The Reluctant Bride (Arranged Marriage #1)(51)

Reginald chuckles into his glass before he tips his head back and drains it. “Kids these days. Your expectations are completely different from mine. When I married my wife, I fully expected her to be a virgin. Untouched. Belonging only to me. Yet all these years later, my nephew chased after the daughter of one of the biggest whores in New York City, and eventually made the woman his wife. Hell, my oldest son is involved with a woman who wasn’t promised to him. Didn’t matter what I had to say on the matter, he didn’t care. And from what I can see, your family is much the same.”

I’m over this conversation. “And your point is?”

He can hear the hostility in my tone, I’m sure. “My point is that it seems you’re the only disciplined Constantine of the bunch. While my daughter is the most undisciplined young lady I’ve ever had to witness. Trust that you’ll have your hands full with this one.”

From what I can tell, Charlotte is quiet and reserved and not much of a handful at all.

But I don’t bother arguing with him.

“I’m sure we’ll figure everything out as we go,” I say, unsure how to reply to any of the shit he’s throwing.

“Just one more word of advice.” He tilts his head toward me. “Sometimes, a woman can get a little squirrelly. She might need a bit of—discipline. And my Charlotte? She’s fine with it. Responds quite well to it if I’m being completely truthful.”

Confirmation hits me like a punch in the face and for a moment it’s like I can’t breathe.

My gut instinct was right. Her father is the one who put those bruises on her arm. How many times has he done that over the years? A couple of times? A handful? Multiple incidents even?

Thank Christ I got her out of that house when I did.

“I’m not a big fan of disciplining anyone, especially the woman who will become my wife,” I bite out, wishing I had more scotch in my glass.

Wishing more I could hurl the glass at his smug face.

Reginald goes still, his gaze trained on me. “You look angry, son.”

I don’t even bother holding back anymore. “Maybe that’s because I am.”

“I’m not saying you have to take my advice.” He grabs the bottle of scotch and splashes more into his glass, indicating with a wave of the bottle if I might want more. I shake my head, not wanting to take anything from this asshole. “Just thought I’d be helpful.”

“Appreciate your concern.” My voice is tight, as are the muscles in my entire body. I’m so fucking tense, I could probably snap in half with one touch.

He flicks his wrist, swirling the brown liquid in the glass, watching it turn for a moment, his expression contemplative. I’d give anything to kick his ass out of my apartment, but the apartment isn’t mine.

It’s his.

And the woman I’m about to marry?

She’s still his as well.

But only for a short amount of time. We’re counting down the days until she’s legally a Constantine, and then I can get her away from this man and out from under his damn thumb.

“Don’t let her get too out of control, son. It’s not a good look for the Lancaster name,” he finally says, like a threat.

“I’m not your son.”

His gaze lifts to mine once more, those icy blue Lancaster eyes freezing me where I stand. “Right. And your father is long dead, correct?”

I don’t talk about my father. Whenever he’s brought up, even in simple conversation such as this, it cuts deep. Reminds me of the pain I went through when we first lost him. When I was an angst-filled teenager who cried and cried, pissed that life was so unfair and that my father was gone.

I’m no longer that sad, depressed teenager who let his emotions spill everywhere, but I’m still pissed about it. And this asshole doesn’t help matters whatsoever.

“Yes, sir. He is.” I decide to give him an ounce of respect, hoping he’ll get the hint and leave. I’m tired. I want to shed this suit and take a shower, wash off the filth of the day and the words from this man who has zero concern for his daughter. Who only uses her as a pawn to gain what he wants.

“Such a shame.” He drains the glass yet again and sets it on the bar cart before he turns to face me. “He was a shit businessman anyway. Your brother has done a far better job of growing Halcyon into what it is today.”

I press my lips together, not wanting to speak my mind and piss this man off.

But it’s as if I can’t help myself. The words come anyway.

“Don’t insult my father.”

“Touchy subject?” The fucker seems amused.

“He’s dead. And anyone who’s dead deserves some respect, especially my father.” I don’t look away. I even contemplate taking him. I’m younger. Taller. Stronger. I could do it. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t insult the man who raised me.”

He’s quiet as he takes a step toward me. Then another. Until he’s practically in my face, though I’m taller by a few inches. “You think you’re better than me because you’re younger and full of so much come, all a woman has to do is breathe on you and you’re squirting in your shorts? Guess what, you’re not. I’m the one who’s pulling all the strings here, despite what your brother might’ve told you.”