“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.
Not that I would make any.
I know what’s expected of me. When the fish is caught in the net, the smart ones don’t move; if they do, they exhaust what remains of their energy and die faster.
Now, if I store that energy, I get to bargain for greater things. I learnt that by myself, by the way; I didn’t need Cole’s philosophy books.
The moment I was born and my parents decided there was no need for a second child — fuck you, unborn second child, by the way — I was raised to know my duties as the sole heir.
I can do this the easy way, or I can clash with my father and cause my mother pain.
I would never do that — be the source of Mum’s pain, I mean. She’s one of the few reasons why I stay afloat, and I can’t make things ugly for her.
Marriage of convenience is first on the list of mandatory shit to do. I’ll do it one day, as expected of me.
Only that day isn’t today, or even fifteen years from now.
That’s why my little toy will play her part and say no during tonight’s dinner.
I’ve already sent her an instigation she’d be a fool to refuse.
Teal isn’t the first I’ve secretly convinced to refuse the arranged marriage on my behalf. Let’s just say Dad has been trying to set me up with his associates’ daughters for years.
I told Lars Dad is like one of those bored housewives with nothing better to do than play matchmaker. Lars wasn’t amused — not that he ever is.
Teal will bow down like all of them.
My grin widens, and he frowns. I wonder if he knows the type of fuckery my smile hides.
“Not at all, Father. Everything will be perfect.”
4
Teal
“We can turn around and leave this instant, Teal.” Dad clutches me by the elbow, causing me to stop in front of the double golden doors of the Astor mansion.
Elsa, Knox, and Agnus stop, too. My brother takes the chance to smooth his denim jacket and hair. Elsa gives me a pleading look, silently begging me to think about this.
Agnus, Dad’s right-hand man, is forty-three and so well-built he gives the younger generation a run for their money, and now he is watching me with a neutral expression. Knox and I lived with him for many years, and I know that neutrality means he cares — to an extent. He just doesn’t show it.
Like me.
Perhaps that’s why I look up at him, expecting something, anything to come out of his mouth.
He says nothing.
It’s Dad who grips me gently by the elbow and stands in front of me. Dad is also broad and well-built, not like Agnus, but Dad has an aristocratic face. He’s warm but hard. Noble but old-fashioned in a way.
His chestnut hair is styled like a proper gentleman, and his suit, like Agnus’, is made to impress. Actually, everyone’s clothes are. Even my daft brother took the time to wear his best when he’d usually throw on a Metallica T-shirt like it’s the only thing available.
Elsa is wearing a soft blue dress that compliments her eye colour. Dad and Agnus are in dark suits they usually reserve for business — because that’s what this is about: business.
I’ve chosen a black tulle skirt that stops at my knees, fishnet stocking, and boots. I also have a white T-shirt — with no sayings on the front — and a black denim jacket. My hair is straight, hitting just under my chin as usual. The only thing I gave up is the black makeup.
I think you missed the memo about makeup. It’s supposed to make you prettier, not uglier.
No, it’s not because of his words. Ronan Astor doesn’t affect my decisions and never will. Not even if I wear his engagement ring.
The reason I went with normal eyeliner, a touch of mascara, and baby pink lipstick is simple: to impress.
Because once today ends, my plan will come to fruition.
I smile at Dad, and it’s a real one, a thankful one. When Knox and I faced death, he saved us, had us call him Dad, and insisted we continue to even after his nine-year coma.
He’s the only dad I’ve ever had, and I’ve never shown him my thanks. This is my chance to do it properly.
“I want to do this, Dad. I don’t mind.”
“Teal…” Elsa pleads.
“Shall we?” I motion at the door.
Before any of us can do anything, the double doors swing open like in some fairy tale, and there stands a tall man wearing a butler’s suit complete with white gloves and a dispassionate smile. “Welcome to the Astor Estate.”
Only this isn’t a fairy tale — or perhaps it is, with a twist.
In the end, the hero won’t win. The villain will topple everyone’s lives over.
What everyone doesn’t know is, the villain wasn’t always a villain. Once upon a time, they were a victim.
“We always come here for Ronan’s parties,” Knox whispers to Elsa and me. “What’s with the formality?”
“I thought you don’t go to parties?” Dad gives him side-eye.
Knox grins. “I’m still your favourite son, Dad. Admit it.”
My father shakes his head with slight exasperation as the butler leads us through a large hallway filled with medieval portraits. Usually, for the parties held here, there would be guards near all these so none of RES’s students ruin them.
We’re led to a large dining table. This one is always closed and off limits for partygoers. That’s done for a reason.
The room is like a scene from a period film. Golden chandeliers hang from above, and the chairs surrounding the huge table fit for an army are high and meant to swallow tiny people like me.
At the head of table stands the lord of the estate. Earl Edric Astor, member of the House of Lords, a ruthless investor, a faithful husband.
And a fucked-up human being.
He smiles at us, reaching out his hand so his wife can rise from her chair and stand on his right.
She’s elegant and pale, almost like one of those Victorian era maids who were forced to marry an influential lord.
Something in my chest stings upon seeing her, her radiant smile and wasted beauty. What has she done to have to be married to a monster?
Ronan stands at his father’s left, grinning like an idiot. I don’t meet his or his father’s gazes. If I do, I might start having those signs that could trigger my episodes.
“Welcome, Ethan.” Edric motions at the seat. “Please. I’m honoured to have you amongst us.”
Dad, Agnus, and Edric exchange pleasantries. His wife, Charlotte, hugs Knox then Elsa. When it’s my turn, I force myself to remain still in preparation for the physical attack — and I kind of fail. Instead of hugging me, she eyes me up and down, but with no maliciousness. It’s more like…pure interest.
I fidget then stop myself when I realise I’m doing it. Damn. Did I just feel nervous or something? I don’t do nervous — not usually, at least.