Chapter Three

Rosalinda’s POV

“Alexander is returning. He has been abroad and will be in the country before your birthday.”

Why does this feel like there is more?

“But he agreed to wait until I am twenty-one, right?”

I can see Father’s face pale.

“Not exactly. There was no initial response. But in his last message, he said he has waited this long to give you time, but he can no longer wait.”

My stomach drops. From fear or excitement, I do not know which.

“So that is it,” I say. “He decides to appear now, and suddenly the waiting is over?”

“He has waited long enough,” Father replies. “His family has waited long enough.”

“I have a say indeed.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “But I am not ready Father.”

“We cannot afford to offend them. When he arrives, he will claim you,” Father says, voice firm. Final. “The ceremony will take place shortly after your birthday. We cannot put it off further.”

Claim.

The word lands wrong. Heavy. Possessive. Like I am an object that has been misplaced and finally retrieved.

I stand. My legs feel oddly steady for someone whose world just tilted.

I should be happy that I get to meet him finally. Though there is a part of me that wishes he never comes at all. But I doubt that would release me or give me freedom to do as I will.

“So I do not get a choice,” I say.

“You get dignity,” he answers “You get protection. You get to honor your obligation with grace, and become the Matriarch to a powerful dynasty.”

I nod, because arguing feels useless now.

“May I be excused?” I ask.

Father hesitates then nods once.

I leave the study with my spine straight, hands calm at my sides. It is how I have been trained. Always to maintain poise. To fit into the Matesson world, whoever they are.

Betty is waiting in front of my room. She follows me in and closes the door.

I pace.

Once. Twice. Again.

“Miss,” Betty says, worry lacing her voice. “Is everything okay?”

I pause at the foot of my bed. I start hyperventilating. Alexander will be here next month. Alexander is coming to claim me.

The walls feel too close. The bed too neatly made. My eyes shift to my dresser. Alexander is a very generous man. And obviously very wealthy. I get gifts from him every year on my birthdays, special holidays, gifts for no reason. Clothes. Bags. Shoes. Jewelry. Everything a girl could dream of.

Everything of the highest quality and obviously the latest trends. Items I never use or wear because I never go anywhere. But I have the best etiquette and finishing teachers, who come in to teach me how to conduct myself in polite society.

I am so polished, you would think I have lived in a different era.

I need to get out. I need air. I need to breathe.

“Betty,” I say suddenly. “I am going clubbing. Help me get ready.”

“What!”

“I said I am going...”

“I heard you, Miss, but I cannot help you. It is too risky. A club is no place for someone like you. You are too pure. There are bad things out there.”

I burst into laughter. “Betty… what do you mean, bad things? Oh God, you sound like Father.” My shoulders shake with mirth.

“No, Miss,” she goes on, trying to dissuade me. “There really are horrible things and people out there. It’s nothing like what you se online.”

I am already searching through my wardrobe for something appropriate, telling her to check online for the nearest club. Something classy.

I pull out a short black, body-hugging A-line dress. I look at the daring deep V-neckline and ask myself how I even have such an outfit. Everything I own comes from Alexander, and from what I know, I doubt he would have approved of something like this. But hey—good thing I have something to wear to the club.

I change without thinking anymore about it. I turn so Betty can help me with the zipper.

“Miss, please don’t go out,” Betty says as she zips me up. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

I grab a pair of gold heels and sit on the edge of my bed.

Betty kneels in front of me to buckle the straps.

“You worry too much. I need to clear my head... away from all this. Maybe a little fun before I move from one cag to another. Alex is coming next month. I do not have time.”

I can see worry and fear etched on her face. Though she is four years older Betty is the closest thing I have to a friend and a sister.

I pull my strawberry-blond hair loose allowing it fall t my shoulders in waves. Its unusual color and the shimmer of my gown set a sharp contrast against my pale skin.

I turn to Betty, stretching out my hand for her phone. She hands it over, and I check the coordinates of the club she has picked ou?¡The Zone.

Hmm.

I grab a coat to cover up with. We then slip quietly through the service corridors. A side door near the kitchens opens out onto the lower gardens.

Outside, the night is crisp and sharp, cold and I welcome it.

We follow the narrow path that leads to the delivery gate at the edge of the property. Betty says it is never locked, and as expected, it isn’t.

Beyond it lies the tarred road leading from our estate. We walk until the house is gone. Just around the corner is the cab Betty booked; she quickly checks to make sure.

Whenever I am done, she is to meet me here with the trench coat. She has a small phone she got a while back, which we use to communicate.

I take off the coat and hand it over to her. With a quick hug, she whispers in my ear, “Please be safe, Miss.”

With that, I slip into the cab.

“Somewhere loud,” I tell the driver when he asks.

He laughs, like he understands exactly what that means.