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That voice stabs through my chest.
I stand as my father strides into the room. As much as I loathe him with every fiber of my being, my back automatically straightens and my heels click together, just the way he taught me.
I’m surprised by the gauntness of his features, the way the skin on his cheeks sinks against the bone. I suppose I’ve imagined him immortal, like a vampire. Being in the same room as this guy sucks all the personality from the air.
He does not offer a hand to shake. We glare at each other from across the cakes. I hate that I see my own reflection in him – the same strong jaw, dark eyes, and sharp cheekbones that grace my album covers stare down at me like he longs to crush me beneath his heel.
Seeing him again is like staring up at an impenetrable fortress from the wrong side. I’m supposed to be inside his walls, warm and protected. Instead, I’ve spent my whole life throwing myself against the rocks of his indifference. Now I hurl myself against his battlements once more, my body battered and bruised, a war machine that’s been worn out from overuse. The blood pounds in my ears. I’m so certain I’m on the right side of this war, but so is he, and he’s the one with the high ground and the smug smile. I’m left wallowing in the mud.
The power I hold in this room is sucked away into the vacant depths of his eyes.
“Your Grace, I’ve poured your tea.” The duchess holds out a cup.
“I don’t want tea.” He shoves her arm away. “I want my son to return to England.”
“It’s lovely to see you again, Dad.” I’ve never called him Dad in my life. It’s always ‘Your Grace’ or, privately, ‘that wanker.’ I can tell from the curl at the corner of his lip that he doesn’t like it. “Yes, I’ve been having a grand old time in America, thanks for asking. I’m so happy you’re here today to meet my girlfriend and show her a little British hospitality.”
“Girlfriend?” The duke looks momentarily flummoxed. To be fair, he knows my reputation from the tabloids.
“Mackenzie Malloy, of the Californian Malloys. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.” Claudia extends her hand.
“Your Grace.” He stares at her palm with unveiled disgust.
“Huh?”
“The correct way to address me is not ‘sir,’ but ‘Your Grace.’”
“Um… sure.” Claudia glances at me, and I can see she’s trying not to laugh. “If you say so, Your Grace.”
He continues to stare at me, ignoring Claudia, Mother, Noah, Eli, and the horde of servants gathered in the hallway to eavesdrop. Under his gaze I’m cut to pieces – I see myself as he sees me, a failure, an angel fallen to ruin, a mockery of our family’s good name. I’m no good. I’m the rotten apple that must be tossed away before I infect the whole tree.
Claudia squeezes my hand.
The duchess clears her throat. “Gabriel, perhaps your friends would like to play croquet on the lawn, or visit the winter garden?”
“We’re fine right here,” Noah says. He’s got that dark look in his eyes. Something like gratefulness twists in my gut. Noah’s standing his ground, making it clear that he’s here for me. No one has ever stood up for me in this house, not even Dylan.
“Gabriel, please.” Mother’s voice cracks. She wants me to make them leave us alone. But she won’t ask my friends to leave because they are guests and that’s not how we do things around here. It’s like a vampire and a fae dancing around supernatural etiquette.
“You wanted to see me and I’m here.” I wish my voice didn’t shake so much. “These guys are my family, and we have no secrets.”
“We’re staying with Gabriel.” Claudia swipes a chocolate truffle from the silver tray.
The duke lets out an exasperated sigh. “Very well. Perhaps these friends of yours have some understanding of family obligation, and will help set you on the right path.” He says the word friends like it’s dirty somehow. I doubt he’s ever had a true friend in his life. “I have decided on your bride. The duchess will organize the wedding for June—”
I turn to leave. “If this is all you wanted me for, I’ll leave now before I do something I’ll regret.”
“Don’t you even want to meet your bride?” The duchess pleads with her eyes. She doesn’t want to face my father’s wrath if I walk out of here.
I hold up Claudia’s hand. “I already have.”
Her eyes widen. “Gabe, don’t—”
The duke scoffs. “Please, you know we have standards in this family, as much as you’ve tried to undermine them. I’ve always trusted you to do your part when the time came, as I did. This girl is an American, a Malloy, and that name carries far too much baggage to be associated with our family. If you continue with this absurd fantasy, you’ll send your mother to an early grave. Now, I’d like you to meet—”
“I don’t need to meet this girl of yours to know I’m not marrying her.” I fold my arms. “This isn’t medieval times. I can marry who I want, when I choose. Bloody hell, I’m only eighteen; I’ve got plenty of time to make you an heir, but I guarantee I won’t do it with anyone you choose. If you think this girl’s such hot stuff, you marry her.”
I touch a nerve. My mother’s neck shoots up like a goose being drawn for dinner.
