My feet shift with uncertainty as my eyes dart back to Hazel, watching her watch us. I’ve always been wary of the guys getting close to other women, not because I want them but because there’s this expectation that we can’t be just friends with the opposite sex. I brace myself for the snarky comment, for her to storm off, for Victor to pull away, but instead she just smiles again before lifting her drink to her lips.
My gaze cuts to Victor and he nods like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. For half a second, it feels almost normal, like these women could fit seamlessly into our lives.
I wonder what Robyn would think.
Out of the corner of my eye Hazel flinches, her gaze shifting behind me. I don’t need to look to know it’s him. Roman is standing in the doorway and for one impossible, fragile heartbeat, his eyes are soft. They find mine the way they always do. Instantly. Like there has never been a world where he didn’t know exactly where I was.
Relief touches his face first. Then it disappears as I watch his focus sharpen and his gaze drag over my cheek before stopping at the bruise. I can feel it blooming beneath my skin in ugly purples and blues. Father’s whole hand is probably visible if you look hard enough.
Roman always looks hard enough.
I sigh as Roman strides towards me, his steps quick and purposeful. He shoulders Victor out of the way without breaking stride and Victor just rolls his eyes before moving back to Hazel. The second Roman reaches me, his fingers hook under my chin and tilts my face up. His nostrils flare like an angry dragon as he takes me in. The kitchen falls silent and the low buzz of the fridge is the only sound left in the room.
“He did this to you?” He grits out, his teeth clenched as he angles my face towards the light.
Something about the way he asks makes me bristle. I’m not sure if it’s Father’s words looping in my head or the weight of the future I’ve been handed, but it irritates me that I can’t get a clear thought. I’m always like this around him. Somewhere along the line, I went from being perfectly fine on my own to imagining what it would be like to have him as my husband, but that’s not what I want… is it?
I almost scoff.
What I want doesn’t matter anyway.
It’s either Roman or Fisher.
It’s either death for everyone, or just death for me.
“Well, it wasn’t Felix,” I snap before I can stop myself.
My heart is pounding as I take him in and step back. Roman squints at my body language before flicking his eyes behind us and then grabbing my wrist. It isn’t tight enough to hurt, but it’s firm enough to command. I follow him like a puppy as he pulls me through the house and into his room. His bedroom door slams so hard the walls seem to flinch.
I barely have time to breathe before he’s pacing. Back and forth. Like a caged animal trying to find a weak point in the bars.
“What did he say?” Roman demands.
I rub at my wrist where he held me, more out of stubbornness than pain. “Ro, it’s best if I don’t say it.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
I swallow as I consider lying. Pretending Father didn’t look me in the eye and promise to kill him. But that’s not who I am. I may be many things, but a coward is not one of them. I choke down the ache and let it harden into something sharper as I square my shoulders even though they feel made of lead.
“He said,” I start, my voice coming out steady even though I’m crumbling inside, “that if I don’t marry Fisher… he will kill you.”
Roman stills.
“And?” he says.
“And what?” My brows pull together.
“And what did you say?”
What did I say?
Did I tell him he couldn’t force me into marriage? Did I tell him to go to hell? Or did all the words die from my mouth the second Father looked at me like Roman was already a body?
I can’t even remember.
Did I argue after that, or did something inside me go terrifyingly calm? Did I already know, in that quiet, sickeningway you do when a gun is pressed to your back, that I would marry Fisher?
Because I did.