Rouge: Act 3 – Scene 19

Lacey

My blood freezes.

“You’re talking to my dad?”

Monroe glares at me. “Yes, I’m actually with your daughter right now, Mr. O’Shea. You can talk to her, of course. But there’s a little matter we need to discuss first.”

Ice-cold sweat pricks my forehead as he continues.

“Lacey went against my wishes last night and got drunk during her bachelorette party at your establishment. This morning, she didn’t show up to sign the marriage license, hasn’t had her location on all day long, and she’s been dodgy with her answers to both me and her mother. God knows what she’s been up to the past twenty-four hours. I’m afraid I’ll have to start keeping better tabs on her like we’ve discussed.”

My brow furrows as Monroe places the phone in the middle of the table and presses the speaker icon. I glance around, worried that people will eavesdrop, but when my father speaks I have to strain to hear him, thanks to his old phone.

“Monroe, I’m sorry. I had no idea she would behave so poorly.” My heart aches as my father apologizes rather than defends me. “I… I think keeping better watch over her might be the remedy, at least until the wedding.”

“Speaking of which. Due to your daughter’s actions, I’m going to have to postpone.”

My jaw drops as my father repeats the last and adds, “But… it’s supposed to be this weekend. Then the prosecutor will go forward with the trial.”

“Ah, yes, the trial… I’ve been thinking about it. Why would I testify without security that Lacey can even have a child? It isn’t in my best interest. Perhaps your attorney can keep kicking the can down the road and put it off for another year or so until Lacey and I have married and she’s had an heir. If not, I could always testify during appeals if I feel so inclined that is.”

Blood drains from my face and I gulp.

What the fuck?

I knew I had to stay in line, or I’d risk upsetting my future husband, a man whose reputation for hurting women precedes him. But I’d always assumed if Monroe was subpoenaed, he’d have to testify.

“I didn’t know you had a choice,” I whisper.

“That’s not the deal, Monroe,” my father growls, giving some of the O’Shea edge he’s known for and pumping hope into my veins. But both vanish as he continues in a more docile tone. “I’m sure anything you have in mind will keep Lacey in line. I’ll talk to her.”

“I’ll have to tame your daughter, or I simply won’t be able to marry her, and I won’t testify at all. That was the deal. You broke off the engagement with the McKennon heir to obligate her to me, but if she doesn’t get on board, then I don’t have to fulfill my end of the contract.”

So it’s true.

The knife my father began sliding into my back three years ago has moved so slowly over time that I never felt the sting. He made me think he and Monroe were doing me a favor, that no one wanted me. But he’s using me. That revelation lodges the blade inches from my heart and now there’s no question of how expendable I am. Even to my own father.

“Monroe… she doesn’t know the stakes. She thinks you’re marrying her because no one else would, not that you’ll only testify if she marries you.”

“Well, she knows now.” The Baron’s pale, thin lips widen into an ugly smile. “You’re on speaker, O’Shea. I suggest you inform her of the risks of her behavior, or I will. And neither of you will like my methods.”

My father sucks in a breath and I wait for him to say something—anything—to fix this. But instead, he drives the dagger home.

“I’ll make sure she understands.”

My chest aches and I can’t breathe. This betrayal might kill me.

“Good to hear it. And as for a wedding… I have no desire to get married legally or publicly during this scandal. I’ll wait until it dies down to decide whether I want to marry her at all. Hopefully, it’s before you’re convicted. Exoneration in the appeals process is much harder to come by than acquittal in trial.”

My skin grows hot and the mock neck on my dress chokes me. I pull at the edges to try to get some air and my knee begins to bounce again.

Monroe hands the phone to me like he’s passing a loaf of bread and I smash my finger against the speaker icon. My father’s deception has me on the verge of tears, but I blink them back and fake a brave voice.

“Dad?”

“My little camellia, are you okay?” The knife twists.

Do you care?

“I am… but I… I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way. When Monroe told me he could testify on my behalf if you married him instead, I did what I had to do—”

“For you,” I finish.

Is it selfish of me to be mad at him for trying to save his own freedom? Maybe, but God, did it have to be at the expense of my own?

“I didn’t do it just for me. I did it for everyone. If I go to prison, the Garde will strip me of my title. Anarchy will reign until a new Keeper fights his way to the role, and you’ll be… extinguished. It’s the way of the Garde. Nothing is ever freely given or gained. Not even innocence. My attorney says the testimony will be enough to get me acquitted, but Monroe won’t divulge what it is to anyone else until the trial. He can set me free and…” My father’s heavy sigh tugs at my heart, but what he’s saying makes me want to rip the pain out of my chest. “He can set me free, and you have to do whatever it takes to please him to make that happen. I’m sorry, Lacey. I hate to hear my little flower be so upset, but as the Red Camellia, you must do your duty to the Garde. It’s how it has to be.”

Questions burn on my tongue, but I can’t ask them with Monroe staring at me, swirling his cabernet. Besides, if Monroe is threatening to refuse to testify, then there’s only one person who can help me now.

As if my thoughts have summoned him, I see Kian in my periphery, leaning over the bar to talk to Tolie, his phone in his hand. Tolie glances at me and nods before Kian puts the phone to his ear, hops off the stool, and walks out.

Fear knifes in my chest and my phone buzzes in my lap. I don’t check it though. I’m sure it’s Kian telling me Tolie and one of his hidden security guards are watching over me while he steps out for the call. It’s not like Monroe can do anything in a crowded restaurant.

I swallow and try to focus on the call with my father.

“Okay, Dad… I understand.”

“I knew you would, princess. I’ll call you this week, but I have to go—”

“Dad, wait, um… what does ‘tin-eh’ mean?”

My dad’s Irish roots have been all but Americanized, but I’m hoping he remembers some of the language his grandparents spoke.

“‘Tine?’ Ah, let’s see. It’s been decades since I’ve heard the Irish language. If I recall correctly, ‘tine’ in Irish means ‘fire.’”

Fire.

I’ve cursed Kian, fought him, destroyed his things, and even bit him, but from the moment I met him, he’s called me his “fire.” One he promises never to tame.

That numb feeling I’ve had slips away as certainty warms my chest, solidifying my decision. I desperately want to ask what “iss too mu row-ah” actually means, but Monroe is already frowning at my change in topic. I’m sure it isn’t “pain in the ass” like Kian claimed, but I’m not so sure my safe word should be used in polite company anyway, let alone ask my father.

“What brought that question on, sweetheart?”

“Nothing. Just curious. I love you, Dad. And I miss you,” I say on autopilot and I’m sure I mean it deep down, but right now, I don’t feel it. “You said you’ll call this week?”

“Yes, of course. I love—”

The Baron snatches the device before I hear my father finish.

“That’s enough of that. People are staring.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to point out that there are exactly zero people paying any attention to us, but I’m saved by Tolie.

“Ma’am, here’s your salad. Chef Key made sure to add grilled chicken and dressing on the side in case you wanted something more filling than rabbit food.”

I roll my lips inward and bite them to keep from smiling as Tolie winks at me. His face blanks to pure professionalism in an instant and he turns without missing a beat.

“And sir, here’s your steak… is there anything else I can get for you?” Tolie lingers while he pours more wine. I take a sip as soon as he’s finished, trying to calm my nerves.

“No,” Monroe answers tersely and begins to cut his filet.

“Allllright then, I’ll be back to check on you shortly.”

Before Tolie gets even feet away from our table, Monroe grunts, “The staff didn’t use to be so unprofessional. I guess they’ll hire anyone these days.”

Tolie glares at the back of his head, but I don’t dare react. Monroe notices none of it as he shovels a piece of meat in his mouth and points his knife at me.

“So, fiancée. How was your talk with your father? Enlightening?”

“Yes.” My voice breaks at the simple word and I take a huge gulp of wine, hoping a buzz will mellow out the anxiety consuming me.

I’m stressed, but Monroe threatening not to testify isn’t the power play he thinks it is. Now I know it’s worth the risk to find allies. Thankfully, I happen to already be secretly married to a ruthless, obsessive bastard who’s offered to help.

Once this dinner is over, all I need to do is convince Kian to hide our marriage a little bit longer. I have to find out what information the Baron knows that’s so important it can guarantee my father’s freedom.

“I hope you understand now that I can do anything I fucking well please. I hold your father’s fate in my hands. I can let him live or let him rot. At this point, I refuse to testify until after we’ve married and you have my heir. If that isn’t until his appeals process, then so be it. Granted, that’s if he survives jail in the first place.”

My heart lodges in my throat. “What?”

“You didn’t hear? There’ve been fights in the jail recently. Scary things. Anyone can get shivved if they’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Is… is my father in danger?”

“Of course he’s in danger. Don’t be stupid. You didn’t think jail was safe, did you? Just because your daddy smuggled a phone doesn’t mean he’s protected. It means when he’s no longer useful to people in there, he’s got a target on his back. Like you do out here, actually.”

Anger heats my cheeks. “Is that a threat toward me, Monroe?”

“More of an… observation. Prisons have their own rules, and the Garde has ours. I suggest you get in line, dear fiancée. I refuse to have my reputation ruined by marrying a slutty socialite, and if I don’t marry you, I don’t testify, and if I don’t testify, your father could rot in prison for the rest of his life, however short his fellow inmates decide it may be. But luckily for everyone, I’ve ensured none of that will happen.”

“What do you mean?” I tug at my stifling neckline.

“You’ll stay in my suite from now on.” He nods his head out the window at the building across from us. “At the Baron Hotel.”

“Your suite?” My eyes widen and my heart thunders in my chest as I try to come up with an excuse. “But the Garde doesn’t allow us to live together before marriage.”

He huffs and shakes his head. “One would think the Garde would have spurned at least some old-fashioned ways, but evidently a female’s virtue is still prized above all. You won’t live with me. My rooms comprise the entire top floor of the hotel, but you’ll stay in the smallest one, the Elephant Suite, with bodyguards outside your door at all times. It’s both suitable for the society’s sensibilities and ensures you never leave unless I’m with you.”

My brain runs a mile a second and my heart is beating so hard that my chest hurts. As Monroe stabs pieces of steak to shovel in his mouth, I take another gulp of wine and glance around.

Kian hasn’t come back yet, and I don’t see Tolie. I sip more to try to calm myself down, but the buzz is dangerously careening into tipsy territory and there’s still no end in sight for my heart palpitations.

“You can’t just lock me up, Monroe. You said it yourself. I’m a socialite. People will know something’s wrong if I don’t go out.”

His eyes bore down on me and I feel myself and my resolve getting smaller with every word between us.

“That’s been taken care of. According to the statement I put out in your name, you’re guilt-ridden. You begged me not to call off the wedding, but you understand I need time to heal. You’ve sworn off social media and you’re requesting to be left alone while you work on yourself. To help you with that, my IT guy has ensured that my suite has minimal access to the outside world. You can text and call so people don’t think you’re dead, but you’ll have no internet. You’ll spend the next couple of weeks—or months—atoning for your sins. Going to Mass. Hopefully, I’ll forgive you, but you’ve insisted on staying in my suite while I’m out of town to prove you’re not the party princess everyone thinks you are.” He scoffs and pokes my empty wineglass. “Even though your current state doesn’t do you favors.”

The walls of my reality are already closing in on me, trapping me, and I’m not even locked away yet. As much as I hate the stigma that comes with the word “socialite,” I do love to be social. It gives me energy to meet new people, try new things. Even short periods of time without being able to dance, go outside, or see people drive me crazy. Adding in no social media or being able to contact anyone…

“Monroe, I can’t. Please—”

“I couldn’t give a fuck,” Monroe hisses and leans over the table to grab my forearm hard.

His grip hurts, but I don’t dare cry out. I don’t want to see the satisfaction on the asshole’s face.

“I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation, Lacey. Your father needs me, and yet you had the audacity to embarrass me. I should break it off now, but I have my eyes on the prize. I will receive my inheritance. I will rule the Garde. And you will be my wife.” He grabs a fork, shoves the handle into my hand, and lets go of my forearm. “Now eat. You’re causing a scene, and I swear to God, if you humiliate me again, you won’t like what happens to your father. Behave, or this merger will never go through.”

Merger… as if a marriage is just a business deal to be brokered.

Which, with the Garde, I guess it is. And I’m the commodity.

But I’m more than that, dammit. I’ve relied on the world assuming I’m a stupid socialite countless times. Why not use it to my advantage now? I’ve already decided I need to know what Monroe’s testimony is going to be so I can get my dad out of jail myself. What if Monroe keeps files in his suites? The only way to find the answers is to play his game and if I play my cards right… maybe this could work.

“You said you’re going out of town?” I ask, like prey keeping track of its predator.

“I’ll be flying for business back and forth from New York. By leaving you behind, the world will see that I’m teaching you a lesson and I’m no spineless fool. We can discuss our wedding details after you’ve proven you can be a good politician’s wife. For starters, eat your dinner. People are staring.”

I glance at my untouched food, but my mouth is so dry I know I won’t be able to choke anything down.

“I… don’t want this.”

I’m not sure whether I mean the food or life in general at this point. Probably both. But the Baron stabs another piece of meat, pops it between his lips, and jabs his knife in the air at me.

“This life was chosen for you and you’ve loved it until your responsibilities caught up with you. But now that you can’t live like a spoiled princess anymore, you don’t want to play the role. It’s time to grow the fuck up and learn that no one in this world gives a fuck what you want, only what you can give them, Lacey O’Shea.”

…McKennon.

The last name whispers across my mind. Under the table, I loop my finger into the simple ring and wait for the silver metal to match my warmth.

The Baron is right about a lot of what he said, but not everything. It’s never been more clear that no one in this world gives a fuck what I want…

…except for Kian McKennon.