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I closed the door behind them, straightening my back.
I felt oddly secure in my domain. I had no illusions about Wolfe’s feelings for me, but I did know that he would not have anyone disrespecting me in my own house.
“Is he expecting you?” I drawled, playing dumb.
Truly, I was sick of him. Sick of him cheating on my mother and selling his daughter to the highest bidder. My father was selfish, and he allowed it to hurt his family.
My father sneered, “Get him here. Now.”
“Do you or do you not have an appointment with Senator Keaton?” I braved my fear, raising my voice slightly.
I am the wind. Strong and evasive and everywhere. He can’t touch me.
He scanned me head-to-toe. “Who are you?”
“Wolfe Keaton’s future wife,” I answered with faux obedience. “Who are you?”
“Your father. Though you seem to have forgotten that.”
“You haven’t been acting like a father. Maybe that’s why.” I folded my arms over my chest, ignoring the reddening faces of his two guards.
He looked intoxicated, swaying a little, his face a shade too red for it just to be the summer weather.
He waved me off impatiently. “I’m not the one who has changed, Francesca. You’re the one going off to college and talking about getting a job.”
“Being independent is not a disease,” I gritted out. “But that’s not your issue with me. Your issue with me is that I now belong to a man who wants to ruin you, and you are no longer sure where my loyalty lies.”
The cat was out of the bag, and even though I stood behind every word, it didn’t make it any less painful. He took a step toward me, and we were nose to nose.
We felt different at that moment.
Equal.
“Where does your loyalty lie, mascalzone?”
Rascal. He used to call me that when I was a kid. It always made me giggle because in Spanish it sounded like más calzones. More underpants.
I stared deep into his icy blue eyes, leaned forward, and whispered into his face.
“Me, Papa. My loyalty will always be with me.”
He sneered, brushing a lock of hair off my forehead gently. Imperial as ever, even drunk.
“Tell me, figlia, does it not bother you that your future husband encourages you to get an education and a job? Do you not think perhaps he doesn’t want to keep you long enough to take care of you, so he makes sure you can take care of yourself?”
I opened my mouth, then clamped it shut. When I wanted to marry Angelo, I also knew that my father would always have this power over him.
He couldn’t divorce me, toss me aside, or wrong me. Wolfe, however, did not answer to Arthur Rossi.
He did not answer to anyone.
“That’s what I thought.” My father laughed. “Take me to see him.”
“I will not…” I started, then stopped when I heard the sound of heavy feet behind me.
“Arthur Rossi. What an unpleasant surprise,” my fiancé said from behind me.
I turned around, hating the butterflies that took flight in my chest when he arrived. Hating that the first thing I saw was how much taller and more impressive he was than Papa.
