Then all at once, his eyes found mine, and he winked.
I sucked in a breath.
Have you ever had a sinking feeling something horrible is about to happen? Something that will change your life?
My smile flickered, a dying light bulb. “Papa, if we start now we can still hold the swans…”
Though most of them had scattered because of his yell, a few still lingered. I knew I should stop; something worse was happening than my tradition being ruined.
“I heard the rumors, Abigail,” Papa said. “I heard them and I didn’t listen. I should’ve listened. Are you so attention starved you would sell out our family name? Your own sister?” My grandpa’s eyes were back on me
, his ire hot, unexpected, and before now, unfelt.
I didn’t know what to do with it.
I’d heard rumors of my grandfather’s anger, but I’d never experienced it firsthand. I wanted to sink into the crowd and disappear.
“Weeks before your wedding and the most important merger in our company’s history?” he continued.
“I don’t understand.” My gaze flickered between my grandfather’s and Theo’s.
“Cut the shit, Abigail.”
I swallowed air.
My grandfather never spoke to me like that. He called me princess, sweetheart, and darling.
I still couldn’t speak.
Grandfather held out his hand; a moment later one of his men placed a stack of papers in them. He held them to my face. Front and center, paper clipped as if it had been printed separately: the blackmail bonding photos I’d taken with Gemma, and beneath them, emails printed from my address to make it look like I was planning on sending them to the press.
I’d never written those emails, and I never would.
My stomach dropped, my eyes shifted to Theo, a small, wicked smile quirked his right cheek.
“That’s your email.”
“Yes, but—”
“And that’s your room.”
“Yes, but—”
“And that’s your sister.”
“Yes! But—”
“I already have one famous slut for a daughter.” He paused, shook his head. “Did you think you could get out of your marriage this way? As if I wouldn’t realize the trick you were playing?” Grandpa raised his voice, and I startled as someone looked over. He smoothed down the sides of his salt-and-pepper hair, regaining composure.
“I want to marry him,” I said, scrambling. “I want to get married. I’m excited to marry…” I trailed off, heart paralyzed as my grandfather’s eyes narrowed, and I realized I still didn’t know the name of the man I was marrying.
I withered and died under his gaze.
“Edward Harlington,” he said.
“Yes, Edward Harlington,” I said quickly.
His red lips thinned. “I’ve been too lenient, too understanding. You are worse than a disappointment; you are a liability. I should have listened to your mother.”