Tough Love

Chapter Three

I stare at the wood paneling, holding my breath. I'm not sure what I think this is going to accomplish. Still, I can't quite bring myself to knock. My father is waiting on the other side of that door.

Did he notice the cigars I took?

I'd be in trouble then. But even more trouble if he found out I've been sneaking out of the house.

My palms are damp, my breathing erratic. Once I knock on the door, I'll hear my father's voice. Come in. He answers that way every time. He's said those words to me more often than my own name. The sound of him saying them is both comforting and scary.

When I got the summons to come downstairs, I considered going to my sister. I needed her to give me a hug and tell me everything is going to be all right. But she has her own problems to deal with, including a puffy eye and split lip.

And I'm old enough now to know those promises are empty.

She can't make sure this turns out all right. Not for me and not for herself.

I take a deep breath and blow it out. Then I knock.

"Come in."

Shock races down my spine. I can't make myself move. I know exactly whose voice that is. Not my father's.

The door opens in front of me. It's not sweet, like when Giovanni does it. Not chivalrous. Byron looks impatient. "I said come in," he snaps.

I jump, imagining that voice snapping at Honor, those hands hurting her. He doesn't wait to see if I follow him—he already knows that I will. And I do, shutting the door behind me, a hollow feeling in my stomach. I regret not going to see my sister now, even though it wouldn't have helped. In fact she might have insisted on coming with me as a show of support, and that would just get her hurt even more.

If anyone's getting hurt now, it will be me.

"Sit down," Byron says more calmly, perching on the edge of the desk.

My father sits in his chair, watching me with a blank expression. Why didn't he tell me to come in? Because he's just a figurehead now. He knows it. I know it.

And Byron sure as heck knows it.

My father leans forward. "I've been talking to Byron about your work. I showed him some of your paintings."

My eyebrows shoot up. I thought he barely knew about my painting. And to think he showed them to someone else, like a proud father? My throat gets tight.

"It's important for young girls to have hobbies," Byron says. "I've been trying to get Honor to pick up riding, but she claims she's afraid of horses."

My eyes narrow, but I force them to look normal. Honor doesn't claim she's afraid of horses—she is afraid of them. And maybe if she wasn't busy dodging his fists and doctoring herself, she'd have more time for hobbies.

As if Byron senses my anger, he smiles. "But you are different from her, aren't you?"

Is that a jab at my parentage? I snap my gaze to my father. Something dark flickers in his eyes. And that's it. There was a time a man could be beaten for even implying dishonor. And here was this man, with his shiny shoes and his slick hair and his butt on my father's desk, getting away with everything.

It makes me angry. "Is there a reason you called me, Papa?"

"Byron and I would like you to attend the party."

Sweet. Finally I get to be part of something. And hey, it's my sister's engagement party. Even if she is getting engaged to a monster, I should be there.