CHAPTER 33 ROMAN #3
Glancing at my mum, she looks speechless for the first time in her life before pulling herself together.
“I think,” she says gently, placing her spoon down with deliberate care, “titles are earned over time.”
Quinn’s smile flickers, but it doesn’t fall. “Naturally. I only meant that when things are… formalised, it would be appropriate.”
“Formalised?” I repeat, my tone flat.
Quinn turns towards me as though we’re sharing a private joke.
“Well, this is the direction we’re heading, isn’t it? There’s no sense pretending otherwise.”
I lean back in my chair slowly. “You seem very certain of that.”
“I don’t deal in uncertainty, Roman. Our families have an understanding.”
“Our families…” I echo.
“I was raised for it,” Quinn’s chin lifts as her arrogance hangs in the air like perfume.
“And what exactly,” I ask, my voice lowering a fraction, “were you raised to do?”
“To stand beside the man who leads,” she smiles softly, with a territorial edge.
“And you believe that’s me?” I ask, disbelief lacing my tone. This bitch hated me for the last three years; she used to shake in fear any time I was in the same room as her.
“I don’t believe,” she says smoothly. “I’m certain. You need someone who understands legacy. Not… distractions.”
“Distractions?” Mum says, her eyes hardening as her lips thin while she looks at Quinn.
“Some girls are exciting, Fiona. Intense. But intensity doesn’t translate well into families.” Quinn flashes a nasty smile at Mum. I don’t miss how Dad’s gaze sharpens at both the smile and the disrespect of using her name.
“Say what you mean,” I snap, wanting to make sure she hangs herself in front of my parents.
“Fae isn’t built for this life, Roman.” Quinn turns to look at me. “She is emotional and impulsive. She would struggle outside of the compound.”
“Fae has survived more than most.” Mum’s voice cools instantly as I whip my head up at that. How does Mum know what Fae has or hasn’t survived? Did she confide in her?
“I’m sure she has,” Quinn replies in a sickly, patronising voice. “But survival and suitability are different things.”
My jaw tightens as I flex my hands, trying to control my breathing before I shoot another sharp glance at Dad.
“Not everyone raised outside certain standards can simply… adapt,” she continues. “You need refinement beside you. Someone who won’t embarrass you.”
“Careful,” Mum warns, glaring daggers at Quinn.
“I mean no disrespect. I just understand what your son requires. Perhaps better than you think.”
“You understand nothing,” I say, my voice dangerously calm. “Least of all anything about Fae.”
“Oh Roman, sweetheart…” she coos, leaning closer as though we are alone. Her hand slides boldly onto my thigh and her fingers press in. “You don’t have to defend her in front of your mummy.”
Something detonates inside of me. The sensation doesn’t start in my head; it starts in my skin. Her touch burns through the fabric of my trousers, crawling upward, up my leg, into my stomach, and into my chest.
It doesn’t feel like anger at first. It feels like pressure, like something expanding too fast beneath my ribs with nowhere to go. My heart slams once. Then twice. The air thickens as the room narrows and her hand tightens possessively.
“Remove. Your. Hand.” I say through gritted teeth.
Quinn wears a smug smile, pressing her fingers in deeper. The pressure surges higher, up my throat, into my jaw, into my skull. My vision sharpens to a single point, her fingers on me.
If I could breathe fire, this table would already be ash.
I am on my feet before I consciously decide to move. The chair scrapes violently against the floor. I grab her wrist and my fingers wrap tight enough that her smirk fractures. I feel her bone so clearly that it takes effort not to crush it.
The disgust isn’t quiet anymore. It roars in my bloodstream, flooding every nerve ending. My skin feels infected where she touched me, like I need to tear the fabric away and start again.
She squeaks, startled.
Dad rises halfway from his seat. “Roman.”
But I don’t look at him. I’m staring at her.
“You will never,” I continue, my voice low and lethal, “speak about Fae again. And you will never touch me without permission.”
Quinn’s eyes fill with tears. Dad looks unsure what to do as Mum sits there, staring daggers between him and Quinn.
“ANSWER ME!” I shout slamming my hand down in her chocolate cake.
The cutlery clatters as she whimpers, nodding erratically. The room is so silent that even the staff have frozen. If I could set something on fire it would be her confidence and I am very, very close.
“Roman, that’s enough,” my dad barks and I whip my head up to sneer at him.
“This is your fucking fault, old man. Fix it.” I let go of Quinn’s wrist, but not before I squeeze it harder, not caring if it bruises tomorrow.
The scream she lets out doesn’t satisfy my bloodlust either as I finally let go and storm out of the dining room and into the hallway.
Quinn thought tonight would prove she belonged beside me, but all it did was hand me a rope to hang her with.