Page 149 of Pink Ink

Maria shoots me a warning look while Roland says nothing. She pulls out my seat for me at the opposite end of the table—our usual show in front of the good and holy high saint.

“If I ask you to be here by seven thirty, then you are expected to be here by seven thirty.” If I weren’t so far away from him, I’d be concerned about his white-knuckle grip on the knife.

Maria fills my glass with sparkling water—which my sperm donor knows I despise as much as coffee. She offers to dish my plate, but I shake my head.

“No need. I don’t plan on staying.” I take the glass and look him dead in the eyes as I drink the disgusting liquid without flinching.

Maria must read the room because she makes herself scarce. I cut a glance to Mother, who says nothing, staring at her food. She hardly ever speaks in front of Roland at the dinner table, unless it’s to take his side.

“I’ve summoned—”

He stops when a laugh rumbles out of me. I clear my throat, holding my hand up. “My apologies. Please continue about howyouhave summonedme.”

Roland tightens his grip around his utensils, an arrogant gleam crossing his eyes. “We’ve decided to move up your wedding date to a month from now.”

“Have you now?” I cock a brow.

“Yes. Annabel will arrange for the details to be sent to you,” he says, spearing an asparagus without sparing a glance at Mother.

I swirl my glass, watching the disgusting clear liquid bubble. “Why the urgency?”

“Daniel is gaining more favor amongst the acolytes. The Dornmonts and I believe it is in the Order’s best interest to do whatever possible to ensure he isn’t elected.” His eyes never meet mine.

“Right.” I tap my glass against the table. “So this has nothing to do with your latest murder attempt?”

I see the exact moment the two words sound alarms in his head:He knows.

Oh yes, Father. Iknow.

His only tell is the briefest falter in his movements as he cuts into his steak.

Spencer’s cutlery clatters onto his plate. “Murder? What murder?” He glances between us.

“Stop by my office tomorrow. We need to talk,” I tell him. It’s not a discussion we should have with either of our parents in the room.

Spencer narrows his eyes at me. We’ve never touched on such topics in front of him before.

“Murders happen all the time,” Roland says noncommittally. “Am I expected to keep up with who dies?”

We stare at each other, waiting to see who will break first.

It was a gamble throwing the accusation out. It’s not like Shepherd and I are texting buddies, but I figured that if he were half the man I think he is, he’d want to remedy last night’s incident as quickly as possible—to keep his daughter safe and get his high saint back in line.

An acolyte had to kill another acolyte, after all. That doesn’t happen every day.

“I suppose not.” I shrug, taking another sip. “Alas, I thought it would be best that you heard it from me: I’ve spoken to Abi, and we’re calling off the engagement.”

In fact, I spoke to her just before coming here.

Mother gasps, and Roland slams his hand on the table. It’s rather liberating to see the vein in his forehead pulse. It doesn’t age him well.

“I don’t know what paint you’ve been sniffing, son, but one month from now, you are marrying that girl. Should you change your mind, ourarrangementwill end.” The tendons in his neck throb.

“Can someone explain what’s going on?” Spencer insists, flicking his gaze between the three of us.

“Tomorrow,” I promise before responding to Roland. “Then consider this a renegotiation of our arrangement. The weddingisoff, and I will no longer be ordered around. Additionally, Spencer can choose what level of involvement he wishes to have with you and the Order.”

Roland points the steak knife at me. “You’re sorely mistaken if you think for one second that you have any authority over what goes on in my house.”