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He gives me a derisive sneer, and I’m glad to have changed the topic of conversation, even if I have to deal with the aftermath.
My comment makes him so angry that he ends the meeting a few minutes into bitching about me and all the small-minded women who think my garish tattoos are sexy.
Quickly, I walk away, my heart pounding in my chest. As if we needed something else to worry about. If Grandfather is set on this, he will fuck Eden. Fuck it, let’s call it what it actually is. He’ll rape her. He’ll do it any way he thinks is necessary, just like he did to my mom.
I’ll be fucking damned if Eden ends up like her.
I make it outside, my stomach twisting so much that I’m forced to swallow back acid instead of expelling it in the rose garden next to the front steps. Vincent is right behind me, and I can’t afford to show weakness around him.
He strides in front of me, a huge-ass smile on his face. “I think Eden would suit you. If it happens,” he says, sliding on his aviators, “I’m going to have Grandfather put in a clause about me taking her once, too. It’s only fair, right? You’ve had my wife before.”
I shrug as casually as I can. The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do is act like Eden Astor is nothing to me. “Why don’t you ask her? You might not even need a clause.”
He winks at me just before he gets into his shiny, cherry-red sports car.
“Douche,” I mumble as he closes the door.
I hope Alaric had better luck with his father than I did with my family.
Things keep getting worse and worse, and now I have to go explain to my girl that I can’t ever marry her…and even worse? She’ll understand why.
This life is cruel.
This life is fucked.
I was young when I heard my father say those words, but they’ve stuck with me. Turns out, he was right.
I jump in my car and take off, my tires squealing on the pavement before they catch. Grandfather will give me hell, but if that’s all I’m getting from him, it’s better than the alternative.
7
Alaric
My mother’s fancy hand soap, that I know for a fact she spends hundreds of dollars on for its rose-gold-plated container and ingredients that make my hands smell like flowers, stares me in the face.
Slowly, I raise my head until I’m peering at my reflection. It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve been at my parents’ house. My mother was thrilled to see me, but my father is still pissed. Rightfully so. I embarrassed him as a senior Knight, and I tainted our family name.
If I gave a shit about any of that right now, I’d probably be mad at myself, too.
I splash some water on my face. It’s hard to be in their presence, knowing what I know. Part of me wants to sit down with my mom and interrogate the shit out of her. I bet she’d break. I bet she’d tell me everything about the daughter her husband made her give up for adoption.
But that won’t help my reason for being here, will it?
After drying my face off with one of the fluffy, expensive towels, I walk toward the bathroom door and pull it open to reveal the upstairs hallway. I deliberately used this bathroom because it’s closer to my family’s keepsakes in the attic. My father wouldn’t leave anything of importance lying around, but I have to try. I’m sure the good shit is locked down in a safe-deposit box somewhere, if he hasn’t destroyed the evidence altogether. You don’t just get rid of a human being and keep the proof out where anyone can see.
I open the small door at the end of the hallway. My parents live in an old home, but no one would ever know it’s at least a century-and-a-half years old and has been in my family since it was built. My mother has meticulously remodeled, and she does so every ten years when new fads come in and the old designs go out.
The structure is always the same, though, with the little quirks that I’ve always loved. I dreamt about living here one day, until I was hit with the reality that I come from a long line of undeserving bastards. I suppose I should be grateful. Otherwise, I never would’ve known Eden. I never would’ve fallen head over heels for her.
In the attic, everything is beautifully labeled and packed in rubber totes. Of course, there’s no way I would find anything that says Alaric’s Discarded Sister’s Important Information. Did they keep anything? A lock of her hair? A real birth certificate?
“Master Barclay?”
I jump, swiveling around to face Melanie, one of the staff members who has been with us for a long time, clutching my chest, which isn’t an act. I nearly felt my heart jump right out of my skin.
“Sorry I scared you.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I was just looking for an old toy of mine, but it’s nothing.”