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How could he want this? How could he see so clearly into our future, know exactly what this forced marriage would become, and still want it?
I didn’t know.
But the one thing I was certain of was that Barrett King would never be my ally.
I opened my mouth, unsure of what to say, and finally realized there was nothing to say. Everything that needed to be said had been spoke
n already, and there was no point in wasting another fucking word on this boy. So I snapped my jaw shut and turned away.
He let out an annoyed huff as I stalked out of the room, and I had a sneaking suspicion he was pissed because he’d sent away his booty call just so we could have that short, pointless conversation.
A haze of anger filled my mind the rest of the day, and I went even farther out of my way than usual to avoid Barrett, certain that if I saw him again right now, I would lose my battle for self-control and end up punching his smug, smarmy face.
He wasn’t the person I needed to talk to anyway.
Given what I’d just learned, given what I now knew, I needed to speak to my father.
I drove straight home as soon as classes let out and found Dad in his office. He’d always split his time between his home office and one in the business district of Baltimore, but he’d been working from home more since his release from prison. I assumed that would last until he felt like he’d fully recovered his standing among his peers, when he could lord his wealth and accomplishments over them again like he had for so long.
“Cora.” He glanced up as I rapped on the door and pushed it open at the same time. He had left it ajar, his signal that it was okay to interrupt him if necessary.
And at the moment, it was very fucking necessary.
My heart thudded out an uneven rhythm in my chest as I crossed the room toward his desk.
“Barrett is cheating on me.”
The atmosphere in the room seemed to shift with my words, and my father looked up from the papers he’d been going over, his eyes narrowing. “What?”
“I found him in a room in the library today with his hand up some girl’s skirt.”
My voice shook just a little as I spoke. This was way outside the kinds of things my father and I usually talked about, but he had to know. He was aware Mom had cheated on him, and he obviously wasn’t as cavalier about it as Barrett had seemed to be about the idea of fidelity. So maybe, just maybe, hearing this would change his mind.
For a split second, I thought I had been right. His features hardened slightly, and his lips pressed into a thin line.
But then he shook his head, seeming to banish the tension that’d been gathering in his body. “This is hardly an appropriate conversation for a girl to have with her father, Cordelia.”
I crossed my arms. “It is when the father is trying to force the girl to marry someone she doesn’t love. Someone who straight-out promised her he would cheat on her.”
“This is not my business. It’s for you and Barrett to work out between yourselves. What happens between a husband and wife is no one’s concern but theirs, and you will be his wife very soon.”
“But, Dad—” I blurted, taking another step toward him as disbelief and anger burst inside my chest.
“Cordelia!”
His voice was like a whip, and I swore I could feel the sting of it across my skin. I froze, and my father rose from his chair slowly, planting his palms on his desk as his gaze bored into me.
“Do you think I’m not aware?” he asked, his voice low and hard. “Do you think I don’t know what goes on under my own roof? That I don’t know about your little guests in the pool house? There are surveillance systems in this house, Cordelia.”
My blood seemed to freeze in my veins.
Fuck. Fuck, no.
I’d known there were security cameras placed around the property, both inside and outside the house. It was why I had been worried about the Lost Boys getting caught when they’d broken in. But all four of us had been too caught up in each other to be smart or rational, and all of us had overlooked the possibility that our actions in the pool house might be recorded.
By my father.
My stomach turned over, sending acid rushing up my throat. “Dad—I didn’t—”
