Page 51 of Arrow

“You want a leash, Harlowe? You’ll get your wish.”

Letting go of my hair, he grabbed my coffee from the table, and took a swig, leaving the ghost of his mouth on the lid. I shivered and hated myself for the thrill. Arrow wiped his hand on my shoulder, shaking crumbs onto my jacket, then straightened, satisfied.

“Get whatever defiance you want out of your system before the wedding.”

He flicked at my bruised wrist, a cool touch that made my whole body flash hot, and stalked out, just like that, leaving me alone in a donut shop with the scent of defeat smoldering in the air. I stared at the half-eaten maple bar, the bite marks ragged, and realized my hands were shaking.

The student waiter peeked out, wide-eyed.

I bared my teeth in something like a grin. “You got a doggie bag?”

He nodded, diving under the counter, and shoved a crumpled paper sack at me. I tossed the rest of the donut inside, torn between laughter and murder. I was a Virelli, after all—vengeance was supposed to taste better than sugar.

But Arrow was right, even if it burned to admit it.

All the running, the scraping for freedom, was just rehearsal for the real humiliation.

* Princess

14

FOURTEEN

HARLOWE

Frank was waiting in the foyer when I got home, with his beefy arms folded. “Come,” he said. “Your father wants to see you.”

Too tired for theatrics, I followed. Giovanni Virelli sat in his study, not looking up as I entered. The gold fountain pen marked his place in the ledger—pages that bled names, not currency.

“Sit.”

The smells of ink and old leather were so familiar. For a second, I was eight again, the naïve child with a secret stash of lemon drops in my lap, learning to count debts.

Giovanni set his pen aside. “What is this I’ve been hearing about you being exceptionally difficult for your fiancé?”

I shrugged. “He was bored, so I made things interesting.”

Two knuckles rapped the blotter. Sharp. I flinched.

“This is not interesting, Harlowe. It makes you stupid, and it makes me look like a fool. I will not have my daughter jeopardizing the deal I have made with the Romanovs.”

I smiled, gritting my teeth. “You made a deal with the monsters that killed my brother. You did, Father. Not me.”

“You’ve become too defiant—too out of control.”

There was a familiar tick in his jaw, the one I recognized as the prelude to violence. He moved from behind his desk, and the sound of his hand across my cheek was immediate. My head snapped to the side, cheek burning, eyes watering from the impact. Copper flooded my mouth. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it, but it landed differently now.

When he caught my chin in his fist, I met his stare.

“You’ll behave until your wedding,” Giovanni hissed. “After that, you’re his problem. But until then, you are still my daughter, and I will not have the city questioning my control.”

Giovanni released my chin. Instead of leaving, he pressed his lips to my temple, a gesture more priestly than fatherly, and straightened the lapel of my shirt, careful to avoid the marks he’d just left.

“Do not embarrass this family with your base appetites or your schoolgirl rebellion. I raised you better.”

I almost laughed in his face. My loyalty, my wounds, my filth, every last part of me was his handiwork. But I just nodded and wrenched myself out of his grip, ignoring the way my skin spasmed where he’d held me.

“Can I go?” I asked.