“Mon petit ange.” She pulls back to cradle my cheeks with her frail hands. “Although you’re not little anymore. I should start calling you mon grand.”
“That’s right. Have you seen these muscles?” I grin, and this time it’s not automatic or forced.
“Oh, I have. You’ve grown so much, and I wasn’t there.” A sob tears from her throat.
“Mother…?”
“Charlotte.” My father is by her side in a second, wrapping a hand around her shoulder. It’s his way to control her, to have her act the way he likes.
As if he pushed a button, she straightens, wiping under her eye with her thumb. “It must be exhaustion from the flight.”
Or your husband’s controlling fucking nature.
“I’ll freshen up before we receive the guests. I’m so happy you decided to do this.” She rises up on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek, her lips trembling before she pulls away. “I won’t leave this time, mon chou, I promise.”
“Charlotte.” Father warns her in his usual Do it my way or I’ll throw you in the highway tone.
“I’ll be right back, mon amour.” She kisses him on the cheek, too, before heading to the stairs.
Father motions for Lars to follow her, and he does so with a nod. The rest of the staff scatter like ants with another motion of his finger.
Mon amour.
That word leaves a sour taste in my mouth. How can he be her love? He’s her tyrant.
The Tyrant of the Estate.
I’ve been trying to convince Cole to write that book. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Dad continues watching my mother until she disappears up the stairs. When he finally focuses on me, his blank expression is back.
I smile. “Hey, Father.”
That’s what’s expected of me: a smile, stellar behaviour, and to shut the fuck up.
Silence remains for a few seconds. My smile doesn’t falter or even flinch. I’m a pro, after all.
“I heard you know your fiancée from school.” He jumps straight to the heart of it in Edric’s typical direct style.
“Which one are we talking about? There have been a few.”
His expression remains the same. “Teal Van Doren.”
“That one. Hmm, I’m sure you know she’s not Ethan’s real daughter, right? With him having Steel as his last name and her being a Van Doren and all that? Are we even sure she’s not from the family of that German Nazi who killed my great-grandfather in World War II?” I motion behind him then make a cross, speaking in a dramatic tone. “Rest in peace. You served our country well.”
“That’s my great-grandfather, not yours, and he died at seventy from pneumonia.”
“Oh, then maybe it’s the one behind me?”
“How about you stop beating around the bush. Do you have something to say to me, Ronan?”
“No?” That wasn’t supposed to come out as a question.
Lars, you fucking fool.
If he mentioned anything about the partying, I’m spiking his precious tea with cheap stuff from the grocery store that his snobby side hates so much. Let’s see how he reacts when I ruin his stash.
“No objections about the engagement?” My father presents it as a question but is, in fact, making it clear that he’ll take no bloody objections.