"Thank God Rosemary stepped in, or who knows what you would've done. You hurt her, and now you want a divorce? Running away from home like some child?!"
"I don't know what your mother taught you, but she raised a thug. You'd better get on your knees and apologize before you destroy the partnership between our families!"
I looked at this man—this man who saw nothing but profit margins and alliances.
A cold laugh escaped me.
"If you knew I'd left home, why didn't you ask where I've been staying? Whether I was okay?"
"Oh, right—I forgot. Your heart belongs to your mistress now. That's why you couldn't even bother showing up to your own wife's funeral. You're that shameless, and you dare lecture me about my mother?!"
My father slammed his chopsticks down and raised his hand to strike me.
Astrid's eyes darted, calculating. She grabbed his arm just in time, her face arranged into a picture of gentle concern.
"Honey, what are you doing? The boy's grieving. We should be understanding—he's in pain. I don't mind, really."
"Besides, if you bruise his face, how will he stand beside Frederick as best man?"
I froze.
My voice came out raw, scraped hollow.
"What did you just call him? You two are married?!"