten very good at keeping it leashed and silent, but this is too much. The fury burns, a forest fire of memory turning my veins to ash. Hate courses down into my heart, and there’s a reason I’m broken, there’s a reason all I know is thieving and lying and sneaking around. I am what I’ve been made, and this is the hammer that smashed me to the anvil, this bastard of an old man standing here like he gets to tell me a damn thing anymore.
“You’re still a McGrath despite everything.” His lips curl with distaste. “What you do reflects on me. Remember that. Whatever the Sarkissians want, you’ll give them.”
