My mother endured the kiss with stiff tolerance. "Indeed, I am. Though, I hadn't scheduled a harbinger of doom on today's calendar. Tell me, which horseman are you meant to be?"
Danielle's smile dimmed like a faulty circuit.
"Famine, I think," my mother decided, honeying her venom. "You've always had that quality, leaving men hungry without knowing what for."
"Your wit remains unmatched," Danielle managed, her laugh brittle.
"One of my few flaws," my mother countered, claiming a chair opposite my desk. "What brings you all the way out here to his home where his fiancée will be returning to soon?"
Danielle's mouth formed a perfect smile while her eyes froze over. "I heard about the engagement and was concerned, as any friend would be," Danielle answered with practiced innocence. "After all, I've known Alaric for decades. I only want to ensure this arrangement serves his best interests."
My mother's eyebrow arched with elegant disdain. "How altruistic."
"I simply wonder," Danielle continued, turning her gaze back to me, "how Selene will manage the transition. Darius Darzi's daughter, barely seen in society. Does she even understand what being your wife entails? The scrutiny? The expectations?"
Danielle knew exactly what buttons to push, always had. The implication that Selene might be inadequate, unprepared—it was calculated to plant seeds of doubt but she must have not known me as well as claimed to, or she’d know that would never work with me.
"She understands more than most," I replied coldly.
“Okay, but how will she handle your requirements of her? Your temperament. Not everyone can navigate your moods as I did."
My mother made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. "If by navigate you mean exacerbate, then yes, you were quite the skilled sailor."
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "Selene isn't a concern that needs your attention, Danielle. Now, if you've satisfied your curiosity—."
"I'm simply offering perspective," she interrupted. "After all, your tastes are specific. Your need for control, absolute. How will this sheltered girl respond when she discovers who you really are?"
My patience, already threadbare, snapped clean through. I rose from my chair, the movement deliberate enough to make Danielle take an instinctive step back.
"My capabilities are precisely why she's under my roof and not her father's. As for who I really am and how our relationship will work," I paused, letting the weight of silence press down on her. "That is between me and the woman I’m marrying. Not for you to worry about or feign concern over."
My mother watched the exchange with predatory interest, a half-smile playing at her lips as she tacked on, "Our family is quite delighted with the engagement."
A silence stretched between them, taut as a wire.
“You can leave now Danielle. As my mother said, Selene will be home soon, and she doesn’t need to be blindsided by you.”
Danielle released a controlled breath. "I recognize when I've overstayed my welcome."
"Do you?" Mom drawled sarcastically.
Danielle gathered herself with practiced poise. “I’ll visit you another time, Ricky.”
“Ricky? That’s terrible. I swore the beautiful boy I birthed was named, Alaric,” my mother snarked when Danielle’s footsteps could no longer be heard.
I stood again and crossed to where the bar station was set up and used the fancy espresso machine my mother had bought solely so she could have some when she came to see me. I went through the motions, poured dark coffee into a cup, and then added all her usual fixings before placing it before her.
“Tell me what that woman was really doing here.”
"She wanted conversation," I stated.
"About you, naturally. Hardly a deviation from pattern though I don’t know what she keeps sniffing around you for. She loves a version of you that never existed and thought to score an heir who was nothing but a spoiled fool, who would get sidetracked by the viper pit between legs. Then once she sank her teeth in, she’d be set for life with spoils and riches.”
“Viper pit,” I repeated back, amused.
She waved me off with a manicured hand. “The point is, she is nothing like our Selene.”
"MySelene," I corrected.
