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“I made up my mind,” I say. “When she turns eighteen, her father will give me his blessing, and she will say yes.”
“Why are you so set on seeing this through?”
“They have a good name. It’ll be valuable for the business.”
He can’t contest the fact.
Saying nothing, he hands me the book and the contract and picks up his glass again.
I put the book and the documents in the satchel and eat my lunch. When I’m done, my father is snoring, the empty glass tilting in his hand. Removing the glass carefully, I set it on the table. After pulling the blanket up to his waist, I grab the satchel and exit quietly.
My mother waits on the other side of the door, standing small and almost guiltily in the hallway like someone who doesn’t have the right to roam freely in her own house.
I frown. I don’t like that she’s sneaking around like a mouse, too scared to make a peep. After all this time, she should be used to the luxury and the grandness of everything. My father rules the business, but the house is her domain. She should be queen here, not creeping down the hallways and tiptoeing through the rooms. The kitchen is the only place where she lets her guard down and where she truly seems carefree. Is it a coincidence that it also happens to be the only room in which my father never sets foot?
“What are you doing out here?” I ask.
“Waiting for you.”
“Is something the matter?”
She juts her chin at me. “Tell me about the girl.”
I’m not keen on discussing Sabella. It’s private. “She’s nice.”
“Kind?”
“Yes.”
She waits.
“Unpretentious. Honest.”
“She sounds nice.”
“That’s what I said.”
My mother holds my gaze. “Does she want this? You?”
“Does it matter?”
“She liked you.”
I take in the permanent circles under her eyes and the fragile bone structure of her face, how the hollows beneath her cheekbones leave shadows on her clean-scrubbed, olive complexion. How happy is she truly?
“I never said she liked me.” I motion with my head toward the library. “Have you been listening to our conversations?”
She shrugs. “The walls have ears.”
My mother never oversteps her boundaries, but I sometimes forget how perceptive she is. She’s so quiet, I sometimes forget she’s here. “What are you getting at?”
“That you shouldn’t have spoiled that.”
“Spoiled what?” I ask, the muscles around my eyes tightening.
“Spoiled good feelings. There are little enough of those in life as it is.”
It’s not her business, but I know she means well. Still, I can’t help my curt answer. “There wasn’t another way.”
She clutches her hands together in front of her. “Than stealing information from her father?”
“Yes.” My tone is clipped, my impatience winning out. “Without something to hold over Edwards’s head, he’d never let the marriage happen. Even if she was willing, he would’ve turned her against me.”
“If you waited until she was older—”
“Feelings are fickle,” I say, repeating my father’s words. “One day, she’ll understand why I had to do it.”
“She doesn’t know?”
“Not why I did it. Her father hasn’t told her about his promise or about us. She’s young. In another year’s time, she’ll be more mature and better equipped to handle the truth.”
“You should tell her. Keeping her in the dark won’t make it easier for her later.”
The handle of the satchel pushes into my palm as I tighten my fingers around it. “I’ll deal with it as I see fit. The discussion is over. Don’t bring it up again.”
Something like hurt passes through her eyes, but before I can get an accurate read on her, she averts her gaze.
“Ang!” Adeline cries out, barreling down the hallway.
I just have enough time to drop the satchel before catching my sister as she throws her arms around my neck.
She smacks a kiss on my cheek. “You’re back.” Laughing, she lets me go and wipes something from my face, presumably her lipstick. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve come home straight after my last class instead of going to the library.”
My mother gives an awkward smile before slinking away, allowing us space as if she’s not welcome in our circle. Like an outsider. Guilt constricts my chest as I follow her retreat with my gaze over Adeline’s shoulder.
“Hey,” Adeline says, punching me in the stomach. “I’m talking to you.”
“Quiet.” I glance at the library. “Papa is sleeping.”
She blows out a breath. “It’s been hard.” Then her expression brightens. “But the doctor reckons he’ll be fine in a couple of days. It’s only a cold.” She picks up the satchel and hooks her arm around mine. “Have you eaten? If I know Maman, she’s been cooking all day. Let’s grab a hot chocolate and you can tell me all about the love of your life.”
I scoff. “She’s hardly that.”
She swings the satchel around and punches me with it. “Be nice.”
“Love takes time to grow. It doesn’t happen overnight.”
