Page 34 of Downfall

The painting is anything but exquisite. It’s mundane. Pompous even. There’s no risk to it, no expression at all. It’s as if someone’s taken a masterpiece and tried to replicate it with a canvas that’s all ‘painting by numbers’. But I don’t mind. I like that I’m away from that situation, that the pressure cooker has been turned down a tiny bit.

And then I realise Darius is staring at me in a way that makes me more than a little uncomfortable.

“Where is Paris?” I ask.

His lips curl for a moment. “He’s running an errand for me.”

I nod like that’s an answer.

“Are you missing your husband Rose?” He teases stepping that little bit closer.

I shrug playing the game. Of course I’m not. I’m enjoying the few moments of freedom I have right now, no matter how fleeting they are.

He frowns just a little as I look away.

“Do not worry about Sofia.” He says quietly.

“In what way?” I ask.

“Being with Otto.”

“Is she?”

He smiles, leading me further from view as if he doesn’t want us to be even seen in this moment. “You’re no fool Rose. Under that pretty polished exterior you’re just as smart, just as sharp as the rest of us.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” I reply.

“No?” He says. “Then what would your father say when he hears of them, of Otto and Sofia?”

I shake my head. This is dangerous ground. I’ve never outwardly spoken of our rift, never once dared discuss the feud with Darius, even when my father has all but ordered me to in the past. It feels too blatant. It feels far too risky to speak of such things.

Besides it’s easier to play the pawn and not the conspirator.

As I step away he catches me. His hand wrapping around me and I flinch out of instinct.

“Rose?”

I look up meeting his gaze as his eyes drop to take me in.

“Let me go.” I whisper.

“I would never hurt you.” He says.

I shut my eyes stepping further away and his body crowds me once more. His hand scoops under my jaw, forcing my head up, all but forcing me to look at him as I try to get away and as I glare at him he sees it. I know he does. For the first time he’s seeing what I’ve hidden these five years.

“How long?” He asks.

I don’t reply.

“How long Rose?” His voice is harsher, harsh enough to make me gulp but bite my tongue. He shakes his head, his eyes flashing with something akin to the same fury that resides in his nephew and my heart hammers in response. “If I’d known…”

“What?” I whisper.

“I wouldn’t have let him treat you like that.” He states. “You deserve better. Far better.”

I snort. It doesn’t matter what I deserve, Paris is what I got. And I have to live with that fact.

“Would you leave him?” He asks.

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