Page 183 of A Vicious Love

There were conversations in our world where any opinion turned into a confession. If I defended the system, I sounded like Cosima. If I hated it, I sounded like Aurelia. If I admitted I was frightened, then someone might ask of what.

Or whom.

Liora leaned forward, her bracelets chiming. “I think both things can be true. The system gives women extraordinary access. It also prices that access through our bodies.”

Mother’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Amabel nodded. “And not every merger is equal.“

“I love my husband.” Sabine touched her stomach and said quietly.

No one spoke over her.

Sabine had married two years ago. Her husband was gentle and almost painfully devoted to her.

He sent her flowers on random Tuesdays and walked slower whenever she was tired. Their merger had been profitable, yes, but it had also become something soft.

“I know I’m lucky,” she added. “I gained a house that listens when I speak.”

Cosima smiled at her. “Exactly. That’s what I mean. Use the system instead of pretending it vanishes if we insult it loudly enough.”

Aurelia looked miserable. “I don’t want to be used by it.”

“Then become useful in a way that gives you leverage,” Celestine said. “Study law.”

Aurelia looked at her mother.

“Really?”

Celestine’s face softened by one degree. “Really. I’ll fund it myself if your father annoys me.”

Gerard scoffed. “I just said she could study.”

“Yes, but you said it with that fatherly tone men use when they expect applause for opening a door they installed the lock on.”

The tension eased a little after that.

That was another Bellemere tradition.

We rarely resolved things.

Breakfast continued.

Conversations started about the afternoon boating list. Complains about the archery field being moved closer to the old orchard. My father returned to his tablet. My mother began discussing dinner seating with Liora.

Aunt Solene looked at me from across the table.

“Sienna, is Jamison attending this year?”

I felt every head turn.

He had been invited to the Bellemere retreat every year since our engagement became public. Every year, his office declined. Once, he had apparently written absolutely fucking not across the schedule and sent it back.

Everyone knew that story.

I placed my cup down carefully.

“No.”