“As I was saying, the Brides are going to be a problem. They’ll all be scheming and sharpening their knives and getting in the way. I need you to convince them that’s not in their best interests.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Very funny.”
“Who’s laughing?”
Does he think I was born yesterday? I frown. “To review, you have two of the Amazon queen’s daughters and her younger brother, two of the Mystic leader’s children and his newest wife. Both of those numbers include the heirs. You don’t need to convince them to do shit. You have the collateral in place to use them against each other. All you have to do is threaten one of their family members within your control and you have a decent chance of ensuring they’re on their best behavior.”
“Yes.” Something like admiration warms his eyes. “But threats have a way of pissing people off. That’s a last resort. I’d prefer they act like good little Brides of their own account.”
It would simplify his life considerably if the Brides decided to play along. I get that. I do. But… “You’re overestimating what I’m capable of. It doesn’t matter that we’re all Brides, which technically puts us in the same boat. They are enemy factions. They’re not going to listen to me.”
“You’ll figure it out.” He grabs his shirt off the floor and pulls it on. “We’ll do Old Town at four. You have until then.” Abel pushes to his feet. “You have full run of the house unless you prove you can’t be trusted with it.”
“Wow, what a gift.”
He grabs me around the waist and hauls me against his chest. Abel tips my chin up and drops his gaze to my lips. “Keep mouthing off and I’m liable to ruin your lipstick.”
Heat surges through me, but I push it down. There’s a time for fucking, and there’s time for business. I can’t let him use his giant cock to distract me. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Because apparently I do.”
He chuckles, an almost rusty sound. I get the impression that Abel Paine doesn’t laugh often, though this hardly qualifies. He gives my ass a squeeze and releases me. “The Brides will be gathered in the library.”
I tense. “If they fuck up my books, I’m going to skin you.”
“You always say the sweetest things, Harlow.” He strides out of the room before I can find something to toss at his head. I find myself smiling a little and shake my head. Liking Abel was never part of the plan, but I can’t deny that he’s got a certain roguish charm.
I walk back into the bathroom to check my lipstick. To give myself time for the ground to steady beneath my feet again. Liking Abel can only get me mired in more trouble than I already am. There’s no guarantee that he will follow through on any promises that reach past the end of the handfasting. It’s just as likely that he plans to use me for the duration and then kick my ass to the curb and take all the power for himself once the faction is stabilized.
Fuck that.
I smooth back my hair and leave my room. As tempting as it is to go straight to the library, rushing in there isn’t going to put me in a position of power. Instead, I detour to the kitchen.
Eli bought me a tea cart and tea set the first year we were together. It’s an old-fashioned tradition, but it’s always delighted me. Maybe because something about it calls to the little girl I used to be, the one who never had the opportunity for innocent fantasies about being a princess or having tea parties. I should have realized when Eli gave me this present that he’d never see me as an equal. He kept trying to give me back the innocence I never had the privilege of experiencing.
That ship has long since sailed. I am who I am. I just wish he’d realized that before it was too late for us.
I close my eyes, hating the burning behind my lids. I hate him and I love him and I’m simultaneously mourning the loss of our relationship and feeling trapped because there is no clean break for us.
The teakettle whistles, signaling that it’s time to get back to reality. I take a slow breath and put together the cart. A careful ploy, and one that might backfire, but it’s the best move.
A few minutes later, I muscle open the door to the library and push the cart through. A wave of noise stops me short. What the fuck?
I take in the scene at a glance. Aisling’s daughters, Monroe and Winry, are sitting next to each other on the couch. Well, Winry’s sitting. Monroe is sprawled out like a jungle cat, all long limbs and dangerously sharp claws, barely sheathed. The Mystic’s youngest wife is perched on a nearby chair, her dark eyes wide in her sweet face. A muscled woman who screams bodyguard stands at her back. I vaguely remember her from last night.