Conditioning myself to pain so it no longer controlled me.
Blood puddled, warm and sticky, in my closed fist. Taking a breath, I reached around Bonnie and elegantly placed the rose into the oasis, opening my palm and raining droplets of blood all over virgin petals and tablecloth. “Oops.”
Bonnie’s face blackened as I wiped the remaining crimson on a fancy piece of ribbon. “Anyone can arrange flowers, but it takes a seamstress to turn blood into a design.” My voice lowered, recalling how many nights I’d sliced myself with scissors or pricked myself with needles. I was used to getting hurt in the process of creation.
This was no different.
I would be hurt in the process of something far more noble—fighting for my life.
“You can’t scare me anymore.” I held up my palm, shoving it in her face. “Blood doesn’t scare me. Threats don’t scare me. I know what you are and you’re just a weak, old woman who hides behind insanity like it’s some mystical power.”
Marquise stood from his chair by the wall. “Madame?”
I glanced at him, throwing a condescending smile. “Don’t interrupt two women talking. If she can’t handle a silly little Weaver, then she has no right to pretend otherwise.”
“Sit down, Marquise.” Bonnie breathed hard, glaring at me. “I’ve never met someone so unrefined and uncouth.”
“You obviously never paid close attention to your granddaughter then.”
She’s rough as sandpaper and tough as steel.
Jasmine could lie like the best of them, but beneath that silk and satin fa?ade, she outweighed me in strength of temper ten to one.
Why tell Bonnie that then? Shut up.
Bonnie shoved her finger in my face. “Don’t talk about her. Jasmine is a woman of eloquence. She knows how to speak three languages, play the piano, stitch, sing, and run a time-worn estate. She outranks you in every conceivable way.”
She has you fooled as wonderfully as she did me.
My respect for Jasmine increased a hundred-fold.
If any of us were playing the game best—it was her. She was the true chameleon, pulling the wool over not just her grandmother’s eyes but her father’s and brother’s, too.
She’s a powerful ally to have.
I couldn’t stop pride and annoyance from blurting: “Shame you’re delusional as well as decrepit.”
Bonnie’s papery hand struck my cheek. Her palm didn’t make a sound on my flesh, merely a swat with no sting. She might have the power of speech and ferocity, but when it came to physical threats—she was brittle and weak.
“My family eclipses yours in every way. It’s a shame you didn’t have such an upbringing. Perhaps you would be more pleasing company if you—”
I couldn’t listen to her cackling drone anymore.
“You’re right. It is a shame I didn’t have someone there to teach me how to do my makeup or bake cakes or learn an instrument. I’m sure I would’ve been happier and more rounded if I grew up with a mother. But she was taken from me by you. Don’t twist my past and make it seem like I’m some underprivileged girl who’s here by the grace of your family because I’m not. I’m your prisoner, and I hate you.” I backed away from the table. “I hate you, and you will pay for what you’ve done.”
Her face twisted with rage. “You ungrateful little—f”
“I agree. I have been ungrateful. I’ve been ungrateful for falling in love with a good man only for it to be too late. I’ve been ungrateful for a brother I adore and a father who’s been lost since his wife was taken. But I’m not ungrateful for this. I’ve found a fucking backbone, and I mean to use it.”
Marquise stomped forward. “Madame. Just give the word.”
I threw a caustic look at both of them. “You’re proving Bonnie’s too weak to discipline me herself.”
“Enough!” Bonnie brought her walking stick down onto the table with a resounding thwack. “Don’t you dare use my name without my permission!”