Page 65 of Blood Debt
“Elia,” she says, voice sweet and even. “Elia Rosetti, sir.”
I nearly choke on a laugh. I can’t help it. The way she’s selling it—the soft breath, the eyes lowered just so. She’s a terrifyingly good liar.
My father doesn’t laugh.
He looks between us. Then fixes his gaze on her.
“Do you want him?”
Serafina doesn’t miss a beat. “No, sir.”
His eyes scan her from head to foot.
“Well,” he says, “I don’t think you’re good enough to marry my son. You’re a lowly maid.”
“But,” he adds, voice gruff but not unkind, “you can always prove me wrong.”
He leans back in his chair with a wheeze and waves one hand.
“All I want is a wife on the Blue Moon. I don’t care who.”
He looks at me.
“Now get out. I need a nap.”
He snaps his fingers, and the nurse steps forward from the shadows, already preparing the sedative.
She bows low once more, grabs me by the arm again, and drags me from the room like I’m some fevered lunatic.
And maybe I am.
Because even with my father’s rejection echoing in my ears, I’m smiling.
The second the door shuts behind us, she spins on me.
Her hands shove against my chest—not enough to move me, but enough to snap the air between us like a whip.
Her voice is low and furious.
“What is wrong with you?”
I grin, still feeling the rush from what just happened. “Is that how you thank someone for saving you from a maid’s life forever?”
She narrows her eyes and hisses, “You think this is funny?”
I shrug. “A little.”
She steps closer—just close enough—and then stomps on my foot. Hard.
“Shit!” I hiss, hopping back.
She crosses her arms. “Do you have a death wish?”
I chuckle through the sting, rubbing my foot. “Maybe. Last night I almost died.”
That quiets her.
She coughs, turning red.
