The Marriage Contract

by Rose Wulf

  “Very much so,” Yvette replied. She gestured around her. “This is stifling. Living in a property owned by those salamanders, trapped by their rules, locked in a marriage to their disgusting mongrel of a son. It’s—”

  “Stop that,” Ophelia snapped. “I’m trying to have a civil conversation, but you need to stop looking for opportunities to talk crap about Batson and his family. They’re my family, too, now. Meaning whether you like it or not, that makes them your family by extension. Show a little respect for the people around you, Grandma.”

  Yvette’s eyebrows lifted. “I’ll be the one to tell you about respect, Ophelia. We’re here to talk about your situation, aren’t we? No matter what contract you’ve signed, I have no loyalty to it—or to them.”

  Ophelia frowned. “Yes, that’s been made abundantly clear. You told a complete stranger something so incredibly private. You betrayed my trust.” She swallowed around a burgeoning lump in her throat. “And then you tried setting me up with him. Why? Were you hoping I’d fall head over heels and file for divorce? Or were you hoping I’d disgrace myself and just have an affair?”

  With a slight shrug, Yvette replied, “I didn’t much care how it happened. My goal is to see your marriage contract voided.” She frowned at Ophelia’s glare. “Don’t give me that look. You’re the one ascribing judgment to the situation. You’re a sylph, Ophelia. You are the embodiment of the air itself. You should be free.” She spread her arms. “Who cares how many men you have? It only matters that they’re decent. That you’re happy.”

  A bark of laughter escaped Ophelia before she could stop it. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why not?” Yvette leaned back in the chair. “You know I never married. Your father didn’t marry your mother until she became pregnant with you, and when I questioned it, he swore he was in love. That he didn’t want to be with another woman.”

  Ophelia shook her head. She didn’t quite know what to say to that.

  “Keith is a fine young man,” Yvette continued. “Yes, he’s human, but human men make good lovers. He might be a nice change of pace for you.”

  Ophelia narrowed her eyes. “I have no interest in Keith. I don’t ever want to see him again.”

  “Fine,” Yvette said, sounding exasperated. “Then what will it take to get you to leave Batson?”

  Chapter Nine

  Ophelia really, really wanted to scream. To rant and rave and shout profanities that would make her husband proud. But if she shouted, Batson would come. That had been their deal. And if Batson entered the house, the conversation—such as it was—would end. There were still things Ophelia needed to know. Her grandmother was making it incredibly hard to direct the course of the conversation, but they were at least talking. So, she held her breath between tight lips until she was absolutely sure the angry yell had subsided.

  Yvette watched her patiently, as if she honestly thought Ophelia was going to give the answer she wanted.

  “I won’t,” Ophelia said firmly.

  Yvette’s silver brows rose until they disappeared beneath her short, curled bangs. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I will not leave Batson.” Her body all but vibrated with the intensity of her roiling emotions, but Ophelia kept still.

  The air stirred as Yvette sucked in a breath. “Are you pregnant?”

  Ophelia jerked. “What? No. Why—”

  “Why else would you choose to stay with an abomination?” Yvette demanded sharply. “A salamander, at that.”

  “Batson is not an abomination!” Ophelia exclaimed, outraged at her grandmother’s words. “He’s a good man, and—”

  “Ha!” Yvette laughed, the sound biting and sarcastic. “He is as his element, Ophelia. Destructive.”

  The lump in her throat returned, bringing with it tears. “Who are you?” Ophelia whispered. “What happened to the grandmother who’s always supported and loved me? I don’t even recognize you right now.”

  The dark humor vanished from Yvette’s faded blue eyes and she stood, moving toward the wall where Ophelia had hung several pictures from her life. Yvette stroked her fingers over the frame of a photograph of the two of them, at most three years old. “I’ve always loved you, my dear Ophelia. That’s why I’m doing these things.” She turned narrowed eyes to Ophelia. “Sometimes love, like life, is hard. But it’s for the best in the end. You’ll see that someday.”

  “No,” Ophelia said, standing as well. She walked to the edge of the room. “This isn’t love. This is hate. And I have no room for hatred in my life. I hope you learn to recognize the difference. I hope you realize the mess you’ve made, and come back with a proper apology. But until then … you need to leave.”

  Shock stole across Yvette’s face for a moment, quickly followed by a cold glare. Only with that expression could Ophelia see the resemblance between her father and her grandmother. Yvette lifted her clutch from the coffee table and strode with large steps across the living room until she stood in front of Ophelia. “You cannot cast aside your own Elder, child.”

  Ophelia fought to keep her tears contained. “Don’t do that. You’re not just my Elder, you’re my grandmother. But you’ve put me in this position. What choice do I have?”

  Expression unchanging, Yvette said, “Pack a bag and come with me. Now. No paper can trap you. We’ll leave this place behind together.”

  “Is the only thing you hear the roar of the wind in your ears?” Ophelia asked, honestly amazed at the circular conversation. “I already answered that question. No.”

  Yvette slapped her hard across the face. A cut of air accompanied the gesture, adding a sharp sting along her cheek that preceded the slow trickle of something warm and wet. “You disappoint me, Ophelia,” Yvette said. “I didn’t expect you to be so blind.” She turned on her heel and marched from the house with the self-assumed dignity of nobility. Not a single sign of remorse for her actions.

  Ophelia slumped against the wall after her front door slammed shut. Her face hurt. Her chest hurt. She couldn’t remember a time she’d struggled so much just to breathe.

  It was all true. Her grandmother was working to sabotage her relationship with Batson. There was no doubt in Ophelia’s mind she didn’t intend to stop now that she’d been found out, either. She considered her cause right and herself untouchable. She saw Ophelia as a victim, a prisoner, and herself the lone heroine. An unexpected question popped into Ophelia’s mind, then.

  Why didn’t she want to be free of the contract?

  “Lia?”

  That’s why. It had nothing to do with the stupid contract. She hated the contract. The only good thing that lousy piece of paper had ever done for her was keep Batson in her life.

  She rolled her head to the side as his warming presence settled there. Her vision was a little blurry from the tears that had since spilled over and she struggled to find a smile to offer him. It didn’t help that her tears had added literal salt to the wound on her face. “It … didn’t go well,” she whispered.

  If the contract were voided, would he disappear?

  His scowl was so severe it nearly split his face. “Shit,” he muttered. He scooped her into his arms and turned down the hall. “You have bandages in your bathroom?”

  Ophelia sniffled. “Yes.” Her face hurt more than she’d realized, now that she thought about it. She laid her head on his shoulder, since it was her uninjured side, and fought the need to cry outright. “I didn’t—I didn’t even recognize her, Batson.”

  He grunted, the sound frustrated, and set her on her bathroom countertop. “I’m sorry, Lia,” he murmured, running his fingers through her hair as he lifted her head and looked into her eyes. “This is bullcrap, and you shouldn’t be caught in the middle. It pisses me off I can’t do more.” He pressed his lips to her forehead before reaching behind her for her medicine cabinet. “But I’ll do what I can.”

  She swallowed hard and found a section of his shirt with her fingers. “Thanks.”

  He got out the Band-
Aids and the Neosporin, turned on the sink, and grabbed a washcloth. He didn’t wait for the water to get hot, he just stuck a finger under the stream before it hit the fabric. Once he was satisfied with the dampness of the washcloth, he turned off the water and gently tilted her chin to the side. “This’ll probably sting,” he warned.

  “Okay.” It wasn’t okay, but it wasn’t his fault, either. He was being very calm about the whole thing and she was honestly impressed. She bit down on her lips as he cleaned the cut.

  “I can’t believe she fucking cut you,” he growled under his breath.

  Ophelia focused on her breathing, on not losing control with each spike of brief, sharp pain, until he pulled the bloodied blue cloth away. “Technically, she slapped me.” Her voice was soft, weak to her own ears. It was humiliating.

  Batson stilled. The temperature in the room rose a couple of degrees. “You mean she used her powers on you?”

  Ophelia turned her head to let him see her confusion. “You thought she used a knife?”

  He exhaled harshly. “No. I was hoping it was a damn ring.”

  “Oh.” The corners of her lips lifted in an attempt at a smile. “That would’ve been better, I guess.” She looked away. “No. She … did it on purpose. To put me in my place.”

  Batson growled audibly, tossed the dirty cloth into the sink, and reached for the Neosporin. “Fucking bitch.”

  Ordinarily, Ophelia wouldn’t have tolerated him talking about her grandmother that way, but, given the circumstances, she supposed it was unavoidable. So she said nothing and tried not to wince as he applied the cream to her wound.

  “You’re not the kind of woman who’s supposed to show up to the world with goddamn bandages and bruises on her face,” Batson muttered. “For once, it’s a good thing our relationship is secret. I don’t need people showin’ up on my doorstep thinkin’ I’m beating my wife.”

  He did have a point. “I would defend you,” she said quietly.

  He lowered the tube and his expression softened a little. “Yeah,” he said, “but no one would believe it.”

  She tried for a sympathetic smile. “There’s a container in the cabinet,” she said. “My concealer. I can at least cover up the bruise a bit.”

  He put the Neosporin away and fished around in the cabinet until he came back with the proper item. “What do you use this shit for? Your skin’s fine.”

  Ophelia actually giggled, just a little, at that. “I don’t use it often,” she admitted. “But it came in handy the other day. Otherwise, I’d have been walking around town with a giant hickey on my neck I couldn’t explain.”

  His lips twitched with a short-lived grin and he handed it over. “Let me cover up the cut first.”

  She nodded obediently and held still while he bandaged her. He rubbed as gently as he could, but she still struggled not to flinch. Her skin had already begun to bruise around the wound. Once he was done, Batson helped her off the counter so she could use the mirror to apply the makeup. She cringed when she saw herself.

  Her left cheek was mostly red and darkening. It was puffier than the other, but the swelling was still subtle. Two Band-Aids, like she might ordinarily use on her fingers, stretched across the upper middle portion of the swollen area. The pads of the bandages came to her cheekbones, leaving the taped ends uncomfortably close to her eye. Batson had been right. She looked like an abuse victim. For a fleeting moment, Ophelia wondered how much concealer it would take to cover the Band-Aids, too.

  Batson wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his lips to the opposite side of her throat in a surprisingly tender gesture. “The wound is temporary, Lia,” he murmured against her skin.

  She released a breath and settled a hand over his forearm. “I know.” The physical wound was, at least. The one in her heart … she wasn’t so sure. Her fingers tightened over his arm for a moment. “I want to see my mom.”

  Batson lifted his head and met her gaze through the mirror.

  “I know you can’t come with me,” she said quietly, wishing she was wrong. “But, can you … take me to get my car?”

  He offered her a small, somber smile. “Yeah. ’Course.”

  Ophelia drew a breath, appreciating that so much of the air around her smelled like him. “Also, I think … given what we know about Grandma’s intent, and what she did—” Her words choked in her throat for a moment, but she knew what she was trying to say was the right thing. The best thing. “I think we should call.”

  Batson frowned, the expression more thoughtful than angry. “You sure?”

  “We didn’t break the terms,” Ophelia replied. “And it’s the right thing to do.”

  Several seconds passed before he nodded his agreement. “Yeah, okay. I’ll call while you’re out.”

  Ophelia closed her eyes for a moment. She could only pray to the Gods this decision didn’t backfire.

  ****

  With nothing else to do and frustrated energy to burn, Batson opted to drive out to his family’s estate on the edge of the city once Lia successfully retrieved her unintentionally abandoned SUV. He could have simply called from the comfort of his living room, but the only flicker of appeal that offered was the beer he could drink while he talked. Not worth it. Besides, face to face was better for this.

  That was what he told himself as he rolled to a stop in front of the two-car garage. He looked up at the large building looming over his windshield and it struck Batson that it’d been a long time since he’d come home. The house, if it was fair to call it a house, had been in their family for three generations—ironically enough, on his father’s side. His father often laughed that at least he was able to contribute wealth to an already powerful family legacy. For most of his life, Batson hadn’t really understood why his mother never found the joke funny.

  He huffed out a breath and climbed from the truck. There weren’t any other vehicles in the driveway, but his parents actually used their garage, so he wasn’t surprised. He just hoped his mother had taken him seriously when he’d asked her to meet him. Batson stepped into the foyer and veered right, moving straight down the hall until he reached the sitting room that opened to the back yard he’d set on fire at least four times as a child. He’d gotten in a lot of trouble when his parents finally realized he had to put effort into generating flames.

  “Batson,” his father greeted him as he strode into the room. His father stood with a small smile, setting down his Kindle. “Your mom said you’d called, that you were coming over for something. Everything okay?”

  Batson flexed his jaw and exhaled carefully. “No,” he said. “But it’s easier to go over once. Mom’s supposed to be here.” He took a seat on the couch and dropped his elbows to his knees as his father sat again. “Where the hell is she?”

  “She said she might be a couple minutes,” his father replied. “If you don’t want to get to it, then … how’ve you been? I hear you’re doing well at work.”

  Irritated with the idea of small talk, Batson slouched back into the sofa. “Yeah, work’s fine,” he muttered. “Foreman’s a dick with the brain of a toad, but the job is good.”

  His father released an awkward laugh. “You probably shouldn’t talk about your supervisor that way.”

  “I don’t say it to his face.”

  Batson pointedly ignored the raised eyebrow. After a second, his father sighed. “How’s Kipp? We haven’t seen him since that barbecue in … was it October?”

  “He’s a pain the ass, just like always,” Batson replied. “Seriously, Dad, let’s not do the small talk shit. It’s not like we don’t communicate. This ain’t a social call.”

  “Well—”

  “I made it!” Batson’s mother exclaimed as she all but ran into the room, her professional heels held by the straps in her hand. “I took off my shoes in the car so I could run through the house.” She tossed them carelessly beside one of the chairs, dropped her purse on the table, and smacked the top of Batson’s head. “What’s with this no-noti
ce nonsense? This had better be important!”

  “Honey,” his father said in a tone indicating he thought she was being too harsh.

  “It’s the middle of a workday, Jake,” she replied, claiming a seat on the other end of the couch. “Calling us away from our busy schedules, taking time from his own job—it’s not normal. So of course, there’d better be a good reason.”

  Batson adjusted in order to face them both. “It is important,” he said. He glanced between his parents and bit the bullet. “Yvette’s decided to take it upon herself to destroy my marriage. We found out yesterday she’s already told at least one other person. Some human asshole.”

  Both Jake’s and Irena’s eyes widened with surprise. While Jake stayed silent, Irena let loose a heated curse. “She did what? How long ago? How did you figure this out? What’s her excuse? Why now?”

  “Shit, Mom,” Batson cut in, “one at a fucking time.”

  Irena narrowed her eyes with a huff but closed her mouth. She tapped her foot impatiently, her fingers danced on the arm of the couch, and finally, she said, “Tell me what you know. Start from the top.”

  Batson drew a breath and opened his mouth.

  “And if you found out yesterday, why are you only coming to us with this now?”

  He fought to control his irritated glare. “Lia wanted a chance to talk to her. They talked this morning, and it didn’t go so well.”

  Irena nodded, mostly to herself. “That’s not unreasonable. I’m sorry to hear that, though. Is she okay?”

  The image of Lia’s swollen, bruising, bleeding face returned to Batson’s mind and he clenched his fists. “No,” he said.

  His parents exchanged somber looks. “Yvette’s never been fond of us,” Irena admitted. “But—” She shook her head. “Okay. Tell me everything.”

  ****

  “Hi, Dad. It’s me … Ophelia.” She scrunched up her lips for a beat, conflicted as to what to say. “Well, I guess you’re busy. Please call me back.” She tapped the red button on the screen and dropped her phone back into her purse with a small sigh before looking forward again. “He didn’t answer,” she told the marble headstone with her mother’s name on it. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”