32. Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Two
Dacre
“Why did you do it?” I ask, stepping into the library to talk alone with my grandfather.
I’ve always hated this room. We spent a lot of summers in this house, and this is the only room with a full family portrait on the wall.
My mother and father stare back at me just above my grandfather’s head with miserable, vacant stares.
My mom rests her hands on the shoulders of my older brothers.
Florence is sitting next to my feet on the ground, and I’m on the far left, a little out of place.
Our clothes and hair are muddied by brushstrokes.
I barely remember that day, but the sinking in my gut every time I gaze at it makes me think my body remembers it as a bad day.
My grandfather motions for me to sit, but I keep my feet firmly planted by the door.
“I’ve been in talks with the Esteria family for months now. You’re aware that arranged marriages are common in our family. I know you chose not to attend John’s, but you must have known it was always a possibility.”
“I thought you would have told me. Since when do you keep secrets from me?”
This is another test he wants me to figure out. He didn’t tell me, because he wanted to see how I would react. He eyes the fire in the fireplace with careful patience.
“You know Liam came to visit me, don’t you?” I ask.
“I hoped it would be effective. He suspected there was something you had hidden, and I didn’t believe it at first till he showed me these.”
From his coat pocket, he throws pictures onto his desk.
I approach to examine them. “Is this . . . my search history?”
There, in black and white, is a list of everything I’ve searched on my phone or computer in the last few months, and highlighted on every page is the phrase “scent-match.”
“You have a rare gift.”
“I did what you asked. Your assignment was about Emma. I never let it interfere with my work.”
“The assignment . . . was about loyalty. I’ve suspected your feelings for the girl for some time. Your aversion to wanting her in the culinary club. Your lies about not knowing her.”
“It doesn’t matter. I passed.”
He rests an arm on the leather chair. “Nevertheless, your new marriage contract still stands. You’ll be receiving the paperwork tomorrow. I know you have feelings for the Osborne girl, but I want her to join the auction. I have a big potential donor.”
“Some rich, old asshole?”
“The arrangement is for his son.”
“She’ll never agree.”
“The Osborne girl—”
“Emma.”
“Emma would make my potential donor very unhappy with me if that were the case, and we’d lose out on our most valuable auction piece. Get over your fondness for the Osborne girl because the obligation I’ve created cannot be undone. Be lucky I haven’t given you the task of ensuring she’ll join.”
I stiffen, and he softens with a sigh.
“I understand this might be difficult for you, given your . . . predicament, and that’s why I’ve prepared a peace offering.
I was angry you kept something like this from me at first, but I’ve come to understand that, biologically, you couldn’t help yourself.
Finish the night with your fiancée, and these are yours. ”
He brandishes a set of keys.
“I know your parents’ house went to John in the will, but I persuaded him to give it up after the wedding.”
The house . . . for me? The same house in the backdrop of the portrait hanging between us?
“How . . . ?”
He said he’d never give it up. It’s the one thing my parents left behind besides the inheritance.
Locked in it are all their belongings, and those went to him, too.
I told myself it was only because he was older.
They couldn’t have known it would be the only shreds of them left, and that it would leave the rest of us nothing to remember them by but fuzzy memories.
I’m sure they didn’t intend to die. No one does.
The truth is that I don’t know much about my parents and what their lives were like.
Were they like my grandfather? My uncle?
Cruel and calculating? For the life of me, I can barely remember anything besides the night my grandfather sat us down and told us about the accident.
“I knew you wanted the house, and as the future heir of the Everhart estate, you deserve it.”
The keys are heavy in my hand as I make my way back toward the guest house after dinner is done. I let Valeria talk about her work and anything else under the moons she wants to and then leave her in the office for the night.
The rain soaks into the fibers of my jacket, but I don’t feel it till I reach the door and it weighs me down.
I prep myself for an earful, but lying peacefully in the middle of the bed is Emma with a leg wrapped around her pillow and her face buried in mine.
My punishment is apparently her taking up most of the bed.
The bed frame creaks when I sit on the edge of the sheets, but she doesn’t stir.
I could just . . . leave. No one would care.
Other than broken obligations and disappointment, who would care enough to come find me?
As I rest my head in my hands, I craft a plan.
Clothes. Money. What else do I really need?
I can take care of Florence, but how long before my grandfather swoops in with more money and more resources and takes her back?
He is her legal guardian. If I run out now, he could take her and keep her from me, and that’s almost guaranteed if I break this engagement.
Emma’s foot hits me as she turns.
She’d be happier without me. The words feel true, but in the dark silence, I imagine it all.
Her waking to find my things gone, then walking to the kitchen to hear the news.
The Emma I know would be furious, and when no one is looking, she’d blame herself for all my failings because she thinks she can wave a magic wand and fix everything.
There’s no fixing this, but I can’t leave her.
It has nothing to do with being scent-matches.
I want to protect her because . . . I want to, and I can’t remember a time when I’ve wanted something.
So, what are my options? Leave and wreck her, or stay around until I come up with a plan to stop my marriage with Valeria and she hates me?
My fingers brush over her foot, and despite the lump in my throat, I smile at the fluffy sushi socks she’s got on. In the dark, she’s still the only light I can see.
I’m no stranger to vexing her.
Having her hate me, it is.