Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
“Like with clay?” Pavel asks, his nose crinkled as if he can smell something awful on his upper lip.
“Yes. I don’t really work with stone. At least not yet. I—”
“I feel there is no reason to discuss having a large wedding,” Bryant interrupts, clearly uninterested in learning anything about me or extending this conversation more than we have to.
“Bryant,” Sarah speaks up. “We are Morellis. We should host a wedding. Eva can help—”
“This is a different situation,” Bryant snaps, his eyes shooting daggers across the table at her.
She shuts her mouth, shrugs, and signals for the waiter to pour her more wine. It’s clear to me that Sarah is indifferent to the idea of a wedding and was simply tossing the idea out there for show. Of course this woman wouldn’t want to throw the bastard child a wedding. I can’t say that I blame her.
“It needs to be a church wedding,” Sidorov says.
My eyes lift to Pavel who is looking down in his lap and texting someone on his phone. It appears that he can care less that others are planning our wedding and our future with zero input from either of us.
I glance at Bryant whose eyes are narrowed in on Pavel. I can only imagine how watching him text at the dinner table—his dinner table—is insulting. Pavel doesn’t look up until the plate of roasted chicken, potatoes, and asparagus is placed in front of him.
“Does Lyriope have stocks in the Morelli businesses? A position on any boards?” Sidorov asks my father rather than me.
“No,” my father answers quickly as he cuts into his chicken to eat.
“Don’t you feel it is appropriate that she does?” Sidorov asks.
I notice that Sarah smirks to herself as she begins taking tiny bites of her meal. I too feel that me having anything to do with the Morelli business is comical, but I’m not going to say a single word. I also notice that Pavel is texting again, not even bothering to begin eating yet.
“We’re not here to discuss my family business or how it’s run,” Bryant answers, warning in his voice.
“But we do need to discuss how the Sidorov family and the Morelli family will be merged,” Sidorov continues.
“By marriage,” Bryant says with a mouthful, his face reddening which I can only assume is not a good sign. “I agreed to have your nephew marry Lyriope. I plan to honor my word.”
“Yes, but that was with the assumption that Lyriope is a Morelli in every way.” His eyes shoot to me. “Not just as a bastard daughter.”
Sidorov’s words should hurt, but they don’t. For some reason, I’m finding this entire conversation slightly ironic. Sidorov made assumptions that I was the golden ticket and how very wrong he was in doing so. I am the bastard child. No question about it.
Bryant slams his fork down on the table and glares at Pavel who is still staring down in his lap. “Is something wrong with your dinner?”
Pavel glances up for a split second but then continues typing. “The dinner looks fine,” he mumbles, not reading the man who is insulted by his actions.
I feel as if I’m watching a car accident happen. I’m simply a bystander who is helpless to do anything but watch the carnage occur. If the table wasn’t so large, I’d find a way to kick Pavel under it so he’d realize what an idiot he’s being. I turn my head to see that Sarah is sipping from her wine with a grin on her face. She’s entertained. This much is obvious. For what reason she is, I’m not sure. Does she like seeing Bryant get insulted and then fired up? Or is she merely drunk and enjoying a show of conflict to keep her amused?
Sidorov finally catches on to what’s causing the tension, and he elbows Pavel which makes his nephew glance up and notice that all eyes are on him. Rather than being embarrassed or offering an apology, he instead looks over his shoulder at the server standing at attention against the wall and signals that he’d like some more wine poured.
Bryant stiffens his spine, wipes his mouth with a napkin, and says, “Make arrangements with whatever church of your choosing. Since Lyriope will be living with me until the wedding, I’d like to see this happen sooner rather than later so that she can get settled in to a more”—his eyes lock with mine for the briefest of moments—“suitable living situation.”
God forbid that his flesh and blood live under his roof for any longer than needed.
I have so many questions. I want to know what Pavel does for a living. Where will we be living? I most certainly am not moving to Russia. I want to know something—anything—about the man I’m expected to marry, but I can’t bring myself to speak up. The mood at the table is thick, heavy, and dangerous in feeling. I feel like Bryant is on the verge of snapping, and I don’t want to be the one that causes the final break. So, even though I want to know so much, I feel it’s going to have to wait until another day, or another night, or just another time. I have zero appetite and have only nibbled on my food. If I drink another sip of wine, I’m worried I’ll have the glassy-eyed, I-don’t-have-a-care-in-the-world, void look that Sarah has.