6. Briar
Briar
D inner is even worse than I thought it would be.
My fingers smooth over the pristine white tablecloth, my thoughts returning to River – again - before a pointed cough pulls my eyes upward.
Philip’s mother offers me another tight-lipped smile. When he leans forward to top up her wine glass, and then my father’s, she takes a small sip before openly studying me with beady eyes.
I don’t miss that Philip avoids my glass completely, setting the bottle down before his arm returns to loop around the back of my chair. Rigid, I glance at my father opposite me.
He at least has the self-awareness not to meet my eyes.
I turn, finding Philip closer than I expected. His smile grows into something that flips my stomach in a completely different way to River. It’s… twisted.
“I’d like some more wine.”
His brows draw together at my quiet words, and he leans forward. His finger traces up my bare arm. “I think you’ve had enough for this evening.”
Half a glass, if that. Not nearly enough to offer me any kind of escape from his vitriolic mother. Doreen Fitzherbert leans forward, sniffing in clear disapproval. “It’s not becoming for a wife to drink to excess.”
It’s also not becoming for them to speak unless spoken to. Or to eat more than three bites. Or to breathe, apparently.
I offer her a smile before reaching for the bottle. “Well, I’m not a wife.”
Philip’s fingers tighten a little on my arm, his voice lowering. Across from me, Doreen wobbles in self-righteous anger. If she had pearls, I have no doubt she’d be clutching them. “Darling, really.”
“Hmm?” Pouring myself a generous glass, I offer him the dregs of the bottle. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want some? I thought you might have had enough. This is the third bottle we’ve opened, isn’t it?”
At my pointed words, color flushes his cheeks, the deep red covering his skin in seconds. He takes a breath, running a hand through his hair before giving me a strained smile. “No, thank you.”
“Excellent.” Placing the empty bottle back on the table with a slight thud, I sip at my wine silently. Philip leans forward to listen to my father’s words on a law case they’ve been working on, and I scan him.
He and River are night and day, despite them having similar colorings. Philip’s limp, meticulously brushed, almost white hair doesn’t come close to the burnished gold of River’s chaotic bun, and his hazel eyes feel like a weak comparison compared to the dark brown of River’s gaze. Especially when they focus on me.
I feel nothing but cold. Waiting, I take another sip of wine, watching the way his lip curls. “Your father and I have been discussing the arrangements for our marriage.”
“Ah.” Another slow sip before I respond. “You mean the marriage I haven’t agreed to? That marriage? Or did I miss one?”
Silence falls across the table.
“ Briar ,” my father snaps eventually. His face has darkened to a hue reminiscent of the wine in my glass. “You will not be so rude.”
He turns to Doreen and Philip, dismissing me. “I apologize. She’s been working too hard – and with her limitations, it’s been too much, I fear.”
Ah. My non-existent fragilities again. “I haven’t had an iron deficiency since I was fourteen, Papa.”
A fixable illness has defined my entire adult life, at least in my father’s eyes.
They continue as if I haven’t spoken, Doreen nodding. “That won’t be a problem once she settles in. She won’t be working then, not with a house to run.”
Stiffening, I straighten in my seat. “I think I’ll decide that.”
Doreen’s smile at my tight words is as sickly sweet as it is mildly threatening. My stomach begins to churn. “Your husband will decide if it’s appropriate.”
“I believe your father is right, sweetheart,” Philip murmurs. He brushes back my hair, and I jerk away from him, my face flaming. “It’s really not good for you. I’ll keep you busy enough.”
The insinuation is clear, and I fight the urge to vomit before pushing my chair back, any patience I had vanishing entirely. “Excuse me. I’m not feeling well.”
“That’ll be the alcohol.” Doreen nods sagely, glancing to Philip. “You’ll need to keep an eye on that.”
“I only had one glass,” I snap. Leaning forward, I snatch the rest of my wine from the table, finishing it before Philip can take it away. “Apologies that I can’t stay. I’m feeling a little fragile . I think I’ll retire early. Good night, everyone.”
They’re already talking before I leave the room, my father offering hurried apologies that I know won’t be the last of it.
I make it to my bedroom before pushing the door closed and leaning back against it, my breathing harsh and more choked than I care to consider as I slam my hand over my mouth.
I’ve never behaved like that before. Never pushed back – certainly not in front of Philip. Papa will be furious.
He should be furious with Philip.
I’d lock my door if I could, but I’ve never had the luxury. My father insists on treating me as if I’ve never grown up, even while he plans my damn marriage for me.
Crossing to my dressing table, I sink down onto the velvet stool and stare into the glass. My reflection stares back, paler than usual. Darkness beneath my eyes is testament to the nights I spend tossing and turning, fighting off nightmares that feel more and more like reality every day.
“I don’t want to marry him.” My shaky whisper drops into the room.
Nobody is listening.
Nobody ever listens.
And nobody cares.
I’m not the first woman to face an arranged marriage. It’s a practice older than time.
Practical. Responsible. Almost expected.
My father’s words. He’s very clear on how common it is in our circles. Circles that I know hardly anything about, thanks to his unwillingness to let me out of the house. And yet he’s willing for me to move into Philip’s house and become—
My mirror nearly topples as I jump to my feet, trying to avoid those thoughts. But as I slip into bed, pulling up the covers and burrowing into them, I can’t stop them from flooding in
It’s the same every night. Shadows of my father, and Philip, and the life I’m expecting to lead. Fractured, broken nightmares of expectation and demand that I know will leave me exhausted tomorrow as I toss and turn.
But tonight… other thoughts creep in. Other dreams.
Warm hands on my bare skin. Gliding down. A male voice, murmuring in my ear. My body heats with every touch as those hands slide down.
More. My back arches, my legs opening, trembling as those hands cover my thighs and push them wider.
Fingers brushing against me. Gentle circles as I twist, silently begging.
And that voice, low and deep, the rumble reaching every part of me. “Come for me, Briar Rose.”
When I finally jolt awake, sweat-slicked and gasping, it’s River’s name on my lips. My mouth feels dry as I shake my head, trying to remember. The covers are kicked off, barely covering my hips as I press my legs together, trying to reach for that feeling again. Seconds later, my alarm trills, and I cover my face with a groan.
I’m in so much trouble.