Page 67 of Wicked Salvation
“Who is he?” My mother says. “We’re still terribly sorry we couldn’t make it to Vivienne’s funeral—it was such short notice and your father and I were all the way in Australia, as you know—but is it because of how the school handled that? I heard from friends that the ceremony was rushed. Do you feel that your relationship will be in danger because of that?” Neither I or my father can get a word in, but we don’t like interrupting her either. Mum talks a lot because she needs it to keep her brain calm. So, we listen. “Oh Luce, you know that your father and I will do anything we can to make sure you and your boyfriend are safe. If only we knew what danger Vivienne was in, perhaps we could have helped somehow…”
Her voice trails off, and now there’s grief in her eyes. My father wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into him. She rests her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest.
“Now darling, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Lucian hasn’t explained.”
I nod. “It’s a girl, Mum. I’m in love with a girl.” I set the teacup down. “Eden Lockhart, to be exact.”
Mum and dad share a glance. “Viscount Lockhart’s daughter? The one engaged to?—”
“Yes,” I cut my father off. I can’t stand to hear his name. “She was mine first.” That’s kind of true, I suppose. “But her parents are forcing her to marry him, and that’s not even the worst part.”
“What do you mean?” Mum’s voice is airy.
I knead my brows. “He’s abusing her.”
The silence grows thick.
“I’ve rescued her more than once, but she keeps going back to him.” The fire in my stomach is burning the oxygen out of my lungs. “So I’m destroying the institution that’s forcing them together.”
They both nod, understanding.
“When you say abused…” My father’s voice is filled with a question.
I suck in a burning breath. “Bruises, cuts, everything you can think of. But she won’t leave him because her parents have given her an ultimatum. She needs to marry someone of equal or higher status.”
“It seems all Peregrine-Ashford men are the same. It’s an open secret that Evadne’s hospitalization and the stroke that took her life were caused by her husband’s harsh…treatment.” Mum looks down at manicured nails. “It’s a shame his viper of a son got to her before you could. Why did she choose him over you, Luce?” She swipes a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I know you’re no Casanova, my love, but were you nervous to approach her? You’re quite a handsome boy—if she was looking for someone of a similar status, then I don’t see why she would choosehim—” The disgust in her voice is evident. “—over you.”
The silence is thick.
But I break it.
“Shedoeslike me.” I blink back the memories of her sopping cunt on my lips. “She told me point blank that if things were different, I would be the one. You know that I keep a low profile at school. I go solely by Mum’s name because I don’t want the added scrutiny. She doesn’t know…she doesn’t know anything about me, about our family. She thinks I’m just another student.” I huff. “I refuse to tell her because I couldn’t live with myself knowing that she chose me out of necessity.”
“You love her, though,” my father says. “Sometimes, love comes in unconventional ways. Even in arranged marriages, it’s possible. And if her situation is as dire as you say…”
“No, Bram. I understand him. Luce cannot be her savior. No man can do that for a woman,” Mum interjects, catching my eye. “In abusive relationships, it’s always easy to cast judgement, towonder why someone would stay. But the truth is, she has to want to leave. There’s nothing Luce can do.”
My father squeezes Mum’s hands.
I know they’re both thinking of the way they met.
Mum’s abusive family—even though it looked perfect from the outside— and my father fighting for her at every turn. Mum wanted to leave, though.
That’s the difference.
“That’s why I shall destroy the institution. If she wants to marry him, she’ll have to do so knowing that thefaiththat led her down this path is entirely a farce,” I say flatly. “She knows all his dirty secrets, and still wants to walk down the aisle to him. Well, she knows all but one.”
My father quirks an eyebrow, Mum’s lips part on a question.
“That’s actually the reason why I took your call,” I continue. “I need a favour.”
Augustine is dyingat my hand.
A whispered confession here. A public breakdown during Mass there. A fire that rips through a wing of the Boys’ Dormitory, razing the floorboards like holy wrath. And most recently, a pulpit that catches fire mid-sermon, everyone in attendance too scared to put it out.
The infection has sufficiently spread.
To anyone else, this might feel like a victory.
