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His father’s study was toward the front of the house close to the entryway. “He likes to be near the action,” Calvin said bitterly. “As if there’s any action here.”
“Do they get visitors?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “Out-of-country guests stay here. When I was younger, they used to have more gatherings, parties for their rich and famous friends, but those stopped a while back.”
“Why? What happened?”
He hesitated near a pair of French doors and dropped his voice low, shifting closer. “My father threw himself into work. My mother lost herself in drinking. I think their misery finally caught up with them.”
“You make it sound like living here was always terrible. Was there any happiness when you were a kid?”
“No,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine, before he turned and tugged open the doors.
His father’s study was spacious, larger than our suite, larger than his mother’s room. Books lined the walls in neat, orderly rows, and a fire roared in a nearby tile fireplace. Couches, chairs, and desks were neatly arranged, and nothing was out of place. It was so different from his mother’s lair.
Calvin stepped into the room, but didn’t go further than the very first rug. He stood with his back straight, staring ahead. I joined him, slouching by comparison, and looked around.
A man sat behind a desk at the far end. He was in his sixties, with neatly clipped white hair and a dour and serious face. I saw the resemblance, though Calvin had his mother’s eyes and hair, while his father had a darker complexion and rougher edges to him. The man stood, and he seemed to tower over the massive oak desk.
“I heard you came home,” he said. His voice carried across the room.
“I have business here.”
That was strange. Business. I didn’t think of what we were doing as business—but in Calvin’s world, everything was business.
“Come sit.”
At the invitation, Calvin moved deeper into the cavernous room. I followed, my eyes lingering on a painting of a lion ripping the arm from a man while people in Roman clothing screamed and cheered in the background. I shuddered, wondering if I was the animal, or the poor bastard getting ripped to shreds.
Better not to think about it.
Calvin sat in a large green chair. I sat in the chair adjacent to him and tried not to look like I was trembling. His father stared at both of us like he smelled poisonous gas and wanted to open a window.
“Father, this is Robyn.” Calvin’s voice was clipped. The anger he showed toward his mother was gone, replaced by civil formality. “She’s my fiancée.”
His father looked at me with undisguised interest. There was no disgust, which was a step up. I tried not to squirm.
“Fiancée,” he repeated.
“That’s right. It happened fast.”
Extremely fast. I kept my mouth shut.
“Her father?”
“In prison for murder.”
“Mother?”
“Housewife.”
He nodded to himself. “Why her then?”
I was taken aback. I expected derision or scorn. I hated the way Calvin trotted out my family’s sordid recent history like it was an answer on the SATs. I grimaced as Calvin shifted toward me and took my hand in his, fingers lacing with mine.
“She’s intelligent and resilient. She’ll make for a good addition to our family.”
What a glowing endorsement. He might as well have said I was good breeding stock, like his mother.
“I see.” His father sat back, studying me. “Do you know what it means to marry my son?”
I opened my mouth to answer then shut it again. Frankly, I had no clue. I vaguely understood that the Solar family was rich and powerful and really, really creepy, but beyond that, I didn’t know what being Calvin’s wife would be like.
And I didn’t want to know. All of this was fake, only to get back at his brothers, but the further it went, the more intense it became, and I was beginning to wonder if I was in over my head.
“I think so,” I said in a small voice. I cleared my throat and tried to summon some courage. “I know how important family is to him.”
His father snorted. “Yes, that’s an interesting way of putting it.” His eyes slid back to Calvin. “I’ve been asking you to marry for years now. I understand you’re young, you want to enjoy life, but you don’t have that luxury.”
“I’m aware.” Calvin sat rod-straight.
“And now you bring a girl home and say you’re engaged. She’s not connected, she’s not important, but you know I don’t care about that.”
I blinked in surprise. “You don’t?” The words came out before I could stop myself.
His father gave me a flat look. “I suppose you met his mother already.”
Calvin squeezed my hand. I kept my mouth shut. “We saw her, yes,” Calvin said.
“And how drunk was she?”
“Drunk enough to call Robyn a common street whore within two minutes of seeing her.”
