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didn’t want her to be independent. He didn’t see the value of
giving her an education when she was meant to be a silent,
biddable, malleable, passive wife.
She was shaking her head before she realized what she was
doing. One did not defy one’s father. One listened and obeyed.
Cassia had been obedient her whole life, but she couldn’t do
this. She couldn’t marry a man she didn’t love. She couldn’t
marry any man, but it wasn’t like she could tell her father that.
He would be outraged. Livid. He’d tell her that she was
wrong, that she would marry Vincent regardless, and keep her
secrets where they belonged—locked inside herself.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I won’t.”
Her father was shocked at her defiance, but it soon melted
into annoyance and ire. Antonio’s skin, painted golden by the
lamplight and the shadows, flushed a deep red. His displeasure
was palpable, the tension in the room thick like an oil spill.
She caught her lip between her teeth and worked it hard to
keep from letting out a squeak of discomfort at the barely
disguised rage in her father’s eyes.
“If your mother was alive, she would have taught you
respect. You would have been made to understand your duties.
A marriage based on love is a fantasy.”
Cassia clenched her hands tightly in her lap, pressing her
nails into the palm of her hand just so she could think about
something other than her father’s escalating temper. She could
feel it sweeping through the room like a storm brewing. She
thought he might spare her if she begged him to, if she
appealed to the parts of him that she knew loved her. She knew
he cared for her, even if he could never really show it. He
must.
