Page 90 of Whispers of Wisteria

He lifted a brow. “Why?”

I gripped the strap over my shoulder more tightly. “Be—because that’s wh-what libraries are for?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Is that so?” he mused. “And what exactly are you researching?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but for some reason the band around my chest grew tighter.

My shoulders slumped.

“Just fae stuff…” I muttered, looking to the ground. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. I didn’t feel like fighting today.

I didn’t look at him as I crossed the room and climbed into a chair. I linked my ankles under my seat and turned my attention to the fireplace.

Who attended to this thing? And for a university, it sure seemed like a liability.

“Do—do you ever not have that o-on?” I asked.

He was watching me with a frown, which was pretty much his normal expression anyway. “Why are you out of sorts?”

“It-it’s not important,” I said. That wasn’t why I’d come here. I required his sage-like fae advice to put an end to this familial conflict. “I—I actually have a question.”

“Later,” he replied. “First, you will explain your situation.”

“Do—do I have to?” I asked.

He gestured vaguely. “You do if you want answers.”

“Oh,” I mumbled, touching my throat. “Fine.” I sighed. “I—I went somewhere that ha—had a lot of bad memories for me.”

His frown turned into a scowl. “Then why do it?” There was a dark note to his voice that made my stomach clench.

“Because—” A heat crept over my chest, and I could no longer look at him. “Everyone needed me.”

A heavy silence settled between us. I swallowed hard and forced my gaze upward, only to catch the edge of his disapproval. “You’re a Dubois,” he said.

“Y-yes?” I said, fighting back a shiver. “I’m married to Bryce, so—”

“Dubois do not put themselves at risk carelessly,” he replied.

I clenched my hands in my lap.

“It—it wasn’t care—careless and,” I muttered, my breath uneven, “I—I wanted to help.”

“And so you should,” he responded. “But as a female fae, you must be cognizant of your surroundings and health.”

“Sure,” I said, biting back a sigh. Annoyance broke the invisible weight that had been crushing my chest.

“This angers you?” he asked.

I slouched in my seat. “You sound like my great-uncle,” I said. “He keeps lecturing me. That’s what I came here to ask you about.”

“You don’t want to listen?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I mean… I don’t have to, right?” I shifted, trying to sound casual. “We’re a patriarchal culture, aren’t we? He’s on my mother’s side. I don’t think he can tell me what to do?”

“Does that mean you’d obey the patriarch of your paternal house? Or even the Dubois house?” he asked. “Since you’re ‘married’ into it.”

“Well, I don’t need to listen to Bryce,” I said carefully. “He’s not the patriarch of the Dubois.”