Chapter 77: By Your Rules
The knock came at 9:42 PM.Precise.Expectant. Beth marked her page in the economic treatise she wasn’t really reading and crossed the cold blue room.She opened the door.
Sophia Rossi stood there, still in her dinner attire—a sheath of cream silk, pearls at her throat. She smelled of gardenias and thinly veiled irritation. Her eyes scanned Beth, from the loose waves of her hair down to the ivory silk pajamas and bare feet.“Bethany. You weren’t at dinner.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Beth agreed pleasantly, leaning against the doorframe. The glasses were still perched in her hair.A prop, but an effective one.
“We waited.”
“That was unnecessary, but kind. I had some work to finish.” She let the statement hang, a bland lie they both saw through. “I didn’t want to intrude on family tradition.”
Sophia’s smile was a razor cut.“Nonsense. You are a guest. Guests are included.”
“Some guests,” Beth said, her tone light as air, “know when they’re the exception to the rule.I’m comfortable with exceptions. They have their own… charm.”
A flicker in Sophia’s eyes. The woman was used to defiance, to outbursts.This calm, deliberate removal was a different weapon. “Damien was disappointed.”
“Was he?” Beth’s eyebrow lifted a fraction. “He didn’t mention it when he stopped by earlier. He seemed more concerned with the quality of the single malt.”
The subtext landed.He was in this room.With me.Behind a closed door. Sophia’s gaze hardened, navigating the unspoken territory.“This is his home. He has certain expectations.”
“And I have certain boundaries.” Beth shifted, a subtle movement that suggested the conversation was nearing its end. “It’s a weekend, Sophia. I’m sure we’ll all survive the awkward seating arrangements.”
“It’s not about seating arrangements.” The older woman’s voice lowered, the civility fraying at the edges.“It’s about respect.For this family. For its rhythms.”
“Rhythms.” Beth repeated the word as if tasting it.“I remember those. The rhythm of silent treatments over breakfast.The rhythm of interrogations about which fork I used. The rhythm of never, ever being quite enough.” She smiled then, a genuine, sharp thing. “I’ve developed my own rhythm now. It’s less… constricting.”
Sophia took a half-step forward, the gardenia scent strengthening. “You think you’ve outgrown this place.Its rules.Its requirements.”
“I haven’t outgrown it,” Beth corrected softly. “I simply left its jurisdiction.There’s a difference. I’m here as a courtesy to your son. Not to re-audition for a role I never wanted.”
“You wanted it once. Desperately.”
“And that,” Beth said, her green eyes locking onto Sophia’s, “is why you’ll never understand me now.The desperate girl is gone. All that’s left is a woman who doesn’t need a thing from you. It must be confusing.Annoying, even.”
The hallway was a tomb of polished wood and dim sconces. Somewhere, a floorboard creaked.Someone was listening.
Sophia drew herself up, reclaiming her poise from a well of lifelong practice. “You are choosing to make this contentious.”
“I’m choosing to eat a room service club sandwich in peace. You’re the one standing in my doorway, calling it contentious.” Beth shrugged, a slow, elegant roll of her shoulders in the silk.“We can do this all weekend, if you like. You can knock, I can answer.We can have these little chats. Or, you can accept that I am not here to play the game on your board.”
For a long moment, Sophia said nothing. The air between them vibrated with old resentments and new, calculated disrespect.Finally, she gave a slow, acknowledging nod. It wasn’t surrender.It was a tactical retreat.
“Sleep well, Bethany.”
“You too, Sophia.Give my best to the family.”
The door closed. Beth didn’t move until she heard the crisp footsteps fade down the hall. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.Her hands were steady.Good.
She turned and nearly jumped out of her skin.
Damien was sprawled in the wingback chair in the shadowed corner of the room, legs stretched out, ankle resting on knee. He had a fresh glass of whiskey in his hand.How long he’d been there, silent as a ghost, she had no idea.
“You,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest, “are infuriating.”
“She started it,” he replied, taking a sip. His face was half in darkness, but the green of his eyes caught the faint light from the window.“‘Rhythms.’ Christ. She talks about this family like it’s a fucking symphony.”
“It’s more of a dirge.” Beth walked to the small sidebar and poured herself two fingers of whiskey, needing it. She didn’t sit. “You heard everything.”
“Every devastatingly polite word.” He watched her over the rim of his glass.“You were magnificent.Cold.Brutal. Absolutely magnificent.”
“I was truthful.”
“Same thing.” He set his glass down with a soft click. “She came here to put you in your place. Instead, you defined the entire territory as one you have no interest in.She doesn’t know what to do with that.Power she understands. Hunger she understands.Your utter indifference?” He whistled low. “That’s a language she doesn’t speak.”
Beth finally sat on the edge of the bed, facing him. The adrenaline was fading, leaving a tired buzz in its wake.“She’ll just find another way. A more direct one.”
“Probably.” He stood, suddenly, the movement fluid and predatory. He crossed the room and sat beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight. The heat of him seeped through the silk of her pajamas. “Let her.”
“It’s your mother, Damien.”
“And you’re my wife.” The old word slipped out, charged and intentional.
“Ex.”
“Technicality.” He lifted a hand and carefully removed the glasses from her hair, setting them aside. His fingers traced the line of her jaw. “You didn’t come to dinner.”
“You were disappointed.”
“I was pissed.And then I was proud.” His thumb brushed her bottom lip. “You knew skipping it was a bigger ‘fuck you’ than showing up and throwing wine would ever be.You understand the semantics of this world better than anyone.”
She didn’t pull away. The fight with Sophia, the tension, it had stripped another layer bare. The careful distance felt like work now. “It’s not my world anymore.”
“It’s always your world, Beth.” His voice dropped, low and intimate in the quiet room. “You just rule a different part of it.And right now, you’re in mine.”
He kissed her. It wasn’t the playful, teasing kiss from the jet or the calculated one from the hallway. This was claiming and conceding all at once. A recognition of the battle she’d just fought, and a promise of a different kind of war. Her hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. The taste of whiskey, the scent of him, the solid reality of his body against hers—it was a sanctuary and a siege.
When they broke apart, breathless, he rested his forehead against hers.“Stay in this room tonight,” he murmured. “But let me stay with you.”
The unspoken rules of the weekend, laid down by his mother, crumpled in the space between their lips.Beth knew the cost. The morning would bring a fresh set of calculations, a new front in the silent war.She also knew she didn’t care.
“The door has a lock,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face.He stood, offered her his hand.Not to lead her, but to join her. “Then let’s use it.”