Chapter 9 - Rosalia #3
“This is an immature display of neediness, nothing more,” her father spat. “You know the sort of male Frederick is. The quality of his breeding. Do you really think he’d enjoy this childish nonsense? Where’s the class? The elegance? You’re hosting it in the garden, for God’s sake.”
She couldn’t help herself. There was no need for him to attack her like this; he was just angry that she didn’t have any information to feed him.
She was doing everything she could to be a good wife, to not embarrass either her husband or her father.
Her wolf snarled and paced, furious at his dismissal of Eva, his dismissal of her.
“It’s Eva’s birthday, she’s turning six,” Rosalia said, her fists clenching, “this is the traditional and elegant way of celebrating a shifter’s sixth birthday! Of course it’s not going to be some sort of cocktail party!”
As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she wished she could cram them back in.
Her father stopped short, his eyes widening slightly, before a black look descended over his face and he took a step towards her.
She stumbled backwards, her back hitting the counter, her breathing coming in short and sharp.
“Father, I didn’t mean—”
“How dare you,” he hissed, flashing his teeth, “how dare you interrupt me? Raise your voice at me?”
“I only meant—”
His fist clenched, and she flinched away from him, hands gripping the counter, “Interrupt me again,” he said, “and I don’t care who is here. I will not hesitate to remind you of the respect you owe me. Is that clear?”
She whimpered, tears pricking her eyes.
“Rosalia,” he said, “is that clear?”
Her wolf thrashed within her, desperate to be released, and for one split second, she saw it. Saw herself, muzzle dark with her father’s blood as she tore him apart. His body crumpled under her claws. The freedom she could rip from his throat.
And then it was gone. Replaced with his looming figure, his unwavering power over her. The memories of what he would do.
“I understand, Father,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
He stepped back, straightening his suit jacket. “Excellent. Now, pull yourself together. You have guests to attend to.”
Rosalia wiped at her eyes furiously, shame and rage prickling her skin. Her fingers came away streaked black with smudged mascara.
Her father made a sound of disgust, “You can start by cleaning yourself up; you look pathetic.”
Something in the air shifted, fell silent, as a shadow fell across the doorway.
“What did you just say to her?”
The voice cracked like a whip across the room, sharp as a blade, cold as ice.
Rosalia’s head whipped up in shock.
Rick stood in the doorway, arms folded, jaw set. He didn’t even glance at her. His eyes, practically blazing red, were trained on her father.
Her father straightened, the barest whisper of alarm passing over his face before he schooled his features into easy-going civility and turned around. “Rick! So good to see you. How is the party going, is…ah…Eva is enjoying herself?”
Rick didn’t answer. He stepped forward into the room, his scent filling the space. Woodsy and dark. The temperature dropped several degrees, and something angry and charged sparked in the air. The crackle of ozone before a shift.
Rosalia sucked in a breath. Surely Rick wouldn’t lose his temper and turn, not here. Not because of her.
“I asked,” Rick said, his voice silky smooth and full of venom, “what did you just say to her?”
Her father paused, no doubt weighing up his options, and Rosalia’s old, insistent need to impress him told her to speak. To defend him. To brush it off as nothing and go and fix her face, like he had told her to do.
But she stayed quiet.
Her father laughed, natural and easy, fondly placing a hand on Rosalia’s shoulder. Rick’s eyes followed the movement, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” her father said. “I found Rosalia here in a bit of a state. I think she’s over-exerted herself a bit, what with all this party planning. You know how females can be.”
“Do I now?” Rick asked, tone soft. Deadly.
Her father’s hand tightened on her shoulder, the edges of his smile tight, “I’m afraid I’ve always been one for tough love. I was merely suggesting that Rosalia go and clean herself up. It would make her feel better.”
For the first time, Rick’s eyes flickered to her, and heat crept up her neck. She fought the urge to hide her face, to turn away from him. She didn’t want him to see how weak she was. How docile. Well-trained as a kicked dog.
Her earlier daydreams of him ever seeing her as an equal turned to ash in her mouth. How could he respect her when she didn’t even respect herself enough to stand up to her own father?
There was a small crease between his eyebrows as he looked at her, the same as when he was trying to work something out.
She wanted to scream. She wasn’t a puzzle. She was a person.
Rick turned back to her father. “I understand,” he said. “Why don’t you go and greet Felix, I’m not sure he’s aware you’ve arrived. We’ll be along shortly.”
Her father’s fingers dug into her skin, “I’d rather make sure my daughter is well, if you don’t mind.”
Rick sneered, revealing the barest hint of his teeth. “And I’d like to make sure my wife is well.”
The two men stared each other down, but eventually, her father had to relent.
Her stomach roiled with nausea. He would not be pleased about that.
“Of course,” her father said, giving her a smile. “I’ll see you later, Rosalia.”
“Yes, Father,” she said, trying not to tremble as he released her and stalked out, barely missing colliding with Rick as he went.
Rick watched him go, predator eyes trained on his retreating form. Only when he was content that her father was gone did he turn to her, expression hard.
“Rosalia—” he began, but she was already moving. Already dabbing at her eyes with a tissue and pasting a smile on her face.
“It’s fine, really,” she said, “it’s as he said. I just got a bit…overwhelmed. That’s all.”
Rick didn’t look like he believed her for a second. She didn’t care.
This was not his battle to fight.
“Rosalia, if he’s threatening you in my home—”
“If you’d excuse me,” she said, slipping past him, “I’d really like to go wash my face and see to our guests.”
He didn’t reply as she all but ran away from him, dread pooling in her stomach at the anger on his face—no doubt also furious that she would dare interrupt him, on top of the insult of her father’s behavior.
She could only thank her lucky stars that Rick had only heard her father’s last sentence and not the vitriol that had come before.
There would no doubt be a reckoning. Both with her father and with her husband.
For now, she would clean her face, and she would go and find Eva, and she would try to salvage what happiness she could from the day.